Written For My Son, Upon Lady Santry's Coming To School, To See Her Son, And Getting The Scholars A Play--Day.

Poem By Mary Barber

So Ceres, lovely and divine,
Eager to see her Proserpine,
Blessing the Nations as she pass'd,
Reach'd the fell Tyrant's Court at last;
Around her shot a Gleam of Light,
Diffusing Joy, dispelling Night;
And, whilst she gilds the dismal Gloom,
The Damn'd a--while forget their Doom;
The Danaids no longer fill;
And Sisyphus's Stone stood still;
Ixion wonders why he strove,
With impious Arts, to rival Fove;
Grim Pluto smil'd; all Hell look'd gay;
Happy, as we were Yesterday.

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