With poppies and with spiky corn, In dimpled beauty next be seen, With her the light-dispensing Fair, & The crescent on her brow display'd, How Hebe smil'd, what bloom divine Pansies, beneath her sweet touch blowing; Another Goddess of the year, Fair Queen of Summer, see, appear; Her panting bosom loosely bound, Ethereal beauty in her face, Rather the beauties of her race, Whence every Goddess, envy smit, 110 Must own each Stonehouse meets in PITT. Exhausted all the heav'nly train, How many Mortals yet remain, Whose eyes shall try your pencil's art, And in my numbers claim a part! To weep her dear Resemblance gone, 100 120 Sad fate of beauty! more I see, Afflicted, lovely family ! 130 Two beauteous Nymphs, here, Painter, place, Which EMILY might yield to EVELYN's eyes. 'PAINTER, vain 's thy utmost art, To draw the Idol of my heart! Thy canvass never can receive The varied charms her features give. When grave, she wears the awful grace That reigns in regal JUNO's face; When on her cheeks the smiles appear, 'Tis VENUs' better self is there; And when she looks with studious eye, Another PALLAS we descry. 19 Painter, thy pencil well may trace 'A JUNO's awful, heavenly grace; Upon your canvass may be seen • Chaste Beauty's fair, imperial Queen ; • E'en Wisdom's Goddess may appear In all her native splendor there. But in my breast alone can be 'The perfect Image of the Three.' 20 Thus did the Muse the Art defy : Thy pencil, eager to reply, Dash'd on the cloth in colors warm The semblance of MARIA's form; And soon I saw her cheeks disclose The lily mingled with the rose ; And soon her beaming eyes dispense The soften'd rays of manly sense : Her graceful form, her auburn hair, All, all thy magic power declare. Loose flow'd her robe upon the ground, And many a Cupid flutter'd round. 30 The bending branches kindly spread Their verdant beauties o'er her head, And far beyond the hills arise, And seem to mingle with the skies. At length, in all your art array'd, The canvass' spreading form display'd The beauties of my charming Maid. You shew'd the piece-I saw your pride, And thus the wayward Muse reply'd: Ah happy canvass, that dost bear • The features of my lovely Fair! 'Upon thy surface, mild and clear, · see my heavenly Maid appear, "With all the glories of her face, 'Her winning smiles, and gentle grace. "-But where's the virtue of her mind, Which makes her of angelic kind? |