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Painter, vain 's thy utmost art, 1. 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:
• 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.'
Thus did the Muse the Art defy : Thy pencil, eager to reply, -20 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 fow'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 lo • The features of my lovely Fair! • Upon thy surface, mild and clear, ' I see my heavenly Maid appear, " With all the glories of her face,
Her winning smiles, and gentle grace. 1-But where's the virtue of her mind, Which makes her of angelic kind ?
• Where is the softness of her heart,
Thus, Sir, the Muse pursued her song,
With joy the picture home I bore, And, smiling, view'd it o'er and o'er ! And, when MARIA was away, ,' Gaz'd on it all the live-long day; And hop'd that there her cheeks would bloom In all their glow for years to come.
Oft did the tear bedew my eye,
But as I thus enraptur'd stand
in one eternal moan, To weep like Niobe-in stone.
MARIA now, in Country Hall,
Nor will the curious Crowd believe
Unhappy Artist, to survive
Your pencil summon’d into life, For GARRICK's choice, the ardent strife, 116 I saw the sad, but stately Queen That stalks amid the tragic scene : Around her floats the purple stole ; The dagger and the fatal bowl Are not unseen-and to the sky Her finger guides th' attentive eye. 'Tis vain : -Her mad-cap Rival's leer, With roguish look and playful sneer, From Madam Grave-Airs wins the field, And Roscius yields-where all would yield. 120 Who would not to the covert fly With all-enchanting Comedy?
But now I'm told, and fear it true,