Where is the softness of her heart, To pity prone, and void of art ? 'These cannot on thy bosom shine'They're only to be found in mine.' Thus, Sir, the Muse pursued her song, She knows are thine-Thy talents bear The marks of their united care. But frolic Nature will outdo The works of Art and Genius too! Her cunning patterns render vain 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; во And hop'd that there her cheeks would bloom In all their glow for years to come. Oft did the tear bedew my eye, To think that if my Love should die, My every joy and every care Of future life would center there. 76 But as I thus enraptur'd stand Before the wonders of your hand, I see the lively tints decay, The vivid colors melt away; And ere twelve fleeting months were o'er, Her looks were haggard, and her eyes And the far mountain's distant blue MARIA now, in Country Hall, Adorns the rude, old-fashion❜d wall, And holds her venerable place 'Mid Dames and Lords of ancient race. At her the wond'ring Rustics stare, As at the oldest picture there : -100 Nor will the curious Crowd believe That 'tis my Lady now alive. They all a strong resemblance own. Unhappy Artist, to survive The means by which your fame should live! For hopes of immortality. Your pencil summon'd into life, For GARRICK's choice, the ardent strife. 16 And ROSCIUS yields-where all would yield. /20 Who would not to the covert fly With all-enchanting Comedy? But now I'm told, and fear it true, That Garrick's face is black and blueAs if he'd run the risk of life From jealousies of either wife; While the fair Dames in this agree, -Time joys to see the hasty ruin, That cost so little in undoing. _130 Full many an age he must employ The works of Raphael to destroy ; And Titian's tints his power defy Through many a rolling century: And e'en where Time has aim'd the blow, Art hath withstood the biting Foe. But years or months, at his command, Efface the labors of your hand; Nor, when they fade, can you restore I saw your daring pencil trace Some dark design of Britain's Foe, Humanely thoughtful how to save And must the fair resemblance fade, And when the sage, Historic pen Shall rank him 'mong the first of men ? Forbid it, Art! But thou should'st give ー And trod the paths they wish to tread 180 |