Yet there is something in her face, And there is magic in her eye, Tho' she's unskill'd to conjure down The pale moon from th' affrighted sky, Would draw Endymion from the moon : And there are words that she can speak, More sweet than all the heathen Greek And she has raptures in her power, Let me but kiss her soft warm hand, What Knowledge would not understand, And let her listen to my tale, And let one smiling blush arise, Best omen that my vows prevail ! I'll scorn the scorn of all the wise. CLASS THE SECOND. ΤΟ MANKIND. ADDRESSED TO FREDERICK, PRINCE OF WALES. BY THE LATE EARL NUGENT. INTRODUCTION TO THE PRINCE. NOR me the glories of thy birth engage, |