With poppies and with spiky corn,
Eckardt, her nut-brown curls adorn;
And by her side, in decent line,
Place charming BERKLEY, Proserpine.
Mild as a summer sea, serene,
In dimpled beauty next be seen,
AYLESBURY like hoary Neptune's Queen.

With her the light-dispensing Fair, Whose beauty gilds the morning air, And bright as her attendant sun, The new Aurora, LYTTLETON: Such Guido's pencil beauty-tip'd, And in ethereal colors dip'd, In measured dance to tuneful song Drew the sweet Goddess, as along Heaven's azure 'neath their light feet spread, The buxom Hours she fairest led.

The crescent on her brow display'd,
In curls of loveliest brown inlaid,
With every charm to rule the night,
Like Dian, STRAFFORD Woos the sight;
The easy shape, the piercing eye,
The snowy bosom's purity,
The unaffected gentle phrase
Of native wit in all she says;
Eckardt, for these thy art's too faint;
You may admire, but cannot paint.

How Hebe smil'd, what bloom divine On the young Goddess lov'd to shine, From CARPENTER we guess, or see, All-beauteous MANNERS, beam from thee. How pretty Flora, wanton maid, By Zephyr woo'd in noon-tide shade, With rosy hand coquetly throwing Pansies, beneath her sweet touch blowing; How blithe she look'd, let FANNY tell; Let Zephyr own if half so well.

Another Goddess of the year,

Fair Queen of Summer, see, appear;
Her auburn locks with fruitage crown'd,
Her panting bosom loosely bound,
Ethereal beauty in her face,

Rather the beauties of her race,
Whence every Goddess, envy smit,
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!
Our sister Muses must describe
CHUDLEIGH, or name her of the tribe;
And JULIANA with the Nine
Shall aid the melancholy line,

To weep her dear Resemblance gone,
Where all these beauties met in One.

Sad fate of beauty! more I see,

Afflicted, lovely family!

Two beauteous Nymphs, here, Painter, place,
Lamenting o'er their sister Grace;
One, matron-like, with sober grief,
Scarce gives her pious sighs relief;
While t' other lovely Maid appears
In all the melting pow'r of tears:
The softest form, the gentlest grace,
The sweetest harmony of face;
Her snowy limbs, and artless move
Contending with the Queen of Love,
Whilst bashful Beauty shuns the prize,
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.

'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, 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. 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, I 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 ?