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LANDSCAPE OF HER DRAWING.
BEHOLD the magic of Theresa's hand!
A new creation blooins at her command.
Touch'd into life the vivid colors glow,
Catch the warm stream, and quicken as they flow.
The ravish'd sight the pleasing landscape fills,
Here sink the valleys, and there rise the hills.
Not with more horror nods bleak Calpe's height,
Than here the pictur'd rock astounds the sight.
Not Thames more devious-winding leaves his source,
Than here the wand'ring rivers shape their course.
Obliquely lab'ring runs the gurgling rill;
Still murm’ring runs, or seems to murmur still.
An aged oak, with hoary moss o'erspread,
Here lifts aloft its venerable head ;
There overshadowing hangs a sacred wood,
And nods inverted in the neighb'ring flood.
Each tree as in its native forest shoots,
And blushing bends with Autumn's golden fruits.
Thy pencil lends the rose a lovelier hue,
And gives the lily fairer to our view.
Here fruits and flow'rs adorn the varied
And paradise with all its sweets is here.
There stooping to its fall a tow'r appears,
With tempests shaken, and a weight of years.
The daisied meadow, and the woodland green,
In order rise, and fill the various scene,
Some parts, in light magnificently dress'd,
Obtrusive enter, and stand all confess'd;
Whilst others decently in shades are thrown,
And by concealing make their beauties known.
Alternate thus and mutual is their aid,
The lights owe half their lustre to the shade.
So the bright fires that light the milky way, Lost and extinguish'd in the solar ray, In the sun's absence pour a flood of light, And borrow all their brightness from the night.
To chcat our eyes how well dost thou contrive ! Each object here seems real and alive. Not more resembling life the figures stand, Formd by Lycippus, or by Phidias' hand,
Unnumber'd beauties in the piece unite,
Rush on the eye and crowd upon the sight;
At once our wonder and delight you raise,
We view with pleasure, and with rapture praise.
WHO PAINTS VERY WELL, BUT ALWAYS DRAWS
HER OWN SEX TO DISADVANTAGE.
INGENIOUS Fair, in whose well-mingled dyes,
Relected charms delight our ravish'd eyes;
On whose soft pencil every beauty waits,
That Nature boasts, or happy Art creates :
Say, when thy fancy prompts thee to display
The blooming flowers that deck the youthful May,
Seek you not all that colors can supply
To cheat our senses, and delude our eye;
Strives not your every stroke with anxious pain,
The whiteness of the lily to retain ?
Blot you not out the ill-united shades,
If but one tulip on your canvas fades ?
And swells not with a conscious joy your breast,
If in the happy tints you see express'd
The glowing blushes of the rose increast ?
Whence strive you, then, to hurt your own fair kind?
How came your injuries to them confin’d?
Whence dares your pencil offer to disgrace
Such looks as well might hint an Angel's face?
What secret passion aids thy touch with spite
To darken Chloe's brown, or taint Clarinda's white
Say, is it Envy guides thy faithles line ?
Can meagre Envy dwell in breasts like thine ?
With trembling dost thou Caelia’s features trace,
Or fear that Mira's smiles should thine disgrace?
Thy own fair self, mistaken charmer, view, Learn thy own power, and let thy paint be true. With kindly care thy happiest colors blend, And strive what Nature fairest forms to mend : From Chloe's
bid keener lightnings flow; Teach Caelia's cheeks with softer red to glow: Still, still, bright Nymph, unrivalid shalt thou shine; Thy paint is charming, but thy form divine.