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With poppies and with spiky corn,
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,
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;
Rather the beauties of her race,
Exhausted all the heav'nly train,
To weep her dear Resemblance gone,
Sad fate of beauty! more I see,
Afflicted, lovely family!
Two beauteous Nymphs, here, Painter, place,
'PAINTER, vain 's thy utmost art,
The varied charms her features give.
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.
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 ?