Far diff'rent was Solander's fate, Asleep by coldness laid, Although he saw stern Death await, Till wak'd by Banks, he scap'd that doom, While East, by sleep, escap'd his tomb, ΤΟ A POETICAL PORTRAIT OF A If possible, more graceful than the Graces, a Diamond of the first brilliancy. CAPRICE, thou idol of the female breast, And free my mind from Laura's fickle sway. Long have I felt love's slow consuming flame, But when I ask, to ease my tortur'd mind, Thus Thus to refuse one copy of thy form, To him, who loves thee with so pure a fire; Thy fair orig'nal, animate and warm, Has ne'er possess'd him, with unchaste desire. Still to C***'s lawful arms confine thy bust, Made in luxuriant Nature's sweetest mould; But e're that form's consign'd again to dust, And, like the marble, polished, yet cold, Let art's enchanting pencil snatch a grace, A Guido's touch preserve each matchless charm, That time may transmit to the future race, What e'en on canvas, will the bosom warm. How Nature once, in sportive frolic hour, One matchless child, whose elegance, and taste, And to them all, Laura her beauty ow'd. The The Graces gave her dignity of air, A face that sure would make a saint run mad; Venus pronounc'd her, fairest of the fair, Who many a blithsome heart should render sad. Minerva lightning to her eyes convey'd, A melting softness mingled with their fire; Nature with witching smiles, her face array'd, And made her voice harmonious as the lyre. Momus gave quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, Unable to repress the falling tear, Each felt her beauty, did his heart ensnare ; Like the poor bird, whom fascinating fear, Throws in the serpent's mouth, when soaring in the air. ON STANZAS, TO MORPHEUS, THE GOD OF SLEEP. WITH kind complacence, hear a suppliant's pray'r, Whose soul no evil conscience keeps awake, That like a death watch, ticking in the ear, Conscience which, whisp'ring, more the soul appals Or that loud crash when elements conspire. O gentle |