« VorigeDoorgaan »
Attend ! ye skilled to coin the precious tale,
Creating proof, where inuendos fail !
Whose practised memories, cruelly exact,
Omit no circumstance, except the fact !.
Attend, all ye who boast, - or old or young, -
The living libel of a slanderous tongue !
So shall my theme as far contrasted be,
As saints by fiends, or hymns by calumny.
Come, gentle Amoret, (for 'neath that name,
In worthier verse is sung thy beauty's fame);
Come- for but thee who seeks the Muse? and
Celestial blushes check thy conscious smile,
With timid grace, and hesitating eye,
The perfect model, which I boast, supply:
Vain Muse! couldst thou the humblest sketch
create Of her, or slightest charm couldst imitate Could thy blest strain in kindred colours trace The faintest wonder of her form and face Poets would study the immortal line, And Reynolds own his art subdued by thine; That art, which well might added lustre give To Nature's best, and Heaven's superlative: On Granby's cheek might bid new glories rise, Or point a purer beam from Devon's eyes ! Hard is the task to shape that beauty's praise, Whose judgment scorns the homage flattery pays ! “But praising Amoret we cannot err, No tongue o'ervalues Heaven, or flatters her!
Yet she by Fate's perverseness—she alone
Would doubt our truth, nor deem such praise her
Adorning Fashion, unadorn'd by dress,
Simple from taste, and not from carelessness;
Discreet in gesture, in deportment mild,
Not stiff with prudence, nor uncouthly wild:
No state has Amoret ! no studied mien ;
She frowns no goddess, and she moves no queen.
The softer charm that in her manner lies
Is framed to captivate, yet not surprise ;
It justly suits th' expression of her face,–
'Tis less than dignity, and more than grace!
On her pure cheek the native hue is such,
That form’d by heav'n to be admired so much,
The hand divine, with a less partial care,
Might well have fix'd a fainter crimson there,
And bade the gentle inmate of her breast,--
Inshrined Modesty !-supply the rest.
But who the peril of her lips shall paint ?
Strip them of smiles — still, still all words are faint!
But moving Love himself appears to teach
Their action, though denied to rule her speech;
And thou who seest her speak and dost not hear,
Mourn not her distant accents 'scape thine ear;
Viewing those lips, thou still may'st make pretence
To judge of what she says, and swear 'tis sense:
Cloth'd with such grace, with such expression
fraught, They move in meaning, and they pause in thought! VOL. II.
But dost thou farther watch, with charm'd surprise,
The mild irresolution of her eyes,
Curious to mark how frequent they repose,
In brief eclipse and momentary close-
Ah! seest thou not an ambush'd Cupid there,
Too tim'rous of his charge, with jealous care
Veils and unveils those beams of heav'nly light,
Too full, too fatal else, for mortal sight?
Nor yet, such pleasing vengeance fond to meet,
In pard’ning dimples hope a safe retreat.
What though her peaceful breast should ne'er allow
Subduing frowns to arm her alter'd brow,
By Love, I swear, and by his gentle wiles,
More fatal still the mercy of her smiles !
Thus lovely, thus adorn'd, possessing all
Of bright or fair that can to woman fall,
The height of vanity might well be thought
Prerogative in her, and Nature's fault.
Yet gentle Amoret, in mind supreme
As well as charms, rejects the vainer theme;
And half mistrustful of her beauty's store,
She barbs with wit those darts too keen before : -
Read in all knowledge that her sex should reach,
Though Greville, or the Muse, should deign to teach,
Fond to improve, nor tim'rous to discern
How far it is a woman's grace to learn ;
In Millar's dialect she would not prove
Apollo's priestess, but Apollo's love,
Graced by those signs, which truth delights to own,
The timid blush, and mild submitted tone:
Whate'er she says, though sense appear throughout,
Displays the tender hue of female doubt;
Deck'd with that charm, how lovely wit appears,
How graceful science, when that robe she wears !
Such too her talents, and her bent of mind,
As speak a sprightly heart by thought refined,
A taste for mirth, by contemplation school'd,
A turn for ridicule, by candour ruled,
A scorn of folly, which she tries to hide;
An awe of talent, which she owns with pride!
Peace ! idle Muse, - no more thy strain prolong,
But yield a theme, thy warmest praises wrong;
Just to her merit, though thou canst not raise
Thy feeble verse, behold th' acknowledged praise
Has spread conviction through the envious train,
And cast a fatal gloom o'er Scandal's reign!
And lo! each pallid hag, with blister'd tongue,
Mutters assent to all thy zeal has sung-
Owns all the colours just the outline true;
Thee my inspirer, and my model-CREWE!