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THE PICTURE OF T. C. IN A
PROSPECT OF FLOWERS.
See with what simplicity
This nymph begins her golden days! In the green grass she loves to lye, And there with her fair aspect tames The wilder flow'rs, and gives them names; But only with the roses plays,
And them does tell What colours best become them, and what
Who can foretell for what high cause,
This darling of the Gods was born!
Happy who can
O then let me in time compound,
And parly with those conquering eyes; Ere they have try'd their force to wound,
Ere with their glancing wheels they drive
Let me be laid,
Meantime, whilst every verdant thing
Itself does at thy beauty charm,
But most procure,
But O, young beauty of the woods,
And ere we see, Nip, in the blossom, all our hopes in thee.
In midst of all, there lay a sleeping youth Of fondest beauty. Sideway his face re
posed On one white arm, and tenderly unclosed, By tenderest pressure, a faint damask mouth To slumbery pout; just as the morning
south Disparts a dew-lipp'd rose. Above his head, Four lily stalks did their white honours wed To make a coronal; and round him grew All tendrils green, of every bloom and hue, Together intertwined and trammeld fresh: The vine of glossy sprout; the ivy mesh, Shading its Ethiop berries; and woodbine, Of velvet leaves, and bugle blooms divine.
Hard by, Stood serene Cupids watching silently. One, kneeling to a lyre, touch'd the strings, Muffling to death the pathos with his wings; And, ever and anon, uprose to look At the youth's slumber; while another took
A willow bough, distilling odorous dew,
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and
cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and
weeks, But bears it out, e'en to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me prov'd,
FROM "FAIR VIRTUE."
Hail, thou fairest of all creatures
Thrice all hail! and blessed be
This, thy picture, therefore shew I
For, the more make love to thee,