Poems By Mr. Polwhele. In three volumes |
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II. |
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Poems | ||
Yet, mark the calmness of thy wiser peers
Whose feelings only vibrate at the touch
Of brighten'd pathos; while the lovelier traits
Of virtue, drawn by delicacy, sink
Into the heart. Then hope not to affect—
Then fondly trust not thy pathetic powers:
Unless, sweet nature's artist, thou hast skill
To pencil her fine attitudes, her air
Attractive, her free drapery's fluid folds;
And, thro' imagination's medium, paint
To passion. Pathos cools, where fashion reigns.
Whose feelings only vibrate at the touch
Of brighten'd pathos; while the lovelier traits
Of virtue, drawn by delicacy, sink
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Then fondly trust not thy pathetic powers:
Unless, sweet nature's artist, thou hast skill
To pencil her fine attitudes, her air
Attractive, her free drapery's fluid folds;
And, thro' imagination's medium, paint
To passion. Pathos cools, where fashion reigns.
Poems | ||