 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
31
Clemene's Character.
As Painters, when they first design a Face,
With chalky Lines the beauteous Features trace,
And only shadow out the future Grace,
The various Tinctures, that appear so fair,
The Master Strokes, that give it Life and Air,
Are wanting yet, and that, which now we see,
Is but the Type of what it ought to be.
With chalky Lines the beauteous Features trace,
And only shadow out the future Grace,
The various Tinctures, that appear so fair,
The Master Strokes, that give it Life and Air,
Are wanting yet, and that, which now we see,
Is but the Type of what it ought to be.
So I that would Clemene's Picture paint,
That finish'd Beauty, and that perfect Saint;
Having no Colours for a Piece so fine,
Must only mark it with a pallid Line.
But the rich Shades and intermixing Light,
Which ought to rise in native Glory bright,
The ornamental Touch, the moving Grace,
Leave for a more distinguish'd Hand to place;
That knows orig'nal Beauties to display,
And breathing Charms in living Colours lay.
That finish'd Beauty, and that perfect Saint;
Having no Colours for a Piece so fine,
Must only mark it with a pallid Line.
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Which ought to rise in native Glory bright,
The ornamental Touch, the moving Grace,
Leave for a more distinguish'd Hand to place;
That knows orig'nal Beauties to display,
And breathing Charms in living Colours lay.
Clemene is with ev'ry Virtue fraught,
All pure in Action, and unstain'd in Thought;
All that can Love and Admiration raise,
All that excites our Wonder or our Praise,
Does in her Person with full Vigour blaze.
Never did Form and Mind more justly fit,
The fairest Beauty with the brightest Wit.
Her Prudence shines in ev'ry Scene of Life,
A tender Mother and a faithful Wife;
Reserv'd and Chaste as Innocence should be,
But yet from formal Affectation free.
Whene'er she speaks, 'tis more than Joy to hear,
So sweet her Voice, so grateful to the Ear.
Her gentle Nature with soft Pity's crown'd,
She does so much in Tenderness abound,
That not an Insect in her Sight is slain,
But kind Clemene suffers half the Pain.
O! most exalted Elegance of Thought!
Which feels each little Tragedy that's wrought.
She truly is of ev'ry Grace possest,
That can in lovely Woman be exprest.
Here Beauty, Wisdom, Virtue, all combine
To make the Workmanship appear Divine.
Can she be less than Favourite of Heaven,
To whom these bright Advantages are given?
Is she the Darling of Superiour Pow'rs?
Can she be their's and shall she not be Our's?
All pure in Action, and unstain'd in Thought;
All that can Love and Admiration raise,
All that excites our Wonder or our Praise,
Does in her Person with full Vigour blaze.
Never did Form and Mind more justly fit,
The fairest Beauty with the brightest Wit.
Her Prudence shines in ev'ry Scene of Life,
A tender Mother and a faithful Wife;
33
But yet from formal Affectation free.
Whene'er she speaks, 'tis more than Joy to hear,
So sweet her Voice, so grateful to the Ear.
Her gentle Nature with soft Pity's crown'd,
She does so much in Tenderness abound,
That not an Insect in her Sight is slain,
But kind Clemene suffers half the Pain.
O! most exalted Elegance of Thought!
Which feels each little Tragedy that's wrought.
She truly is of ev'ry Grace possest,
That can in lovely Woman be exprest.
Here Beauty, Wisdom, Virtue, all combine
To make the Workmanship appear Divine.
Can she be less than Favourite of Heaven,
To whom these bright Advantages are given?
34
Can she be their's and shall she not be Our's?
Since ev'ry Good, since Gifts all perfect flow
From Heav'n's high Lord, to Mortals here below;
To Heav'n's high Lord my humble Voice I'll raise,
And with the good Clemene join in Praise:
For all that she enjoys his Name I'll bless,
And beg his Favours never may be less.
From Heav'n's high Lord, to Mortals here below;
To Heav'n's high Lord my humble Voice I'll raise,
And with the good Clemene join in Praise:
For all that she enjoys his Name I'll bless,
And beg his Favours never may be less.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |