Poems, on various subjects by Ann Yearsley ... being her second work |
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ODE, TO MISS SHIELLS, ON HER ART OF PAINTING. |
 | Poems, on various subjects |  |
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ODE, TO MISS SHIELLS, ON HER ART OF PAINTING.
Long, dear Idea, gentle Love's soft nurse,
Lay silent, inexpressive in the mind;
Long did the Spirit wrestle with its force,
Till, dress'd by Art, it rises unconfin'd.
Lo, the tints of Clara flow;
Thoughts embodied, ardent glow;
Gently breathes the pleasing form,
And passions truly painted warm.
Ah! lovely Artist, see
The heav'nly band
Of Graces stand
In beauty clad by thee.
Lay silent, inexpressive in the mind;
Long did the Spirit wrestle with its force,
Till, dress'd by Art, it rises unconfin'd.
Lo, the tints of Clara flow;
Thoughts embodied, ardent glow;
Gently breathes the pleasing form,
And passions truly painted warm.
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The heav'nly band
Of Graces stand
In beauty clad by thee.
There, dire Alecto! stung by madness, shakes
Her gory ringlets, while her burning hand
Grasps in a twisted knot the writhing snakes,
Whose slender forms seem restless in command.
Hurl'd to poor Philander's breast,
In the ghastly look confest,
Deep they sink; awhile his heart
Swells with the strong envenom'd smart.
Ah! now he fainter feels
The furies die,
His placid eye
Returning peace reveals.
Her gory ringlets, while her burning hand
Grasps in a twisted knot the writhing snakes,
Whose slender forms seem restless in command.
Hurl'd to poor Philander's breast,
In the ghastly look confest,
Deep they sink; awhile his heart
Swells with the strong envenom'd smart.
Ah! now he fainter feels
The furies die,
His placid eye
Returning peace reveals.
69
Thus bright Idea mingles with the shade,
Till Nature pausing, claim'd the pleasing line:
So true her beauties were, by Art display'd,
She gaz'd with extacy, and cry'd—“'tis mine!”
“Hold a moment,” Clara cries,
“Love and Virtue still shall rise;
“Friendship too, assist my Piece,
“And Industry its charms increase.
“The pleading eye of Love
“Shall silent wound,
“Tho' tender sound
“Must ne'er the bosom move.”
Till Nature pausing, claim'd the pleasing line:
So true her beauties were, by Art display'd,
She gaz'd with extacy, and cry'd—“'tis mine!”
“Hold a moment,” Clara cries,
“Love and Virtue still shall rise;
“Friendship too, assist my Piece,
“And Industry its charms increase.
“The pleading eye of Love
“Shall silent wound,
“Tho' tender sound
“Must ne'er the bosom move.”
But, ah! what solemn beauty now appears!
'Tis Virtue; Love reluctant feels controul,
Dear social Pity hers—no more she dares!
But chains the Passions deep within the soul.
Lo! Resolve directs her eye,
Chill'd she sees the murm'rer die;
Yet with Love her pow'rs oft blend
To form the Husband, and the Friend.
Happy Union hail!
Ah, Carlos, see!
She points at thee;
With thee her pow'rs prevail.
'Tis Virtue; Love reluctant feels controul,
Dear social Pity hers—no more she dares!
But chains the Passions deep within the soul.
70
Chill'd she sees the murm'rer die;
Yet with Love her pow'rs oft blend
To form the Husband, and the Friend.
Happy Union hail!
Ah, Carlos, see!
She points at thee;
With thee her pow'rs prevail.
Again, my Clara's pencil strongly forms
Friendship, the noblest proof of manly minds,
In whose soft arms, from life's afflicting storms,
The faint, despairing wretch a refuge finds.
Surely this is more than shade;
Quickly say, enchanting Maid,
From what substance hast thou stole
The flame which burns but in the soul?
“From Carlos,” she reply'd,
“His gen'rous breast,
“Is here exprest,
“And Nature is my guide.”
Friendship, the noblest proof of manly minds,
In whose soft arms, from life's afflicting storms,
The faint, despairing wretch a refuge finds.
Surely this is more than shade;
Quickly say, enchanting Maid,
From what substance hast thou stole
The flame which burns but in the soul?
71
“His gen'rous breast,
“Is here exprest,
“And Nature is my guide.”
Last, Industry, with features coarse and strong,
Rises behind, shaking his blister'd hand;
The slow unwilling plough he drives along;
The dews of Labour on his forehead stand.
“Seize him, Clara!—make him thine!
Health and Beauty soon shall join;
With him o'er yon hillocks run,
To meet the early blushing sun!”
Now down the pencil's laid;
At rising dawn,
She hails the lawn,
And Nature charms the Maid.
Rises behind, shaking his blister'd hand;
The slow unwilling plough he drives along;
The dews of Labour on his forehead stand.
“Seize him, Clara!—make him thine!
Health and Beauty soon shall join;
With him o'er yon hillocks run,
To meet the early blushing sun!”
Now down the pencil's laid;
At rising dawn,
She hails the lawn,
And Nature charms the Maid.
| Poems, on various subjects | |