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As conscious that affection grows,
Pleased with the pencil's mimic power";
That power with leading hand she shows,
And paints a Bee upon a flower.
Mark, how that rooted mandrake wears
His human feet, his human hands!
Oft, as his shapely form he tears,
Aghast the frighted ploughman stands.
See where, in yonder orient stone,
She seems ev'n with herself at strife,
While fairer from her hand is shown
The pictured, than the native life.
* The well-known Fables of the Painter and the Statuary that fell in love with objects of their own creation, plainly arose from the idea of that attachment, which follows the imitation of agree
able objects, to the objects imitated.
HELv ETIA's rocks, SABRINA's waves,
Still many a shining pebble bear,
Where oft her studious hand engraves
The perfect form, and leaves it there.
O long, my PAxton", boast her art;
And long her laws of love fulfil:
To thee she gave her hand and heart,
To thee, her kindness and her skill!
IN yonder green wood blows the Broom;
Shepherds, we'll trust our flocks to stray,
Court Nature in her sweetest bloom,
And steal from Care one summer-day. .
From him” whose gay and graceful brow
Fair-handed HUME with roses binds,
We'll learn to breathe the tender vow,
Where slow the fairy ForTHA winds.
And, oh! that hef whose gentle breast
In Nature's softest mould was made,
Who left her smiling works imprest
In characters that cannot fade.
That he might leave his lowly shrine,
Though softer there the Seasons fall-
They come, the sons of verse divine,
They come to Fancy's magic call.
“What airy sounds invite “My steps, not unreluctant, from the depth “OfSHENE's delightful groves? Reposing there
* William Hamilton of Bangour. * Thomson.
“No more I hear the busy voice of men
“Far-toiling o'er the globe—save to the call
“Of soul-exalting poetry, the ear
“Of death denies attention. Roused by her,
“The genius of sepulchral silence opes
“His drowsy cells, and yields us to the day.
“For thee, whose hand, whatever paints the spring,
“Or swells on summer's breast, or loads the lap
“Of autumn, gathers heedful—Thee whose rites,
“At nature's shrine with holy care are paid
“Daily and nightly, boughs of brightest green,
“And every fairest rose, the god of groves,
“The queen of flowers, shall sweeter save for thee.
“Yet not if beauty only claim thy lay,
“Tunefully trifling. Fair philosophy,
“And nature's love, and every moral charm
“That leads in sweet captivity the mind
“To virtue—ever in thy nearest cares
“Be these, and animate thy living page
“With truth resistless, beaming from the source