How oft do I admire with fond delight The curious piece, and wish like you to write! Alas, vain hope! that might as well aspire To copy PAULO's stroke, or TITIAN's fire: Ev'n now your splendid lines before me lie, And I in vain to imitate them try ; Believe me, fair, I'm practising this art, To steal your hand, in hopes to steal your heart. EPISTLE IX. TO A LADY, ON A LANDSCAPE OF HER DRAWING. BY MR. PARROT. BEHOLD the magic of Theresa's hand! Here sink the valleys, and there rise the hills. Still murm'ring runs, or seems to murmur still. There overshadowing hangs a sacred wood, And blushing bends with Autumn's golden fruits. And gives the lily fairer to our view. Here fruits and flow'rs adorn the varied year, Some parts, in light magnificently dress'd, Obtrusive enter, and stand all confess'd; Whilst others decently in shades are thrown, And by concealing make their beauties known. Alternate thus and mutual is their aid, The lights owe half their lustre to the shade. So the bright fires that light the milky way, Lost and extinguish'd in the solar ray; In the sun's absence pour a flood of light, And borrow all their brightness from the night. To cheat our eyes how well dost thou contrive! Each object here seems real and alive. Not more resembling life the figures stand, Form'd by Lycippus, or by Phidias' hand. Unnumber'd beauties in the piece unite, ΤΟ A YOUNG LADY WHO PAINTS VERY WELL, BUT ALWAYS DRAWS HER OWN SEX TO DISADVANTAGE. BY J. WHALEY, M. A. INGENIOUS Fair, in whose well-mingled dyes, To cheat our senses, and delude our eye; Strives not your every stroke with anxious pain, The whiteness of the lily to retain ? If but one tulip on your canvas fades ? And swells not with a conscious joy your breast, The glowing blushes of the rose increast ? |