Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/197
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Countess of Winchilsea
59
Selected Friendships timely he began,
And siezed in Youth that best Delight of Man,
Leaving a growing Race to mourn his End, 100
Their earliest and their Ages promis'd Friend.
But far away alas! that Prospect moves,
Lost in the Clouds, like distant Hills and Groves,
Whilst with encreasing Steps we all pursue
What Time alone can bring to nearer View,
That Future State, which Darkness yet involves,
Known but by Death, which ev'ry Doubt resolves.
And siezed in Youth that best Delight of Man,
Leaving a growing Race to mourn his End, 100
Their earliest and their Ages promis'd Friend.
But far away alas! that Prospect moves,
Lost in the Clouds, like distant Hills and Groves,
Whilst with encreasing Steps we all pursue
What Time alone can bring to nearer View,
That Future State, which Darkness yet involves,
Known but by Death, which ev'ry Doubt resolves.
TO THE PAINTER OF AN ILL-DRAWN PICTURE OF CLEONE, THE HONORABLE MRS. THYNNE
Sooner I'd praise a Cloud which Light beguiles,
Than thy rash hand which robs this Face of Smiles;
And does that sweet and pleasing Air controul,
Which to us paints the fair Cleone's Soul.
'Tis vain to boast of Rules or labour'd Art;
I miss the Look that captivates my Heart,
Attracts my Love, and tender Thoughts inspires;
Nor can my Breast be warm'd by common Fires;
Nor can Ardelia love but where she first admires.
Like Jupiter's, thy Head was sure in Pain 10
When this Virago struggl'd in thy Brain;
And strange it is, thou hast not made her wield
A mortal Dart, or penetrating Shield,
Giving that Hand of disproportion'd size
The Pow'r, of which thou hast disarm'd her Eyes:
As if, like Amazons, she must oppose,
And into Lovers force her vanquish'd Foes.
Had to Theanor thus her Form been shown
To gain her Heart, he had not lost his own;
Nor, by the gentlest Bands of Human Life, 20
Than thy rash hand which robs this Face of Smiles;
And does that sweet and pleasing Air controul,
Which to us paints the fair Cleone's Soul.
'Tis vain to boast of Rules or labour'd Art;
I miss the Look that captivates my Heart,
Attracts my Love, and tender Thoughts inspires;
Nor can my Breast be warm'd by common Fires;
Nor can Ardelia love but where she first admires.
Like Jupiter's, thy Head was sure in Pain 10
When this Virago struggl'd in thy Brain;
And strange it is, thou hast not made her wield
A mortal Dart, or penetrating Shield,
Giving that Hand of disproportion'd size
The Pow'r, of which thou hast disarm'd her Eyes:
As if, like Amazons, she must oppose,
And into Lovers force her vanquish'd Foes.
Had to Theanor thus her Form been shown
To gain her Heart, he had not lost his own;
Nor, by the gentlest Bands of Human Life, 20