Part 3 (1/2)

XIII

How the genial colours waray deceptions charhter tints they blooloom; And, while here to bound the scene, Their tops half-blended with the skies, The misty mountains intervene, Or rocks in dim confusion rise; 130 There the wild ocean ter with th' aethereal blue---

XIV

And, lo! what nurace Th' enchanted interh the vales, Here, full in view; there, faintly shewn, Hillocks, inter-mix'd with dales, Rural cotts at distance thrown--- There, so cataract pours Frolooh whose thick branches interwove, While the sun darts his slanting beahtful to the eye the yellowish lustre strea illu voluold, Half-dazzle the spectator's eyes--- And does the real solar light Flash at present on the sight?150 Or, does the pencil'd radiance only flow, And floith such fervour beat That e'en with all the dog-days heat The sultry painting now appears to glow?

XVI

Beneath soe find, See uid attitudes reclin'd---- Mark! with features all relenting, And with down-cast eyes consenting, 160 How each ny with desire, Expos'd, as if to catch the cooling gale; But more, perhaps, to fan the lover's fire

XVII

Ye dear deceptions! how ye otten love?

Luxurious scenes! how ye excite The traces of distinct delight!

E'en now around this poor half-frozen heart Agnizing it's accustom'd smart, 170 Like some mild lambent flame the passion plays; And, vanquish'd by ideal charin'd arms Of some sweet PHILLIS of my youthful days

XVIII

But, lo! the Portrait of yon hoary sage Froid e--- How are the soft emotions checkt While tow'rd me he seems to direct, 180 As if alive, his conscious eye; At whose austere reproving glance, I wake reluctant fro passion die!---

XIX

VENUS yokes her purple doves, In an instant dispossest, All the little sportive loves Hurry---hurry fro vision flits away Like the night's golden dream at break of envious day-- 190

XX

Poor hun'd thee by relentless Fate!---- Poor transient Beauty! tender flower!

Still shorter thy allotted hour!---- Then stretch the canvass---quick, my Friend, Thy pencil seize---thy work attend--- E'en exe diseases, How it fades by the torches of Tiloss froht hue while it pleases, And fix the fair face in it's prireat Artist, has thy hand To half the high-born beauty of the land A pere, And froe Th' untarnish'd form secur'd---

XXII