on receiving her picture.
This faint resemblance of thy charms,
(Though strong as mortal art could give,)
My constant heart of fear disarms,
Revives my hopes, and bids me live.
Here, I can trace the locks of gold
Which round thy snowy forehead wave;
The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould,
The lips, which made me Beauty's slave.
Here I can trace—ah, no! that eye,
Whose azure floats in liquid fire,
Must all the painter's art defy,
And bid him from the task retire.
Here, I behold its beauteous hue;
- [This "Mary" is not to be confounded with the heiress of Annesley, or "Mary" of Aberdeen. She was of humble
- But where's the beam of soft desire?
Which gave a lustre to its blue,
Love, only love, could e'er inspire.—[4to. P. on V. Occasions.]