Thalia snatch'd the rock and flew
To where none but the Graces knew;
The Fates to Jove complaints preferr'd,
And Jove the Fates has ever heard.
By Styx, the awful thunderer swore,
He ne'er would see the Graces more;
No more on Ida should they stray,
Nor with the heavenly Muses play;
Nor to Apollo's sprightly reed
The mazy dance in circles lead,
Unless the distaff back they'd win,
Or teach some mortal nymph to spin,
Whose love of all the human kind
Should form the texture of the mind,
And, twisting and entwining there,
Spin the fine feelings like a hair;
Then, gliding through Affection's loom,
The veil of tenderness become;
The weaver shall the wearer be,
Or else bring back the rock to me.
The Graces joy'd at this behest,
For long they'd known a nymph possess'd
Of all that Jove had fix'd on here,
Who the soft veil would win and wear.
But first her hand must learn to twine
The long small thread with finger fine;
That foot be taught, the Graces lent,
The engine to revolve intent.
The veil was wove, I saw the loom,
I saw the changeful colours come;
I saw the white, I saw the red,
The feelings all mix with the thread;
I saw the Virtues wreathe it round
The nymph the happy Graces found.
To Jove Thalia smiling said; —
"At length, great Sire, I've found the maid,
Fair as the lily, on whose cheek
Her softest shades grow sweetly meek;
The veil of Tenderness she's worn
E'er since the dawn of life's young morn,
And nought so well becomes the fair,
For 'tis the veil the Virtues wear.
Now let the Fates their trade forego,
Nor hither bring their web of woe;
O! let the thread of life be spun
By one more easily, gently won;
Who lengthening out the slender line
Shall smoothly run and softly twine,
Whilst Health and Happiness shall hail
The Spinster fair — Johanna Gale!"