No wonder Taste bestow'd her tenderest care,
And taught the vine to curl around yon chair;
For here a nymph at sultry noon would come,
And call this bower her flowery dressing room.
The darling nymph from whom soft arts have sprung,
The name that softens on the roughen'd tongue;
The winning form where grace and ease agree
To smooth the manners, and yet leave them free;
Where every polish that the mind e'er takes
Shines in the eye, and the soft accent wakes;
Where sweetest thoughts their own pure course pursue,
Vary the old, and ornament the new;
While all the winning ways that sense can lend,
Melt in the looks, and with the manners blend;
A form as gentle as if sweetness strove
To see how far she could succeed with love —
To see how far the lily could prevail
To gain the heart, when gayer roses fail!