144
THE TRIUMPHS
Never did sorceress in the shades of night
Try to illuminate a filthy sprite
With fonder efforts, or with worse success,
Than Pen. now labour'd, in this wayward dress,
To give the sprightly show of living truth
To the poor ghost of her departed youth.
As witches o'er their magic cauldron bend,
Anxious to see their menial imps ascend;
So in her glass the ancient maiden pries,
And dreams new graces in her person rise.
No such delights, whole dear delusions please,
The mild Serena in her mirror sees;
She, at whose toilet beauty's latent queen
Attends, enchanted with her filial mien,
And o'er her favourite's unconscious face
Breathes her own roseate glow and vivid grace.
She hastes her glittering garments to adjust,
With all the modest charms of sweet distrust,
Doubting that beauty, which she doubts alone,
Which dazzles every eye except her own.
Try to illuminate a filthy sprite
With fonder efforts, or with worse success,
Than Pen. now labour'd, in this wayward dress,
To give the sprightly show of living truth
To the poor ghost of her departed youth.
As witches o'er their magic cauldron bend,
Anxious to see their menial imps ascend;
So in her glass the ancient maiden pries,
And dreams new graces in her person rise.
No such delights, whole dear delusions please,
The mild Serena in her mirror sees;
She, at whose toilet beauty's latent queen
Attends, enchanted with her filial mien,
And o'er her favourite's unconscious face
Breathes her own roseate glow and vivid grace.
She hastes her glittering garments to adjust,
With all the modest charms of sweet distrust,
Doubting that beauty, which she doubts alone,
Which dazzles every eye except her own.
