2
THE TRIUMPHS
Tho' formal critics, with a surly frown,
Deny your artless bard the laurel crown,
He still shall triumph, if ye deign to spread
Your sweeter myrtle round his honour'd head.
In your bright circle young Serena grew;
A lovelier nymph the pencil never drew;
For the fond Graces form'd her easy mien,
And heaven's soft azure in her eye was seen.
She seem'd a rose-bud, when it first receives
The genial sun in its expanding leaves;
For now she enter'd those important years,
When the full bosom swells with hopes and fears;
When conscious nature prompts the secret sigh,
And sheds sweet languor o'er the melting eye;
When nobler toys the female heart trepan,
And dolls rejected, yield their place to man.
Beneath a father's care Serena grew;
The good Sir Gilbert, to his country true,
A faithful Whig, who, zealous for the state,
In freedom's service led the loud debate;
Deny your artless bard the laurel crown,
He still shall triumph, if ye deign to spread
Your sweeter myrtle round his honour'd head.
In your bright circle young Serena grew;
A lovelier nymph the pencil never drew;
For the fond Graces form'd her easy mien,
And heaven's soft azure in her eye was seen.
She seem'd a rose-bud, when it first receives
The genial sun in its expanding leaves;
For now she enter'd those important years,
When the full bosom swells with hopes and fears;
When conscious nature prompts the secret sigh,
And sheds sweet languor o'er the melting eye;
When nobler toys the female heart trepan,
And dolls rejected, yield their place to man.
Beneath a father's care Serena grew;
The good Sir Gilbert, to his country true,
A faithful Whig, who, zealous for the state,
In freedom's service led the loud debate;
