Classic Poem

SISTER OF M ATILDA .

I F Matilda's gentle mind
Was in Beauty's veil enshrin'd:
If her smile no Art reprov'd:
If her pride was to be lov'd:
If, as open as the day,
With endearment she could play:
If her blush was Nature's hue,
And the heart its captive drew:
In the race that Fanny bore,
Love and Praise have room for more,
Whose hereditary arms
Are of Emily the charms.
For Thalia she could sit,
When her spirits flow in wit ,
Bright with animated ease;
Envied gift, that still can please.
To the harp in Beauty's hand
Genius prompts the lov'd command;
Emily is then a Muse,
Wrapt in Heaven's inspiring views.
In her eye the note can speak,
It has breath upon her cheek.
On the hand that struck the lyre
With electric spirit's fire,
Nature's breathing life has thrown
Grace and freedom like her own.
Touch'd as in a magic dream
Is the portrait's vary'd theme,
And the light of beauty's ray
On the shifted wreath can play.
Oh, that I can learn from her
A resemblance to confer
On a portrait which the Muse
Pants to catch, and fears to lose!
Then herself — and Love the guide,
In a copy should reside,
That should emulate her fame,
And be known without a name .
But the charm and spirit there
To delineate I despair;
She must on the colours breathe,
Guide the hand, and bless the wreath.
Tell us, Nature, is it meant
We should lose what you have sent?
Can it throw its pearls away
On the follies of the day?
Can its pride with scorn reprove
Such a destiny to Love?
Can its temper, and its heart,
Learn the discipline of Art?
Or, as when its plume shall bend,
Change its habit and its friend?
Shall the dissipated hour
Crush the mind, or shake its power?
Fear, be dumb! — it cannot be:
Emily! I 'm sure of thee.
Native is the filial pride
In a Genius and a Guide,
Who in spirit, grace, or worth,
Is — the Fairy of the Birth .