Classic Poem

Dear, lovely Sylvia ! fairest of the fair;
Pride of my muse, and object of my care!
Propitious hear; nor, blooming maid! complain,
To find unequal to your praise my strain.
With ease I paint the mazy prattling rill,
The woods and tow'rs that crown the craggy hill;
The various blossoms that adorn the spring;
But Sylvia 's charms what raptur'd youth can sing?
What straining bard exalt his daring aim,
In just proportion to his lovely theme?
Your beauties crowd — which first shall grace my song,
Your blushing cheeks, or pretty lisping tongue?
Those blushing cheeks where modest charms gambol;
That lisping tongue, which steals the ravisb'd soul;
Your brow smooth-polish'd, or your bosom fair,
Or flowing tresses of your silver hair?
Your shapely leg, or still more shapely thigh,
Or the mild radiance of your lust'rous eye?
Shall I ransack the grave for blooming maids?
For glowing virgins search th' Elysian shades?
Rouse from dark night the bright Laconian dame;
Or the chaste object of Apollo's flame?
Can Spartan H ELEN , D APHNE , blushing fair!
With thee in charms or modesty compare?
No; let them rest conceal'd from mortal view,
In all but fame inferior to you;
Nor long in that, if flowing numbers save
From blue oblivion, and the dusky grave;
If wit and worth distinguish'd honours claim,
And heav'nly shape entitle maids to fame.
Shall I bring down from Atlas ' shady height,
Where blest immortals wanton in delight,
Where nectar circles as the Thund'rer nods;
The happy fair that charm the happy gods?
Expose to sight the ruddy Cyprian queen,
With Graces dancing on th' enamel'd green?
Bid chaste D IANA stalk, with maiden pride,
Athwart the lawn, with quiver by her side;
Her virgin tresses floating loose behind,
Kiss'd by each gale, and rais'd by ev'ry wind?
Bid all that's grave, majestic, noble, wise,
Beam forth effulgent from M INERVA 's eyes?
Stamp female grandeur on Queen J UNO 's brow?
On H EBE 's cheek display the rose's hue?
Vain were the care — for not the Queen of love,
Or sister-wife of all-controuling J OVE ;
Or she that stately scours the grassy plain,
And counts her days by spotted lynxes slain;
Or she that pours (when gods expand their soul)
The sparkling nectar from the copious bowl;
Or she that dares paternal thunder wield,
And urge the chariot thro' the martial field;
Or equal worth, or equal beauty, share
With thee all-lovely, all-accomplish'd fair!

But why in vain produce my tortur'd rhime,
Abuse your patience, and consume your time?
One single verse will better paint your charms,
You, only you, are worthy D AMON 's arms.