Song 2 -

As once a Grecian maiden wove
Her garland mid the summer bowers,
There stood a youth with eyes of love
To watch her while she wreathed the flowers.
The youth was skilled in Painting's art,
But ne'er had studied woman's brow,
Nor knew what magic hues the heart
Can shed o'er Nature's charms till now.


Blest be Love to whom we owe
All that 's fair and bright below.

His hand had pictured many a rose
And sketched the rays that light the brook;
But what were these or what were those
To woman's blush, to woman's look?
" Oh, if such magic power there be,
" This, this, " he cried, " is all my prayer,
" To paint that living light I see
" And fix the soul that sparkles there. "
His prayer as soon as breathed was heard;
His pallet touched by Love grew warm,
And Painting saw her hues transferred
From lifeless flowers to woman's form.
Still as from tint to tint he stole,
The fair design shone out the more,
And there was now a life, a soul,
Where only colors glowed before.

Then first carnations learned to speak
And lilies into life were brought;
While mantling on the maiden's cheek
Young roses kindled into thought.
Then hyacinths their darkest dyes
Upon the locks of Beauty threw;
And violets transformed to eyes
Inshrined a soul within their blue.


Blest be Love to whom we owe,
All that's fair and bright below.
Song was cold and Painting dim
Till Song and Painting learned from him.
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