Classic Poem

On an unsuccessful attempt to draw Lord BOYLE's picture.

In vain, with mimic skill, my pencil tries
To paint the life that sparkles in those eyes.
What art, what rules of symmetry can trace
That air of wit, that bloom, and modest grace?
What soft degrees of shade or light express
The inward worth those speaking looks confess?
'Tis more than beauty here that charms the sight,
And gives our minds an elegant delight:
Were virtue seen by mortal eyes, she'd wear
Those peaceful smiles, and that ingaging air.