Lines On A Grotto, At Crux-Easton, Hants.

Here shunning idleness at once and praise, This radiant pile nine rural sisters raise; The glittering emblem of each spotless dame, Clear as her soul, and shining as her frame; Beauty which nature only can impart, And such a polish as disgraces art; But Fate disposed them in this humble sort, And hid in deserts what would charm a court.