Ode III. to Miss

When first thy form attracts the sight In Grace and Love's sweet armour drest, What transport moves each feeling breast That Grace can charm or Love delight! The eye instinct with placid fire, The rosy bloom of health, Each power to animate desire, Each gift of Nature's wealth.

The richest these applause may claim; But what this prize exceeds Is that, O Fair, thy sweetest shame Provokes the praise it dreads. The ready blush that warms thy cheek When on thee darts the raptured eye With eager gaze.—Thou musest why! Shunning the fame thy peers so seek.

O Modesty, where art thou flown, The fair's diviner grace and boast? To Albion art thou ever lost? Thy meek attendance ever gone? Sincerity devoid of guile And timid Innocence, The cordial glance, the winning smile, The comely pride of Sense? Yet thou, O Rose of May, disdain (Be heard the Muses prayer) To join vain Folly's fickle train, Tho' clad in Fashion's glare. Partake so may some favoured youth The blameless pleasures of thy life; And all your care and all your strife Be who more love shall shew and truth.