Ovid. a. U. C. 711—771

'Midst many a nameless son of vulgar earth, Sulmo could boast she gave her Ovid birth. Together twin'd, his learned brow displays The lover's myrtle and the poet's bays. Though each fair science stor'd his fertile mind, Still rov'd his copious fancy unconfin'd. To fix his thoughts on Themis' crabbed book, What fruitless pains his anxious father took! While softer Cytherea smiling cry'd, "To learn my laws, be all thy care apply'd." As sudden corruscations quick and bright, His wit surprises with a dazzling light; Whate'er the subject, barren, rude, or mean, That fire emits its rays, and gilds the scene: On Pontus' dreary shore his breast it warms, Nor loses e'en in banishment its charms. In vain thy plaintive numbers were address'd, To soften one unmitigable breast; But be thy crime what malice may believe, Worse was his crime, who knew not to forgive. Led from his boyhood through the Cyprian school, In love's soft mysteries he instructs by rule; Master of wiles that lure the amorous heart, Nature's first impulse feels the chains of art. Avoid the dangerous teacher, maids, avoid! Pleasing too much, you please to be destroy'd: But, melting virgins, most decline the song, Lest she who reads should be no virgin long: Timely forewarn'd, from the smooth verse refrain! 'Tis honied poison, 'tis delicious bane. The lover's eye, your breasts when passions swell, The unprompted secret of themselves will tell. Fair nymphs, whom truth, and genuine blushes arm, Disdain a taught sophisticating charm! In adamantine links THIS charm will bind,— A graceful outside, with a cultur'd mind; And half your care, the former to improve, Turn'd to the heart, secures the soul of love. Rapture's a hasty transient flame at best, But warm esteem an ever-biding guest: Rapture, a meteor, at its birth expires, Esteem new vigour with its age acquires: She who the first prefers, prefers amiss; A moment's transport, to a life of bliss. Why rolls in vain, the ever-rolling eye? Why fails the smile rehears'd, the obedient sigh? Think you, can flaming cinnaber outspeak The true suffusion of th' ingenuous cheek? Or could the wise CREATING POWER intend His daintiest work for minerals to mend? A mien, compos'd with all an artist's care, Invites not, but exclaims aloud, BEWARE! Behold the fruitless preparation lost: She least inspires a flame, who feigns it most. Beauty's false friends, avaunt! or scorn'd, repair Where riot roars, and orgied torches glare! Mark, how the flowery tribes preserve unmix'd The tints, wise nature on their birth has fix'd: No garish die the blue-vein'd violet shews, Nor vies the bashful snow-drop with the rose. To no one colour various beauty's bound; What different charms in different hues are found! Fire to the eye let ruddy cheeks impart; But pale mild languor melts into the heart. Enough to charm, the modest ear may choose, In the chaste labours of gay Ovid's muse. When themes sublime more lofty strains demand, The swelling chords confess a statelier hand: In floods of day, see Sol's bright palace rise; See his rash son hurl'd flaming down the skies: How Pindus, Athos, hot Olympus glow! How hisses Rhodope through piles of snow! See, the great sire of gods and men alarm'd, And 'gainst combustion, with combustion arm'd.— His sounding pinion holds a temperate flight, Skims not the ground, nor soars beyond the sight; More skill'd to paint the passions, than to move, Youth will admire him, wiser age approve.