Page:Poems (Barbauld).djvu/61

Rh And from her lips no idle entence broke. Each nicer elegance of art he knew; Correctly fair, and regularly true. Her ready fingers plied with equal kill The pencil's tak, the needle, or the quill. So pois'd her feelings, o compos'd her oul, So ubject all to reaon's calm controul, One only paion, trong, and unconfin'd, Diturb'd the balance of her even mind: One paion rul'd depotic in her breat, In every word, and look, and thought confet: But that was love, and love delights to bles The generous tranports of a fond exces. On