Page:The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell (1833).djvu/134

6 O vers'd in arts! whose daring thoughts aspire To kindle clay with never-dying fire! Enjoy thy glory past, that gift was thine; The next thy creature meets, be fairly mine: And such a gift, a vengeance so design'd, As suits the counsel of a God to find; A pleasing bosom-cheat, a specious ill, Which felt they curse, yet covet still to feel.

He said, and Vulcan straight the sire commands, To temper mortar with ethereal hands; In such a shape to mould a rising fair, As virgin-goddesses are proud to wear; To make her eyes with diamond-water shine, And form her organs for a voice divine. 'Twas thus the sire ordain'd; the power obeyed; And work'd, and wonder'd at the work he made; The fairest, softest, sweetest frame beneath, Now made to seem, now more than seem, to breathe.

As Vulcan ends, the cheerful queen of charms Clasp'd the new-panting creature in her arms; From that embrace a fine complexion spread, Where mingled whiteness glow'd with softer red. Then in a kiss she breath'd her various arts, Of trifling prettily with wounded hearts; A mind for love, but still a changing mind; The lisp affected, and the glance design'd; The sweet confusing blush, the secret wink,