Page:The works of Anna Laetitia Barbauld volume 1.djvu/224



Stella's brow as lately envious Time His crooked lines with iron pencil traced, That brow, erewhile like ivory tablets smooth, With Love's high trophies hung, and victories graced, Digging him little caves in every cell, And every dimple, once where Love was wont to dwell; He spied the God: and wondered still to spy, Who higher held his torch in Time's despite; Nor seemed to care for aught that he could do. Then sternly thus he sought him thence to' affright: The sovereign boy entrenched in a smile, At his sour crabbed speech sat mocking all the while.