Page:The works of Anna Laetitia Barbauld volume 1.djvu/226

142 "Dost thou not see,—or art thou blind with age,— How many Graces on her eyelids sit, Linking those viewless chains that bind the soul, And sharpening smooth discourse with pointed wit; How many where she moves attendant wait, The slow smooth step inspire, or high commanding gait? "Each one a several charm around her throws, Some to attract, some powerful to repell, Some mix the honeyed speech with winning smiles, Or call wild Laughter from his antic cell; Severer some, to strike with awful fear Each rude licentious tongue that wounds the virtuous ear. "Not one of them is of thy scythe in dread, Or for thy cankered malice careth aught, Thy shaking fingers never can untwist The magic caestus by their cunning wrought; And I, their knight, their bidding must obey, For where the Graces are, will Love for ever stay.