Not Radclyffe's brush did e'er design Black Forests, half so black as mine, The Chinese cake dispers'd a ray Of darkness, like the light of Day Yet urchin pride sustain'd me still, "No holy Luke help'd me to paint, But colours came !-like morning light, With gorgeous hues displacing night, Or Spring's enliven'd scene: At once the sable shades withdrew; My trees extremely green. And wash'd by my cosmetic brush, How Beauty's cheek began to blush; With lock of auburn stain (Not Goldsmith's Auburn)-nut-brown hair, That made her loveliest of the fair; Not "loveliest of the plain!" Her lips were of vermilion hue; Love in her eyes, and Prussian blue, A young Pygmalion, I ador'd The maids I made-but time was stor'd Perspective dawn'd-and soon I saw My houses stand against its law; And "keeping" all unkept! My beauties were no longer things But horrors to be wept! Ah! why did knowledge ope my eyes? It only serves to hint, What grave defects and wants are mine; That I'm no Hilton in design In nature no Dewint! Thrice happy time !-Art's early days! When o'er each deed with sweet self-praise, Narcissus-like I hung! When great Rembrandt but little seem'd, And such Old Masters all were deem'd As nothing to the young! A FAIRY TALE. ON Hounslow heath-and close beside the road, And built like Mr. Birkbeck's, all of wood; The walls of white, the window-shutters green ; Four wheels it had at North, South, East, and West, (Tho' now at rest) On which it used to wander to and fro, Because its master ne'er maintain'd a rider, Like those who trade in Paternoster Row; But made his business travel for itself, Till he had made his pelf, And then retired-if one may call it so, Perchance, the very race and constant riot Of stages, long and short, which thereby ran, Of his now sedentary caravan; Perchance, he lov'd the ground because 'twas common, And so he might impale a strip of soil, That furnish'd, by his toil, Some dusty greens, for him and his old woman;— But, tir'd of always looking at the coaches, The same to come,-when they had seen them one day! And, used to brisker life, both man and wife Began to suffer NUE's approaches, And feel retirement like a long wet Sunday, So, having had some quarters of school-breeding, But setting out where others nigh have done, |