When painters would by art express Beauty in unloveliness, Thee, Herodias' daughter, thee, They fittest subject take to be. They give thy form and features grace; your sport a saint had died. 47 LINES SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF TWO FEMALES BY LIONARDO DA VINCI. THE lady Blanch, regardless of all her lovers' fears, To the Urs'line convent hastens, and long the Abbess hears. "O Blanch, my child, repent ye of the courtly life ye lead." Blanch looked on a rose-bud and little seem'd to heed. She looked on the rose-bud, she looked round, and thought On all her heart had whisper'd, and all the Nun had taught. "I am worshipped by lovers, and brightly shines my fame, "All Christendom resoundeth the noble Blanch's name. "Nor shall I quickly wither like the rose-bud from the tree, "My queen-like graces shining when my beauty's gone from me. "But when the sculptur'd marble is raised o'er my head, 1 "And the matchless Blanch lies lifeless among the noble dead, "This saintly lady Abbess hath made me justly fear, "It nothing will avail me that I were worshipp'd here." LINES ON THE SAME PICTURE BEING REMOVED TO MAKE PLACE FOR A PORTRAIT OF A LADY BY TITIAN. WHO art thou, fair one, who usurp'st the place Of Blanch, the lady of the matchless grace? Come, fair and pretty, tell to me, Who, in thy life-time, thou might'st be. Thou pretty art and fair, But with the lady Blanch thou never must compare. No need for Blanch her history to tell; Whoever saw her face, they there did read it well. But when I look on thee, I only know There lived a pretty maid some hundred years ago. LINES ON THE CELEBRATED PICTURE BY LIONARDO DA VINCI, CALLED THE VIRGIN OF THE ROCKS. WHILE young John runs to greet The greater Infant's feet, The Mother standing by, with trembling passion Of devout admiration, Beholds the engaging mystic play, and pretty adoration; Nor knows as yet the full event Of those so low beginnings, From whence we date our winnings, But wonders at the intent Of those new rites, and what that strange childworship meant. But at her side An angel doth abide, With such a perfect joy |