This faint resemblance of thy charms, (Though strong as mortal art could give) My constant heart of fear disarms, Revives my hopes, and bids me live. 2. Here I can trace the locks of gold, Which round thy snowy forehead wave, The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould, The lips which made me _Beauty's_ slave. 3. Here I can trace--ah no! that eye, Whose azure floats in liquid fire, Must all the painter's art defy, And bid him from the task retire. 4. Here I behold, its beauteous hue, But where's the beam of soft desire? Which gave a lustre to its blue, Love, only love, could e'er inspire. 5. Sweet copy! far more dear to me, Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art, Than all the living forms could be, Save her, who plac'd thee next my heart. 6. She plac'd it, sad with needless fear, Lest time might shake my wavering soul, Unconscious that her image there, Held every sense in fast controul. 7. Through hours, through years, through time 'twill cheer, My hope in gloomy moments raise; In life's last conflict 't'will appear, And meet my fond, expiring gaze. * * * * * ON THE DEATH OF MR. FOX, THE FOLLOWING ILLIBERAL IMPROMPTU APPEARED IN THE MORNING POST. "Our Nation's foes, lament on _Fox's_ death, "But bless the hour, when PITT resign'd his breath; "These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth unclue, "We give the palm, where Justice points its due." _To which the Author of these Pieces, sent the subjoined Reply, for Insertion in the_ MORNING CHRONICLE.--