And first, the fair PARABOLA[229] behold, Her timid arms, with virgin blush, unfold! Though, on one _focus_ fixed, her eyes betray A heart that glows with love’s resistless sway; 110 Though, climbing oft, she strives with bolder grace Round his tall neck to clasp her fond embrace, Still ere she reach it, from his polished side Her trembling hands in devious _Tangents_ glide. Not thus HYPERBOLA;[230]—with subtlest art 115 The blue-eyed wanton plays her changeful part; Quick as her _conjugated_ axes move Through every posture of luxurious love, Her sportive limbs with easiest grace expand; Her charms unveiled provoke the lover’s hand; 120 Unveiled, except in many a filmy ray, Where light _Asymptotes_[231] o’er her bosom play, Nor touch her glowing skin, nor intercept the day. Yet why, ELLIPSIS,[232] at thy fate repine? More lasting bliss, securer joys are thine. 125 Though to each fair his treacherous wish may stray, Though each, in turn, may seize a transient sway, ’Tis thine with mild coercion to restrain, Twine round his struggling heart, and bind with endless chain. Thus, happy France! in thy regenerate land, 130 Where TASTE with RAPINE saunters hand in hand; Where, nursed in seats of innocence and bliss, REFORM greets TERROR with fraternal kiss; Where mild PHILOSOPHY first taught to scan The _wrongs_ of PROVIDENCE, and _rights_ of MAN; 135 Where MEMORY broods o’er FREEDOM’S earlier scene, The _Lantern_ bright, and brighter _Guillotine_; _Three_ gentle swains evolve their longing arms, And woo the young REPUBLIC’S virgin charms; And though proud _Barras_ with the fair succeed, 140 Though not in vain th’ Attorney _Rewbell_ plead, Oft doth th’ impartial nymph their love forego, To clasp thy crooked shoulders, blest _Lepaux_! So, with dark dirge athwart the blasted heath, _Three_ Sister Witches hailed the appalled Macbeth. 145 So, the _Three_ Fates beneath grim Pluto’s roof, Strain the dun warp, and weave the murky woof; ’Till deadly Atropos with fatal shears Slits the thin promise of the expected years, While ’midst the dungeon’s gloom or battle’s din, 150 Ambition’s victims perish, as they spin. Thus, the _Three_ Graces on the Idalian green Bow with deft homage to Cythera’s Queen; Her polished arms with pearly bracelets deck, Part her light locks, and bare her ivory neck; 155 Round her fair form ethereal odours throw, And teach th’ unconscious zephyrs where to blow, Floats the thin gauze, and glittering as they play, The bright folds flutter in phlogistic day,.