Art she had none, yet wanted none; For nature did that want supply: So rich in treasures of her own, She might our boasted stores defy: Such noble vigour did her verse adorn, That it seem'd borrow'd where 'twas only born. Her morals too were in her bosom bred. By great examples daily fed, What in the best of books, her father's life, she read: And to be read herself she need not fear; Each test, and every light, her Muse will bear, Though Epictetus with his lamp were there. Even love (for love sometimes her Muse express'd) Was but a lambent flame which play'd about her breast: Light as the vapours of a morning dream, So cold herself, whilst she such warmth express'd, 'Twas Cupid bathing in Diana's stream. VI. Born to the spacious empire of the Nine, One would have thought she should have been content To manage well that mighty government; But what can young ambitious souls confine? To the next realm she stretch'd her sway, For Painture near adjoining lay, A plenteous province, and alluring prey. A Chamber of Dependencies was framed, (As conquerors will never want pretence, When arm'd, to justify the offence) And the whole fief, in right of poetry, she claim'd. The country open lay without defence: For poets frequent inroads there had made, And perfectly could represent The shape, the face, with every lineament, And all the large domains which the Dumb Sister sway'd; All bow'd beneath her government, Received in triumph wheresoe'er she went. Her pencil drew whate'er her soul design'd, And oft the happy draft surpass'd the image in her mind. The sylvan scenes of herds and flocks, And fruitful plains and barren rocks, Of shallow brooks that flow'd so clear, The bottom did the top appear: Of deeper, too, and ampler floods, Which, as in mirrors, show'd the woods; Of lofty trees, with sacred shades, And pérspectives of pleasant glades, Where nymphs of brightest form appear, And shaggy satyrs standing near, Which them at once admire and fear. The ruins, too, of some majestic piece, Boasting the power of ancient Rome or Greece, Whose statues, friezes, columns broken lie, And, though defaced, the wonder of the eye; What nature, art, bold fiction e'er durst frame, Her forming hand gave feature to the name. So strange a concourse ne'er was seen before, But when the peopled ark the whole creation bore. VII. The scene then changed: with bold erected look Our martial king the sight with reverence strook: For not content to express his outward part, Her hand call'd out the image of his heart: