Thus in the temple having said my pray'r,
Another image I discover'd there;
"A tender maid (said Philomel) does claim
That sacred shrine, and Pity is her name;
In all the court none knows so well the art
To help a lover, or to save a heart:
Her all-commanding int'rest cannot fail;
Gain but her friendship, and you must prevail
Now you shall see the fairest thing alive;
Come on with me, and by your carriage strive
To please a lady of the nicest taste,
Whose air is prudent as her life is chaste,
Call'd Rosalinda; could you gain her grace,
Well might you bless the goddess of this piace;
Take care your sense and modesty to show,
She hates a pert, insipid, prating beau."
Then straight she led me to a spacious room,
Where Rosalinda sat in beauty's gloom;
At the first sight a shiv'ring pain I found
In all my veins; my heart receiv'd a wound.
I dreaded much to speak, my voice was broke,
Yet when my sighs permitted, thus I spoke;
"Accept my service, thou celestial fair,
And oh! relieve a dying lover's care;
To your commands my painful heart I bind,
And have for ever liberty resign'd."
She made no answer, and I soon retired,
To press not daring, tho' by love inspir'd;
But still herimage dwelt within my breast,
Too excellent to be in verse expressed.
Her head is round, and flaxen is her hair,
Her eye-brows darker, but her forehead fair;
Straight is her nose; her eyes like emeralds bright;
Her well-made cheeks are lovely red and white;
Short is her mouth, her lips are made to kiss,
Rosy and full, and prodigal of bliss;
Her teeth like ivory are, well-sized and even,
And to her breath ethereal sweets are given;
Her hands are snowy white, and small her waist,
And what is yet untold is sure the best.
Had Jove himself beheld this heavenly fair,
Calisto never had been made a star;
He ne'er had borne Europa on his back,
Nor turn'd a mortal for Alcmena's sake;
Nor tried the virtue of a golden shower,
To enter Danae's well defended tower:
For all their beauties had too mean appear'd,
With Rosalinda's matchless charms compar'd.
Soon I return'd her heavenly form to view,
For still my wound's impression deeper grew;
And thus I spoke. "0 nature's boasted pride,
For torments caus'd by you some cure provide;
Prais'd be thy fate, and ever bless'd the hour,
That made me subject to your lawful pow'r;
Not Anthony could greater passion boast,
Tho' for one woman the whole world was lost."