195 As yon gay clouds, which canopy the skies,
Change
their thin forms, and lose their lucid dyes;
So
the soft bloom of Beauty’s vernal charms
Fades
in our eyes, and withers in our arms.
—Bright
as the silvery plume, or pearly shell,
200 The snow-white rose, or lily’s virgin bell,
The
fair HELLEBORAS attractive shone,
Warm’d
every Sage, and every Shepherd won.—
Round
the gay sisters press the enamour’d bands,
And
seek with soft solicitude their hands.
205 —Ere while how chang’d!—in
dim suffusion lies
The
glance divine, that lighten’d in their eyes;
[Helleborus. I. 201. Many males, many females. The Helleborus niger, or Christmas rose, has a large beautiful white flower, adorned with a circle of tubular two-lipp’d nectarics. After impregnation the flower undergoes a remarkable change, the nectaries drop off, but the white corol remains, and gradually becomes quite green. This curious metamorphose of the corol, when the nectaries fall off, seems to shew that the white juices of the corol were before carried to the nectaries, for the purpose of producing honey: because when these nectaries fall off, no more of the white juice is secreted in the corol, but it becomes green, and degenerates into a calyx. See note on Lonicera. The nectary of the Tropaeolum, garden nasturtion, is a coloured horn growing from the calyx.]
Cold
are those lips, where smiles seductive hung,
And
the weak accents linger on their tongue;
Each
roseat feature fades to livid green,—
210 —Disgust with face averted shuts the
scene.
So
from his gorgeous throne, which awed the world,
The
mighty Monarch of the east was hurl’d,
To
dwell with brutes beneath the midnight storm,
By
Heaven’s just vengeance changed in mind and form.
215 —Prone to the earth He bends his brow
superb,
Crops
the young floret and the bladed herb;
Lolls
his red tongue, and from the reedy side
Of
slow Euphrates laps the muddy tide.
Long
eagle-plumes his arching neck invest,
220 Steal round his arms, and clasp his sharpen’d
breast;
Dark
brinded hairs in bristling ranks, behind,
Rise
o’er his back, and rustle in the wind,
Clothe
his lank sides, his shrivel’d limbs surround,
And
human hands with talons print the ground.
225 Silent in shining troops the Courtier-throng
Pursue
their monarch as he crawls along;
E’en
Beauty pleads in vain with smiles and tears,
Nor
Flattery’s self can pierce his pendant ears.