Through those fair scenes, where yet she owes

Superior charms to BROCKMAN's art,

Where, crowned with elegant repose,
He cherishes the social heart-

Through those fair scenes we'll wander wild, And on yon pastured mountains rest; Come, brother dear! come, Nature's child! With all her simple virtues blest.

The sun far-seen on distant towers,
And clouding groves and peopled seas,

And ruins pale of princely bowers

On BEACHBOROUGH's airy heights shall please.

Hertfordshire. Nature has formed a Bee apparently feeding on the breast of the flower with so much exactness, that it is impossible, at a very small distance, to distinguish the imposition. For this purpose she has observed an economy different from what is found in most other flowers, and has laid the petals horizon

Nor lifeless there the lonely scene;

The little labourer of the hive,

From flower to flower, from green to green, Murmurs, and makes the wild alive.

See, on that flowrets velvet breast,
How close the busy vagrant lies!

His thin-wrought plume, his downy breast,
Th' ambrosial gold that swells his thighs!

Regardless, whilst we wander near,
Thrifty of time, his task he plies;
Or sees he no intruder near?

And rest in sleep his weary eyes?

tally. The genus of the Orchis, or Satyrion, she seems professedly to have made use of for her paintings, and on the different species has drawn the perfect forms of different insects, such as Bees, Flies, Butterflies, &c.

Perhaps his fragrant load may bind

His limbs; we'll set the captive freeI sought the living Bee to find,

And found the picture of a Bee.

Attentive to our trifling selves,

From thence we plan the rule of all; Thus NATURE with the fabled elves

We rank, and these her Sports we call.

Be far, my friends, from you, from me,
Th' unhallowed term, the thought profane,
That LIFE'S MAJESTIC SOURCE may

In idle Fancy's trifling vein.

Remember still, 'tis NATURE's plan
Religion in your love to find;

And know, for this, she first in man
Inspired the imitative mind.

be

As conscious that affection grows,

Pleased with the pencil's mimic power*; That power with leading hand she shows, And paints a Bee upon a flower.

Mark, how that rooted mandrake wears
His human feet, his human hands!
Oft, as his shapely form he tears,
Aghast the frighted ploughman stands.

See where, in yonder orient stone,
She seems ev'n with herself at strife,
While fairer from her hand is shown
The pictured, than the native life.

The well-known Fables of the Painter and the Statuary that fell in love with objects of their own creation, plainly arose from the idea of that attachment, which follows the imitation of agreeable objects, to the objects imitated.

HELVETIA'S rocks, SABRINA's waves, Still many a shining pebble bear, Where oft her studious hand engraves

The perfect form, and leaves it there.

O long, my PAXTON, boast her art;
And long her laws of love fulfil:
To thee she gave her hand and heart,
To thee, her kindness and her skill!