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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=424414" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To A Young Lady</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In vain, fair Maid, you ask in vain,<br>My pen should try th' advent'rous strain,<br>And following truth's unalter'd law,<br>Attempt your character to draw.<br>I own indeed, that generous mind<br>That weeps the woes of human kind,<br>That heart by friendship's charms inspired,<br>That soul with sprightly fancy fired,<br>The air of life, the vivid eye,<br>The flowing wit, the keen reply--<br>To paint these beauties as they shine,<br>Might ask a nobler pen than mine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Yet what sure strokes can draw the Fair,<br>Who vary, like the fleeting air,<br>Like willows bending to the force,<br>Where'er the gales direct their course,<br>Opposed to no misfortune's power,<br>And changing with the changing hour.<br>Now gaily sporting on the plain,<br>They charm the grove with pleasing strain;<br>Anon disturb'd, they know not why,<br>The sad tear trembles in their eye:<br>Led through vain life's uncertain dance,<br>The dupes of whim, the slaves of chance.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>From me, not famed for much goodnature,<br>Expect not compliment, but satire;<br>To draw your picture quite unable,<br>Instead of fact accept a Fable.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>One morn, in Æsop's noisy time,<br>When all things talk'd, and talk'd in rhyme,<br>A cloud exhaled by vernal beams<br>Rose curling o'er the glassy streams.<br>The dawn her orient blushes spread,<br>And tinged its lucid skirts with red,<br>Wide waved its folds with glitt'ring dies,<br>And gaily streak'd the eastern skies;<br>Beneath, illumed with rising day,<br>The sea's broad mirror floating lay.<br>Pleased, o'er the wave it hung in air,<br>Survey'd its glittering glories there,<br>And fancied, dress'd in gorgeous show,<br>Itself the brightest thing below:<br>For clouds could raise the vaunting strain,<br>And not the fair alone were vain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Yet well it knew, howe'er array'd,<br>That beauty, e'en in clouds, might fade,<br>That nothing sure its charms could boast<br>Above the loveliest earthly toast;<br>And so, like them, in early dawn<br>Resolved its picture should be drawn,<br>That when old age with length'ning day<br>Should brush the vivid rose away,<br>The world should from the portrait own<br>Beyond all clouds how bright it shone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Hard by, a painter raised his stage,<br>Far famed, the Copley[1] of his age.<br>So just a form his colours drew,<br>Each eye the perfect semblance knew;<br>Yet still on every blooming face<br>He pour'd the pencil's flowing grace;<br>Each critic praised the artist rare,<br>Who drew so like, and yet so fair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>To him, high floating in the sky<br>Th' elated Cloud advanced t' apply.<br>The painter soon his colours brought,<br>The Cloud then sat, the artist wrought;<br>Survey'd her form, with flatt'ring strictures,<br>Just as when ladies sit for pictures,<br>Declared &quot;whatever art can do,<br>My utmost skill shall try for you:<br>But sure those strong and golden dies<br>Dipp'd in the radiance of the skies,<br>Those folds of gay celestial dress,<br>No mortal colours can express.<br>Not spread triumphal o'er the plain,<br>The rainbow boasts so fair a train,<br>Nor e'en the morning sun so bright,<br>Who robes his face in heav'nly light.<br>To view that form of angel make,<br>Again Ixion would mistake,[2]<br>And justly deem so fair a prize,<br>The sovereign Mistress of the skies,&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>He said, and drew a mazy line,<br>With crimson touch his pencils shine,<br>The mingling colours sweetly fade,<br>And justly temper light and shade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>He look'd; the swelling Cloud on high<br>With wider circuit spread the sky,<br>Stretch'd to the sun an ampler train,<br>And pour'd new glories on the main.<br>As quick, effacing every ground,<br>His pencil swept the canvas round,<br>And o'er its field, with magic art,<br>Call'd forth new forms in every part.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>But now the sun, with rising ray,<br>Advanced with speed his early way;<br>Each colour takes a differing die,<br>The orange glows, the purples fly.<br>The artist views the alter'd sight,<br>And varies with the varying light;<br>In vain! a sudden gust arose,<br>New folds ascend, new shades disclose,<br>And sailing on with swifter pace,<br>The Cloud displays another face.<br>In vain the painter, vex'd at heart,<br>Tried all the wonders of his art;<br>In vain he begg'd, her form to grace,<br>One moment she would keep her place:<br>For, &quot;changing thus with every gale,<br>Now gay with light, with gloom now pale,<br>Now high in air with gorgeous train,<br>Now settling on the darken'd main,<br>With looks more various than the moon;<br>A French coquette were drawn as soon.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>He spoke; again the air was mild,<br>The Cloud with opening radiance smiled;<br>With canvas new his art he tries,<br>Anew he joins the glitt'ring dies;<br>Th' admiring Cloud with pride beheld<br>Her image deck the pictured field,<br>And colours half-complete adorn<br>The splendor of the painted morn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>When lo, the stormy winds arise,<br>Deep gloom invests the changing skies;<br>The sounding tempest shakes the plain,<br>And lifts in billowy surge the main.<br>The Cloud's gay dies in darkness fade,<br>Its folds condense in thicker shade,<br>And borne by rushing blasts, its form<br>With lowering vapour joins the storm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Trumbull">John Trumbull</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=424414" data-title="To A Young Lady de John Trumbull" data-description="In vain, fair Maid, you ask in vain,
My pen should try th' advent'rous strain,
And following truth's unalter'd law,
Attempt your character to draw.
I own indeed, that generous mind
That weeps the woes of human kind,
That heart by friendship's char..."></div>
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