Classic Poem

WRITTEN ON SEEING MR. BAYLY'S STATUTE OF EVE AT THE FOUNTAIN .

Nay , 'tis no sculptured art, 'tis she, 'tis she,
The fatal fair, whose bright betraying smile
Robb'd man of Paradise, but taught him love!
Oh! more than seraph beauty! Even Man
Is but " a little lower than the angels, "
While Woman, lovely Woman, all-divine,
Transcends their glittering hierarchy. This
Well knew the subtle tempter, who, albeit
Himself the semblance of a child of light,
Could wear, yet chose a brighter minister
To lure to the fond ruin. Ah! on such
A face as this our primal sire might well
Gaze away Eden. Who that hung on lips
Like those and listen'd to the utterings
Which made them eloquent, could still desire
The presence of angelic visitants,
Or sigh for cherub warblings? Who that felt
That soft heart beat to his, while o'er that neck,
Lock'd in love's fond embrace, his fingers twined,
Like ring-doves nestling round the tree of life,
Could deem she lured to death?

Yet, yet she smiles,
Yet o'er her own sweet image hangs enamour'd;
While still and stedfastly as she, we gaze,
And share her wondering rapture; deeming her
Scarcely less vital than ourselves, and breathless
Only from admiration! Beautiful!
The " statue which enchants the world " no more
Boasts undivided homage. Britain claims
The laurel for her son, whose genius bids
Its sweet creations start to life and light,
Lovely as Pallas when the brain of Jove
Teem'd with divine imaginings.