Mine, tho' this earth's mistaken, blinded race,
Despise my guardian aid, my name debase j
Nor breathe one vow to that cetherial friend,
On whom the colours of their life depend.
But to thy innocence I now display
The mystic marvels of my secret sway;
And tell in this thy fate deciding hour,
My race, my name, my office, and my power.

First, hear what wonders human forms contain!:
And learn the .texture of the female brain!
By Nature's care in curious order spread,
This living net is fram'd of tender thread;
Fine as thy hand, some favour'd youth to grace,
Knits with nice art to form the mimic lace.
Within the centre of this fretted dome,
Her secret tower! her heav'n constructed home f
Soft Sensibility, sweet Beauty's soul!
Keeps her coy state, and animates the whole,
Invisible as Harmony, who springs,
Wak'd by young Zephyr, from ^Eolian strings:

Her subtle power, more delicately fine,
Dwells in each thread, and lives in every line,
Whose quick vibrations, without end, impart
Pleasure and pain to the responsive heart.
As Zephyr's breath the willing chord inspires,
Whispering soft music to the trembliag wires,
So, with fond care, I regulate, unseen,
The softer movements of this nice machine;
Temper, my earthly name, the nurse of Love f
But call'd Sophuosonye in realms above!
When lovely Woman, perfect at her birth,
Blest with her early charms the wond'ring earth,
Her soul, in sweet simplicity array'd,
Nor shar'd my guidance, nor required my aid.
Her tender frame, nor confident nor coy,
Had every fibre tun' d to gentle joy:
No vain caprices swell'd her pouting lip;
No gold produced a mercenary trip;
Soft innocence inspir'd her willing kiss,
Her love was nature, and her life was bliss.

Guide of his reason, not his passion's prey.
She tam'd the savage, Man! who blest her sway.
No jarring wishes fill'd the world with woes,
But youth was ecstacy, and age repose.

The powers of Mischief met in dark divan,
To blast these mighty joys of envied Man:
The fiends, at their infernal leader's call,
Fram'd their base wiles in Demogorgon's hall,
In the deep centre of that dreadful dome,
A hellish cauldron boil'd with fiery foam:
In this wide urn the circling spirits threw
Ingredients harsh, and hideous to the view;
While the terrific master of the spell
With adjurations shook the depths of Hell,
And in dark words unmeet for mortal ear,
Bade the dire offspring of his art appear.
Forth from the vase, with sullen murmurs, broke
A towering mass of pestilential smoke:
Emerging from the fog of thickest night,
A phantom swells, by slow degrees, to sight;

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