If e'er the pen of graceful Truth pourtray'd, In ever-blooming pride, the native charms Of sacred friendship; if, heaven impell'd, A mortal e'er could reach sublimest height On fancy's wing to soar, above the pitch Of ordinary praise, exploring all the treasures which await Fair friendship's name — Oh! Yearsley, it was thine! Thine was the task excelling, thine the power; To thee 'twas dedicate, and to thee given Ability to charm, delight, surprize! Celestial spirits surely hover'd round thee, When from thy pen sublime, in glowing tint, As from a Titian's hand, arose their sister friendship. Friendship! the fairest of the heav'nly train, Pleas'd they applauded, crown'd with choicest praise, Thy glorious self-originating work; Thy brows engirt with never-faded laurel, And twin'd the wreaths immortal. Enraptur'd fancy smil'd to see thee thus— All, all accord, and hail thee of the nine!
