An Acrostic

Wm. J.

Bright Daphne fled as Phoebus close pursu'd,
And lo! the nymph transform'd a laurel stood;
Crown’d with this trophy, thence his Godhead shone,
O! poor embellishment and vain renown!
No laurel, fair one, e’re cou'd heal thy frown

Upon Miss Nanny Molly Bacon

Wm. J.

The sun who rolls his orb on high,
And all things sees beneath the sky
Beauty like thine, sweet nymph, ne’er view’d
From Zembla’s Hills to Ganges Flood.

Cou’d mortal e’er boast charms like thine,
or child of earth look so divine?
Those coral lips, those lilly arms
Ne’er ow’d to dirty clay their charms.

From thy dear eyes quick lightning streams,
Bright as the sun’s all piercing beams,
And like the sun’s too potent ray
They kill their thousands in a day.

(continued ....)

© Image Copyright
Used with the kind permission of Special Collections, Leeds University. Ref: Brotherton Collection MS Lt q 20.


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