The sacred influence of light appears.
These evils I deserve, and more . . . . Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon, Whose ear is ever open, and his eye Gracious to re-admit the suppliant.
It was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born child, All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies.
Taste this, and be henceforth among the Gods thyself a Goddess.
With a smile that glow'd Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.
It is for homely features to keep home,- They had their name thence; coarse complexions And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply The sampler and to tease the huswife's wool. What need a vermeil-tinctur'd lip for that, Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn?