Ariste by Robert Southey

Let ancient stories round the painter's art,
Who stole from many a maid his Venus' charms,
Till warm devotion fired each gazer's heart
And every bosom bounded with alarms.
He culled the beauties of his native isle,
From some the blush of beauty's vermeil dyes,
From some the lovely look, the winning smile,
From some the languid lustre of the eyes.

Low to the finished form the nations round
In adoration bent the pious knee;
With myrtle wreaths the artist's brow they crowned,
Whose skill, Ariste, only imaged thee.
Ill-fated artist, doomed so wide to seek
The charms that blossom on Ariste's cheek!

by Robert Southey

Other poems by 'Robert Southey'

The Slave Trade

The Slave Trade - Sonnet II

The Slave Trade - Sonnet III

The Slave Trade - Sonnet IV

On The Slave Trade - Sonnet V

Birth-Day Ode 01

Birth-Day Ode 02

Birth-Day Ode 03

Botany Bay Eclogues 02 - Elinor

Botany Bay Eclogues 03 - Humphrey And William

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