All hail, ye genuine forms; fair Nature’s issue, hail!
“Not frizz’d and fritter’d pinn’d and roll’d,
Sublime their artless locks they wear,
And gorgeous dames and judges old
Without their têtes and wigs appear;
In the midst a form divine,
Her dress bespeaks the Pennsylvanian line:
Her port demure, her grave religious face
Attemper’d sweet to virgin grace.
What sylphs and spirits wanton through the air,