Through cloudy umbrage,[19] well might that fair face,
And all those attributes of modest grace,
In days when Fancy wrought unchecked by fear,
Down to the green earth fetch thee from thy sphere, 15
To sit in leafy woods by fountains clear!
O still belov’d (for thine, meek Power, are charms
That fascinate the very Babe in arms,
While he, uplifted towards thee, laughs outright,
Spreading his little palms in his glad Mother’s sight) 20
O still belov’d, once worshipped! Time, that frowns