Once, for a palace, Painting left her grove,
And taught her royal fav'rite' s hand to trace
A beauteous maiden's tale of little Love,
His silken wings, soft limbs, and laughing face!
Then Nature wept o'er each expressive line,
To think the sweet creation so confin'd,
That such a boy, so fair, and so divine,
Was but the playful prattler of her mind;
And had he near the royal easel flown,
And seen the features of this mimic brother,
He would have known the portrait for his own,
And claim'd the beauteous painter for his mother.