IV.

But most to Her, whose light and daring hand
Can swiftly follow Fancy's wildest dream!
All times and nations in whose presence stand,
All that creation owns, her boundless theme!
And with her came the maid of Attic stole,
Untaught of dazzling schools the gauds to prize,
Who breathes in purest forms her calm control,
Heroic strength, and grace that never dies!


V.

Ye that have linger'd o'er each form divine,
Beneath the vault of Rome's unsullied sky,
Or where Bologna's cloister'd walls enshrine
Her martyr Saint--her mystic Rosary--
Of Arragon the hapless daughter view!
Scan, for ye may, that fine enamel near!
Such Catherine was, thus Leonardo drew--
Discern ye not the "Jove of painters" here?


VI.

Discern ye not the mighty master's power
In yon devoted Saint's uplifted eye?
That clouds the brow and bids already lour