Francis Teresa! on thy fine-arch’d brow, Minerva’s conquering aspect we descry, While in that face where smiles through roses glow, And in the lustre of that dark-blue eye, Shaded by auburn ringlets, we espy The Cyprian queen, while on thy breast of snow Perfection leans,—and claims the heart’s soft sigh; Before such form a monarch well might bow, Admiring nature’s works, as we the canvass now.