_On her Translation of the Story of Phoebus and Daphne, from Ovid._
In Phoebus, Wit (as Ovid said)
Enchanting Beauty woo'd;
In Daphne beauty coily fled,
While vainly Wit pursu'd.
But when you trace what Ovid writ,
A diff'rent turn we view;
Beauty no longer flies from Wit,
Since both are join'd in you.
Your lines the wond'rous change impart,
From whence our laurels spring;
In numbers fram'd to please the heart,
And merit what they sing.
Methinks thy poet's gentle shade
Its wreath presents to thee;
What Daphne owes you as a Maid,
She pays you as a Tree.