ABSTRACT
‘I Have brought,’ said Sedley, as he returned, ‘a version of my favourite poet; here it is, Miss Emily, for you was it composed; but even you have failed to inspire me with the delicacy and amenity of the voluptuous Anacreon of France. 342 L’Art d’Aimer of Bernard 343 cannot be translated, at least permit me thus to console my own inability. Could you but catch the seductive graces of the original, I should trace, in the touching languor of your eye, the enchantment of your heart. He is the Albano 344 of poetry. In his amiable miniatures / he paints the playful triumphs of the children of love; fervid, yet chaste; true, yet flattering. It is only nature embellished.
