On GALLA. br br Now liquid Streams by the fierce Cold do grow br As solid as the Rocks from whence they flow; br Now Tibers Banks with Ice united meet, br And it's firm Stream may well be term'd its Street; br Now Vot'ries 'fore the Shrines like Statues show, br And scarce the Men from Images we know; br Now Winters Palsey seizes ev'ry Age, br And none's so warm, but feels the Seasons Rage; br Even the bright Lillies and triumphant Red br Which o're Corinna's youthful cheeks are spred, br Look pale and bleak, and shew a purple hew, br And Violets staine, where Roses lately grew. br br Galla alone, with wonder we behold, br Maintain her Spring, and still out-brave the Cold; br Her constant white does not to Frost give place, br Nor fresh Vermillion fade upon her face: br Sure Divine beauty in this Dame does shine? br Not Humane, one reply'd, yet not Divine.