An essay on sculpture In a series of epistles to John Flaxman, Esq. R. A.: With notes. By William Hayley |
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EPISTLE THE FOURTH.
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 | An essay on sculpture |  |
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EPISTLE THE FOURTH.
Inter fumantes templorum armata ruinas
Dextera victoris simulacra hostilia cepit,
Et captiva domum venerans ceu numina vexit:
Hoc signum rapuit bimaris de strage Corinthi,
Illud ab incensis in prædam sumpsit Athenis.
Prudentius.
Dextera victoris simulacra hostilia cepit,
Et captiva domum venerans ceu numina vexit:
Hoc signum rapuit bimaris de strage Corinthi,
Illud ab incensis in prædam sumpsit Athenis.
Prudentius.
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ARGUMENT OF THE FOURTH EPISTLE.
Etruria.—Rome.—Vision of Hadrian's Villa.
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Ingenuous Flaxman! thy just soul delights
To see oppress'd Desert regain his rights.
Oft hast thou prais'd, as far as truth allow'd,
Rude talent struggling through misfortune's cloud!
With generous patience thou canst deign to trace
Through dim Tradition's shade Etruria's race.
Ingenious nation! hapless in thy doom!
The slave and teacher of the upstart Rome!
Her fierce ambition from the page of Fame
Seem'd eager to erase thy softer name:
But while she borrow'd, in thy plunder clad,
Thy train of augurs, ominously sad,
Dark Superstition's more despotic weight
Press'd on her fancy, and aveng'd thy fate!
To see oppress'd Desert regain his rights.
Oft hast thou prais'd, as far as truth allow'd,
Rude talent struggling through misfortune's cloud!
With generous patience thou canst deign to trace
Through dim Tradition's shade Etruria's race.
Ingenious nation! hapless in thy doom!
The slave and teacher of the upstart Rome!
Her fierce ambition from the page of Fame
Seem'd eager to erase thy softer name:
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Thy train of augurs, ominously sad,
Dark Superstition's more despotic weight
Press'd on her fancy, and aveng'd thy fate!
Obedient servant of a savage queen!
Thee she employ'd to deck her proudest scene.
Thy pliant artists, at the victor's nod,
For her new temple form'd the guardian god:
Her patrons, destin'd to such wide command,
Arose the offspring of a Tuscan hand.
Thee she employ'd to deck her proudest scene.
Thy pliant artists, at the victor's nod,
For her new temple form'd the guardian god:
Her patrons, destin'd to such wide command,
Arose the offspring of a Tuscan hand.
Ye injur'd votaries of Art, whose skill,
Emerg'd from darkness, and emerging still,
Shines through Oppression's storm, whose envious sweep
Had sunk your language in her lawless deep!
Expert Etrurians, who, with rapid toil,
Form'd the fine vase Oblivion's power to foil!
Your bards to base annihilation doom'd
History, who spurn'd the grave, herself entomb'd:
Friendly conjecture can alone suggest
How Fortune on your coast young Art caress'd.
Emerg'd from darkness, and emerging still,
Shines through Oppression's storm, whose envious sweep
Had sunk your language in her lawless deep!
Expert Etrurians, who, with rapid toil,
Form'd the fine vase Oblivion's power to foil!
Your bards to base annihilation doom'd
History, who spurn'd the grave, herself entomb'd:
Friendly conjecture can alone suggest
How Fortune on your coast young Art caress'd.
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'Tis said that Ægypt was your early guide;
That Greece, more social, all your skill supplied,
The fond idolaters of Greece pretend:
But bounteous Nature was your leading friend;
She frankly gave you the prime source of skill,
The fervid spirit, and the lively will,
To call Invention from her coy recess,
And bid just Form the young idea dress.
Let different Arts with gen'rous pride proclaim
Inventive Genius form'd Etruria's fame.
Mars as a gift from her his trumpet found,
And Honour's heart exulted in the sound;
To her, e'en Athens, as the learn'd declare,
Might owe the mask dramatic Muses wear.
But, O Etruria! whatsoe'er the price
Of thy ingenious toil and rare device,
Of all thy produce, I applaud thee most
For thy mild Lares, thy peculiar boast.
'Twas thine in Sculpture's sacred scene to place
Domestic deities of social grace,
Whose happy favour, on the heart impress'd,
Made home the passion of the virtuous breast.
That Greece, more social, all your skill supplied,
The fond idolaters of Greece pretend:
But bounteous Nature was your leading friend;
She frankly gave you the prime source of skill,
The fervid spirit, and the lively will,
To call Invention from her coy recess,
And bid just Form the young idea dress.
Let different Arts with gen'rous pride proclaim
Inventive Genius form'd Etruria's fame.
Mars as a gift from her his trumpet found,
And Honour's heart exulted in the sound;
To her, e'en Athens, as the learn'd declare,
Might owe the mask dramatic Muses wear.
But, O Etruria! whatsoe'er the price
Of thy ingenious toil and rare device,
Of all thy produce, I applaud thee most
For thy mild Lares, thy peculiar boast.
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Domestic deities of social grace,
Whose happy favour, on the heart impress'd,
Made home the passion of the virtuous breast.
O that fond Labour's hand, with Learning's aid,
Could rescue from Oblivion's envious shade
Artists, defrauded of their deathless due,
Who once a glory round Etruria threw,
When, with her flag of transient fame unfurl'd,
She shone the wonder of the western world!
Eclipsing Greece, ere rais'd to nobler life,
Greece learnt to triumph o'er barbaric strife;
Driving her Argonauts, her naval boast,
Foil'd in sharp conflict, from the Tyrrhene coast.
Could rescue from Oblivion's envious shade
Artists, defrauded of their deathless due,
Who once a glory round Etruria threw,
When, with her flag of transient fame unfurl'd,
She shone the wonder of the western world!
Eclipsing Greece, ere rais'd to nobler life,
Greece learnt to triumph o'er barbaric strife;
Driving her Argonauts, her naval boast,
Foil'd in sharp conflict, from the Tyrrhene coast.
But Desolation, in her cruel course,
Rush'd o'er Etruria with such ruthless force,
That, of her art-devoted sons, whose skill
With sculptur'd treasures could her cities fill
In such profuse and luminous display,
That Roman avarice mark'd them for her prey,
Mem'ry can hardly on her tablets give
More than a single Tyrrhene name to live.
Mnesarchus, early as a sculptor known,
From nice incision of the costly stone,
But more endear'd to every later age
As the blest sire of that abstemious sage;
Who, born and nurtur'd on Etruria's shore,
Refin'd her spirit by his temp'rate lore,
And in Crotona gloried to display
His mild morality's benignant sway.
Rush'd o'er Etruria with such ruthless force,
That, of her art-devoted sons, whose skill
With sculptur'd treasures could her cities fill
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That Roman avarice mark'd them for her prey,
Mem'ry can hardly on her tablets give
More than a single Tyrrhene name to live.
Mnesarchus, early as a sculptor known,
From nice incision of the costly stone,
But more endear'd to every later age
As the blest sire of that abstemious sage;
Who, born and nurtur'd on Etruria's shore,
Refin'd her spirit by his temp'rate lore,
And in Crotona gloried to display
His mild morality's benignant sway.
Blest were Etrurian art, if, spar'd by Time,
Forth from the caverns of her ravag'd clime
She could present to Admiration's gaze
Each sculptur'd worthy of her prosperous days,
Who won, by labours of a virtuous mind,
The benedictions of improv'd mankind.
But one vast whirlpool of oblivious night
Absorb'd together, in fair Fame's despite,
Men who there rose the paths of fame to fill,
Her hosts of valour, and her tribes of skill;
All, who might hope to gain, or hope to give,
The noble-lot, through many an age to live,
Save a few reliques fondly kept, to deck
The cabinet of Taste, from Glory's wreck.
There shines, not destitute of martial grace,
Her brave Halesus, of Argolic race;
There every brazen, every marble frame,
Mute, mournful shadows of Etruria's fame,
Yet seen declaring, on their country's part,
She might have vied with Attica in art,
Had she not fallen, in her early bloom,
The stripp'd and mangled slave of barbarous Rome.
Forth from the caverns of her ravag'd clime
She could present to Admiration's gaze
Each sculptur'd worthy of her prosperous days,
Who won, by labours of a virtuous mind,
The benedictions of improv'd mankind.
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Absorb'd together, in fair Fame's despite,
Men who there rose the paths of fame to fill,
Her hosts of valour, and her tribes of skill;
All, who might hope to gain, or hope to give,
The noble-lot, through many an age to live,
Save a few reliques fondly kept, to deck
The cabinet of Taste, from Glory's wreck.
There shines, not destitute of martial grace,
Her brave Halesus, of Argolic race;
There every brazen, every marble frame,
Mute, mournful shadows of Etruria's fame,
Yet seen declaring, on their country's part,
She might have vied with Attica in art,
Had she not fallen, in her early bloom,
The stripp'd and mangled slave of barbarous Rome.
Yes, thou imperial spoiler! I abhor
Thy ceaseless passion for oppressive war,
Thy rage for rapine, and the pride malign
In the vast plunder of the world to shine.
Thy ceaseless passion for oppressive war,
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In the vast plunder of the world to shine.
Woe to the land, abjuring Arts refin'd,
That ask the patient hand, the polish'd mind;
And vaunting only with tyrannic sway
To make surrounding provinces their prey:—
Rapacious arrogance, for outrage strong,
May boast a cruel triumph, loud and long;
At last the coarse gigantic glutton dies,
O'ergorg'd, and sinking from his bloated size:
So sunk the spoiler Rome, who from her birth
Drew execration from the bleeding earth.
Too fierce for Arts, that claim a milder soul,
Their works she blindly prais'd, or basely stole.
Fast bound or silenc'd in her iron spell,
Her ill-starr'd neighbour first, Etruria fell.
Far, as her force increas'd, her rapine spread;
Beneath her grasp the sweet Sicilia bled;
And, amply deck'd with Beauty's sculptur'd charms,
Fair Syracuse was spoil'd by savage arms.
There Roman avarice, of ruthless heart,
First gloated on her prey of Grecian Art;
And like a blood-hound, on the taste of gore,
Hunted with fierce inquietude for more.
That ask the patient hand, the polish'd mind;
And vaunting only with tyrannic sway
To make surrounding provinces their prey:—
Rapacious arrogance, for outrage strong,
May boast a cruel triumph, loud and long;
At last the coarse gigantic glutton dies,
O'ergorg'd, and sinking from his bloated size:
So sunk the spoiler Rome, who from her birth
Drew execration from the bleeding earth.
Too fierce for Arts, that claim a milder soul,
Their works she blindly prais'd, or basely stole.
Fast bound or silenc'd in her iron spell,
Her ill-starr'd neighbour first, Etruria fell.
Far, as her force increas'd, her rapine spread;
Beneath her grasp the sweet Sicilia bled;
92
Fair Syracuse was spoil'd by savage arms.
There Roman avarice, of ruthless heart,
First gloated on her prey of Grecian Art;
And like a blood-hound, on the taste of gore,
Hunted with fierce inquietude for more.
Her wider ravages Achaia crown'd;
The richest feast her ravenous eagles found!
Lo, Corinth blazes in consuming flame!
Corinth, the splendid favourite of Fame!
Her shrines, her statues, brazen, silver, gold,
In one promiscuous conflagration roll'd,
To a vast furnace of perdition turn;
The mingled ores in fiery torrents burn;
And Havoc's hateful sons, in sportive rage,
Annihilate the toil of many an age,
The treasury of Sculpture, where she stor'd
Those wonders of her hand that Taste ador'd.
The savage victor would his triumph fill
By bearing proudly home some works of skill:
But, destitute of sense as blind to grace,
Deems that a common hand may soon replace
Works that in Talent's cultivated hours
Rose, the slow growth of rarest Grecian powers.
Insensate ravager! why deck thy land
With spoils thy heroes cannot understand?
Thy country, who, a stranger to remorse,
Trains all her sons to deeds of brutal force;
She ne'er the sweet and graceful pride shall know
That taught the heart of lovelier Greece to glow,
When she had rear'd, and hail'd with fond acclaim,
The liberal artist of accomplish'd fame.
On Rome's stern breast no Phidias can be bred,
Of whom his proud compatriots fondly said,
'Twas a misfortune, as Athenians thought,
To die, and not have seen the works he wrought.
The richest feast her ravenous eagles found!
Lo, Corinth blazes in consuming flame!
Corinth, the splendid favourite of Fame!
Her shrines, her statues, brazen, silver, gold,
In one promiscuous conflagration roll'd,
To a vast furnace of perdition turn;
The mingled ores in fiery torrents burn;
And Havoc's hateful sons, in sportive rage,
Annihilate the toil of many an age,
The treasury of Sculpture, where she stor'd
Those wonders of her hand that Taste ador'd.
93
By bearing proudly home some works of skill:
But, destitute of sense as blind to grace,
Deems that a common hand may soon replace
Works that in Talent's cultivated hours
Rose, the slow growth of rarest Grecian powers.
Insensate ravager! why deck thy land
With spoils thy heroes cannot understand?
Thy country, who, a stranger to remorse,
Trains all her sons to deeds of brutal force;
She ne'er the sweet and graceful pride shall know
That taught the heart of lovelier Greece to glow,
When she had rear'd, and hail'd with fond acclaim,
The liberal artist of accomplish'd fame.
On Rome's stern breast no Phidias can be bred,
Of whom his proud compatriots fondly said,
'Twas a misfortune, as Athenians thought,
To die, and not have seen the works he wrought.
94
Greece, wisely conscious that fine arts require
Such pensive energy, such mental fire,
As Honour asks, in every polish'd age,
To form the martial chief, or moral sage,
Cherish'd her artists with maternal pride,
And bright Distinction their rich power supplied.
Her sculptors bask'd in national esteem,
As the young eagle in the solar beam,
Rever'd as men, whose faculties sublime
Secur'd their country's fame from envious Time;
Who doublyfoil'd the darkness of the grave,
And shar'd the immortality they gave.
Such pensive energy, such mental fire,
As Honour asks, in every polish'd age,
To form the martial chief, or moral sage,
Cherish'd her artists with maternal pride,
And bright Distinction their rich power supplied.
Her sculptors bask'd in national esteem,
As the young eagle in the solar beam,
Rever'd as men, whose faculties sublime
Secur'd their country's fame from envious Time;
Who doublyfoil'd the darkness of the grave,
And shar'd the immortality they gave.
How different the Roman sculptor's fate,
Who follow'd, in a tame and abject state,
An art, not rais'd to glory or to grace,
Deem'd the poor trade of a dependent race.
The chissel to a servile hand consign'd,
Shews but the weakness of a servile mind.
Hence liberal Sculpture rais'd no Roman name
High in her annals of ingenious fame;
And hence the Goddess, with a scornful smile,
Spurns the distinction of her Roman style.
With just disdain, that to abhorrence swell'd,
She the base arrogance of Rome beheld;
Saw Roman robbers, of heroic size,
Not merely seize, as bold Ambition's prize,
Her dearest wealth in desolated Greece;
But, as presumption will with spoils increase,
From her Greek statue its just name efface,
And fix a lying title in its place.
So ruffian Pride, that Fortune deigns to crown,
Would, with a swindler's fraud, usurp renown.
Who follow'd, in a tame and abject state,
An art, not rais'd to glory or to grace,
Deem'd the poor trade of a dependent race.
The chissel to a servile hand consign'd,
Shews but the weakness of a servile mind.
95
High in her annals of ingenious fame;
And hence the Goddess, with a scornful smile,
Spurns the distinction of her Roman style.
With just disdain, that to abhorrence swell'd,
She the base arrogance of Rome beheld;
Saw Roman robbers, of heroic size,
Not merely seize, as bold Ambition's prize,
Her dearest wealth in desolated Greece;
But, as presumption will with spoils increase,
From her Greek statue its just name efface,
And fix a lying title in its place.
So ruffian Pride, that Fortune deigns to crown,
Would, with a swindler's fraud, usurp renown.
While dauntless Truth, undazzled by the blaze
Of Rome's fierce power in her despotic days,
Upbraids that Empress, with reproof severe,
For follies and for crimes, in Sculpture's sphere:
While Scorn condemns her rapine and her fraud,
With equal warmth let Justice still applaud
One proof of noble spirit that prevail'd
E'en in this very sphere, where most she fail'd.
Yes, it was spirit suited to such worth
As well might claim pre-eminence on earth,
Which in the walls he labour'd to o'erthrow,
Honour'd the statue of her fiercest foe.
Such brave regard, the soldier's brightest crown,
Rome nobly paid to Hannibal's renown:
And more sublime of soul she ne'er appear'd
Than when she grac'd the chief whom once she fear'd.
True Valour thus his genuine temper shews,
Just to the talents of accomplish'd foes.
Of Rome's fierce power in her despotic days,
Upbraids that Empress, with reproof severe,
For follies and for crimes, in Sculpture's sphere:
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With equal warmth let Justice still applaud
One proof of noble spirit that prevail'd
E'en in this very sphere, where most she fail'd.
Yes, it was spirit suited to such worth
As well might claim pre-eminence on earth,
Which in the walls he labour'd to o'erthrow,
Honour'd the statue of her fiercest foe.
Such brave regard, the soldier's brightest crown,
Rome nobly paid to Hannibal's renown:
And more sublime of soul she ne'er appear'd
Than when she grac'd the chief whom once she fear'd.
True Valour thus his genuine temper shews,
Just to the talents of accomplish'd foes.
Bright Excellence! 'tis thine, in evil days
To joy in Enmity's extorted praise:
So Grecian Art, her parent state undone,
From Roman pride reluctant homage won.
Rough was his worship paid to Sculpture's charms,
That injur'd beauty in a ruffian's arms!
Who view'd her grace with uninstructed eyes,
Proud to possess, though wanting taste to prize.
Gods! how regret and indignation glow
When History, mourning over Grecian woe,
Describes the fortune of each splendid fane,
Where Sculpture seem'd with sacred sway to reign!
To joy in Enmity's extorted praise:
So Grecian Art, her parent state undone,
From Roman pride reluctant homage won.
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That injur'd beauty in a ruffian's arms!
Who view'd her grace with uninstructed eyes,
Proud to possess, though wanting taste to prize.
Gods! how regret and indignation glow
When History, mourning over Grecian woe,
Describes the fortune of each splendid fane,
Where Sculpture seem'd with sacred sway to reign!
Lo, like a whirlwind by fierce demons driven
At once disfiguring earth and dark'ning Heaven,
Sylla, the bloodiest vulture, gorg'd with gore,
The keenest wretch that ever Rapine bore,
Extends o'er prostrate Greece oppression's rod,
And pillages the shrine of every god!
Thy glories, Elis!—Epidaurus! thine,
And Delphos, (richest treasury divine!)
Defenceless fall in Devastation's day,
Of this insatiate ravager the prey!
The plunderer, who no compunction feels,
Builds future greatness on the god he steals;
With a small statue, seiz'd on Grecia's coast,
The subtle homicide new-nerv'd his host;
When on the battle's edge they doubtful stood,
This god he brought, to make his battle good;
Before his troops the fraudful savage prefs'd
This sculptur'd patron to his impious breast;
Invok'd, to hasten what his vows implor'd,
The vict'ry promis'd to his eager sword!
So fraud, and force, and fortune made him great,
To shine an emblem of the Roman state.
Her he resembled in his varying day,
In growth portentous, loathsome in decay:
He, whose fierce pride (all human feelings fled)
On blood the hell-hounds of Proscription fed,
Met not a righteous sword, or potent hand,
To free from such a pest his native land.
Yet though he stemm'd the streams of blood he spilt,
He died a lesson to gigantic guilt;
For on his bed of death as long he lay,
Avenging vermin made his living frame their prey;
And he, whose thirst of power and thirst of praise
Taught Fortune's temple in new pomp to blaze—
He, who amass'd, to deck his days of peace,
The sculptur'd opulence of ravag'd Greece,
Sunk from his splendid mass of power and fame
To the poor sound of a detested name.
At once disfiguring earth and dark'ning Heaven,
Sylla, the bloodiest vulture, gorg'd with gore,
The keenest wretch that ever Rapine bore,
Extends o'er prostrate Greece oppression's rod,
And pillages the shrine of every god!
Thy glories, Elis!—Epidaurus! thine,
And Delphos, (richest treasury divine!)
Defenceless fall in Devastation's day,
Of this insatiate ravager the prey!
The plunderer, who no compunction feels,
Builds future greatness on the god he steals;
98
The subtle homicide new-nerv'd his host;
When on the battle's edge they doubtful stood,
This god he brought, to make his battle good;
Before his troops the fraudful savage prefs'd
This sculptur'd patron to his impious breast;
Invok'd, to hasten what his vows implor'd,
The vict'ry promis'd to his eager sword!
So fraud, and force, and fortune made him great,
To shine an emblem of the Roman state.
Her he resembled in his varying day,
In growth portentous, loathsome in decay:
He, whose fierce pride (all human feelings fled)
On blood the hell-hounds of Proscription fed,
Met not a righteous sword, or potent hand,
To free from such a pest his native land.
Yet though he stemm'd the streams of blood he spilt,
He died a lesson to gigantic guilt;
For on his bed of death as long he lay,
Avenging vermin made his living frame their prey;
99
Taught Fortune's temple in new pomp to blaze—
He, who amass'd, to deck his days of peace,
The sculptur'd opulence of ravag'd Greece,
Sunk from his splendid mass of power and fame
To the poor sound of a detested name.
A mightier victor, of a nobler soul,
Yet darken'd by ambition's dire control,
The fearless Cæsar, of indulgent heart,
Shone the protecting friend of Grecian art.
Of tyrants most accomplish'd and benign,
'Twas his in genius and in taste to shine.
Could talents give a claim to empire's robe,
He might have liv'd the master of the globe:
But pride imperious that o'er-leap'd all bound,
Deserv'd from Roman hands the fate he found.
Yet shall the despot, though he justly bleeds,
Receive the praises due to graceful deeds:
His rival's statues, by mean slaves disgrac'd,
He in their public dignity replac'd.
His zeal for Sculpture, and his liberal care
To force the grave her buried works to spare,
To guard the rescu'd, and the lost to seek,
Let Corinth, rising from her ruins, speak.
That brilliant queen of Arts, at Cæsar's word,
Sprung from her ashes, like th'Arabian bird:
Her great restorer, fond of glory's blaze,
Sought to be first in every path of praise;
And found, in favour'd Art's reviving charms,
Delight superior to successful arms.
Had the firm Brutus not pronounc'd his doom,
His power to fascinate relenting Rome,
His varying genius, fashion'd to prevail
In peaceful projects of the grandest scale,
Would o'er the state have thrown such dazzling light,
And foil'd resistance with a blaze so bright,
Freedom herself, enamour'd of his fame,
Might have been almost tempted to exclaim,
“I see his benefits his wrongs transcend,
“And all the tyrant vanish in the friend!”
Yet darken'd by ambition's dire control,
The fearless Cæsar, of indulgent heart,
Shone the protecting friend of Grecian art.
Of tyrants most accomplish'd and benign,
'Twas his in genius and in taste to shine.
Could talents give a claim to empire's robe,
He might have liv'd the master of the globe:
But pride imperious that o'er-leap'd all bound,
Deserv'd from Roman hands the fate he found.
Yet shall the despot, though he justly bleeds,
Receive the praises due to graceful deeds:
100
He in their public dignity replac'd.
His zeal for Sculpture, and his liberal care
To force the grave her buried works to spare,
To guard the rescu'd, and the lost to seek,
Let Corinth, rising from her ruins, speak.
That brilliant queen of Arts, at Cæsar's word,
Sprung from her ashes, like th'Arabian bird:
Her great restorer, fond of glory's blaze,
Sought to be first in every path of praise;
And found, in favour'd Art's reviving charms,
Delight superior to successful arms.
Had the firm Brutus not pronounc'd his doom,
His power to fascinate relenting Rome,
His varying genius, fashion'd to prevail
In peaceful projects of the grandest scale,
Would o'er the state have thrown such dazzling light,
And foil'd resistance with a blaze so bright,
Freedom herself, enamour'd of his fame,
Might have been almost tempted to exclaim,
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“And all the tyrant vanish in the friend!”
Julius! thou proof how mists of pride may blind
The eye of reason in the strongest mind!
It was thy fatal weakness to believe
Thy sculptur'd form from Romans might receive
Homage as tame as Asian slaves could pay
Their Babylonish king, of boundless sway,
Where all, for leave his city gate to pass,
Bent to his statue of imperial brass.
With equal pomp, by vain ambition plac'd,
Thy sculptur'd form the Capitol disgrac'd;
For, on a trampled globe, insulting sense,
It sought to awe the world with proud pretence.
Nor didst thou only in thy proper frame
Call Art to second thy aspiring aim:
Thy fav'rite steed, from whose portentous birth
Augurs announc'd thy reign o'er all this earth,
Nurs'd with fond care, bestrid by thee alone,
In Sculpture's consecrated beauty shone.
Before the fane of that celestial power,
Said, with parental smiles, to bless thy natal hour.
Misguided Julius! all the wide control
Which force and frankness in thy fearless soul
To thy firm grasp delusively assur'd,
Consummate cunning to thy heir secur'd.
The eye of reason in the strongest mind!
It was thy fatal weakness to believe
Thy sculptur'd form from Romans might receive
Homage as tame as Asian slaves could pay
Their Babylonish king, of boundless sway,
Where all, for leave his city gate to pass,
Bent to his statue of imperial brass.
With equal pomp, by vain ambition plac'd,
Thy sculptur'd form the Capitol disgrac'd;
For, on a trampled globe, insulting sense,
It sought to awe the world with proud pretence.
Nor didst thou only in thy proper frame
Call Art to second thy aspiring aim:
Thy fav'rite steed, from whose portentous birth
Augurs announc'd thy reign o'er all this earth,
Nurs'd with fond care, bestrid by thee alone,
In Sculpture's consecrated beauty shone.
102
Said, with parental smiles, to bless thy natal hour.
Misguided Julius! all the wide control
Which force and frankness in thy fearless soul
To thy firm grasp delusively assur'd,
Consummate cunning to thy heir secur'd.
Blush, blush, ye poets of Augustan days,
For all your pomp of prostituted praise!
The man, so magnified through Flatt'ry's cloud,
Hymns to whose honour ye have sung so loud,
Seems, to the eye of an impartial age,
The prince of jugglers upon Fortune's stage,
Whom fear inspir'd with artifice supreme
To win from slaves their prodigal esteem.
Ye lovely Arts! whose beauty and whose use
So largely to the weal of man conduce!
What might not Earth, in your propitious hours,
Expect from efforts of your blended powers,
Beneath the guidance of a mind elate,
Supremely just, and uniformly great,
If base Octavius by your aid could shine
To dazzle Romans with a light divine?
Peace to his crimes! though on their blackest dye
The blood of Tully seems aloud to cry;
While foster'd Arts for their protector claim
No common portion of pacific fame.
He saw the rock on which bold Julius run,
And deeply labour'd the bright snare to shun.
The subtle despot wore a servant's mask;
Though able to command, he stoop'd to ask:
The eyes of envy from himself to turn,
Thy splendour, Rome! appear'd his sole concern.
For all your pomp of prostituted praise!
The man, so magnified through Flatt'ry's cloud,
Hymns to whose honour ye have sung so loud,
Seems, to the eye of an impartial age,
The prince of jugglers upon Fortune's stage,
Whom fear inspir'd with artifice supreme
To win from slaves their prodigal esteem.
Ye lovely Arts! whose beauty and whose use
So largely to the weal of man conduce!
What might not Earth, in your propitious hours,
Expect from efforts of your blended powers,
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Supremely just, and uniformly great,
If base Octavius by your aid could shine
To dazzle Romans with a light divine?
Peace to his crimes! though on their blackest dye
The blood of Tully seems aloud to cry;
While foster'd Arts for their protector claim
No common portion of pacific fame.
He saw the rock on which bold Julius run,
And deeply labour'd the bright snare to shun.
The subtle despot wore a servant's mask;
Though able to command, he stoop'd to ask:
The eyes of envy from himself to turn,
Thy splendour, Rome! appear'd his sole concern.
Though fear devis'd, it was a graceful plan
(And Taste achiev'd what trembling Power began)
To bid fair Sculpture a new pomp assume,
And sit the public patroness of Rome:
For such great charge to her he seem'd to give,
When the lost worthies she had taught to live
Whose blended merits in the tide of Time
Rais'd Roman glory to her height sublime;
Rang'd in his Forum with Augustan care,
Heard him before the hallow'd groupe declare
They stood as monitors, of solemn weight,
To him, and all who might direct the state,
At once a sacred test, and awful guide,
By whom he wish'd his conduct to be tried.
(And Taste achiev'd what trembling Power began)
To bid fair Sculpture a new pomp assume,
And sit the public patroness of Rome:
For such great charge to her he seem'd to give,
When the lost worthies she had taught to live
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Rais'd Roman glory to her height sublime;
Rang'd in his Forum with Augustan care,
Heard him before the hallow'd groupe declare
They stood as monitors, of solemn weight,
To him, and all who might direct the state,
At once a sacred test, and awful guide,
By whom he wish'd his conduct to be tried.
O lovely Sculpture! what sweet praise were thine,
If strictly true to such a fair design,
Presiding power, in every realm on earth,
Call'd thee to minister to public worth,
To worth, of milder and of purer ray
Than Rome's rapacious demi-gods display!
If strictly true to such a fair design,
Presiding power, in every realm on earth,
Call'd thee to minister to public worth,
To worth, of milder and of purer ray
Than Rome's rapacious demi-gods display!
Though seated there in empire's strongest blaze,
The shrewd Octavius aim'd at Ammon's praise,
His milder praise, (to shine in taste supreme,
And heighten talents by protection's beam,)
Bless'd in what Ammon wanted, bards renown'd!
Sculpture more coy than Poesy he found;
Nor could the mandate of imperial sway
Raise a Lysippus out of Roman clay;
And Fortune's fav'rite in the naval scene,
Where sunk the glory of the Ægyptian queen,
Though sculptur'd emblems of that prosp'rous hour
Speak him the darling of despotic power,
Has still the fate in feeble pomp to stand
The time-spar'd statue of no potent hand;
Wrought as if Sculpture felt her powers confin'd
By native meanness in the monarch's mind.
The shrewd Octavius aim'd at Ammon's praise,
His milder praise, (to shine in taste supreme,
And heighten talents by protection's beam,)
Bless'd in what Ammon wanted, bards renown'd!
Sculpture more coy than Poesy he found;
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Raise a Lysippus out of Roman clay;
And Fortune's fav'rite in the naval scene,
Where sunk the glory of the Ægyptian queen,
Though sculptur'd emblems of that prosp'rous hour
Speak him the darling of despotic power,
Has still the fate in feeble pomp to stand
The time-spar'd statue of no potent hand;
Wrought as if Sculpture felt her powers confin'd
By native meanness in the monarch's mind.
Yet many a wandering, ingenious Greek,
Sent, by his stars, his Roman bread to seek,
Nourish'd degenerate pride on foreign praise,
And blest the sunshine of Augustan days.
One, whose fine labour on the costly stone,
Greece, in her happiest days, might proudly own—
Her Dioscorides! by Patience taught,
Minute resemblance on the gem he wrought,
And form'd, with Miniature's consummate grace,
Power's fav'rite signet, the imperial face.
Sent, by his stars, his Roman bread to seek,
Nourish'd degenerate pride on foreign praise,
And blest the sunshine of Augustan days.
One, whose fine labour on the costly stone,
Greece, in her happiest days, might proudly own—
Her Dioscorides! by Patience taught,
Minute resemblance on the gem he wrought,
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Power's fav'rite signet, the imperial face.
Nor shall his rival in the curious skill
Nice Diminution's lines with truth to fill,
The sculptor Solon, want the Muse's praise,
Since on his work the Nine may fondly gaze;
For his the portrait of prime note to them,
Their own Mæcenas, their peculiar gem!
Nice Diminution's lines with truth to fill,
The sculptor Solon, want the Muse's praise,
Since on his work the Nine may fondly gaze;
For his the portrait of prime note to them,
Their own Mæcenas, their peculiar gem!
As Nature, joying in her boundless reign,
Adorns the tiny links of Beauty's lessening chain,
Her rival Art, whom Emulation warms,
Loves to astonish by diminish'd forms,
And the consummate character to bring
Within the compass of the costly ring.
Delightful talent of the patient hand,
Gaining o'er life such delicate command!
Adorns the tiny links of Beauty's lessening chain,
Her rival Art, whom Emulation warms,
Loves to astonish by diminish'd forms,
And the consummate character to bring
Within the compass of the costly ring.
Delightful talent of the patient hand,
Gaining o'er life such delicate command!
The heroes of old time were proud to wear
The seal engraven with ingenious care;
And wise Ulysses, if tradition's true,
No trifling pleasure from his signet drew.
A dolphin's form the sculptur'd stone express'd,
Of gracious Providence a graceful test:
Sav'd from the deep, these wat'ry guardians bore
His filial pride, Telemachus, ashore;
And the fond sire display'd, with grateful joy,
The just memorial of his rescu'd boy.
The seal engraven with ingenious care;
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No trifling pleasure from his signet drew.
A dolphin's form the sculptur'd stone express'd,
Of gracious Providence a graceful test:
Sav'd from the deep, these wat'ry guardians bore
His filial pride, Telemachus, ashore;
And the fond sire display'd, with grateful joy,
The just memorial of his rescu'd boy.
To this fine branch of useful Art we owe
Treasures that grandeur may be proud to show;
Features of men who, on Fame's list enroll'd,
Gave life and lustre to the world of old.
Oblivion's pall, a net of Mercy's shape,
Has seiz'd the large, and let the small escape:
Worthies, whose statues fail'd Time's flood to stem,
Yet live effulgent in the deathless gem.
Treasures that grandeur may be proud to show;
Features of men who, on Fame's list enroll'd,
Gave life and lustre to the world of old.
Oblivion's pall, a net of Mercy's shape,
Has seiz'd the large, and let the small escape:
Worthies, whose statues fail'd Time's flood to stem,
Yet live effulgent in the deathless gem.
But, O how few can merit such a fate,
Where Nature sinks by Power's despotic weight!
When the proud player Augustus, worn with age,
Made a calm exit from his brilliant stage,
In that vast theatre what scenes ensu'd!
What beasts of Tyranny's imperial brood!
Sculpture, in days of turpitude profuse,
Of her sunk powers deplor'd the shameful use
When statues rose, to wound the public eye,
To the base sycophant and murd'rous spy;
Nor mourn'd she less distinction ill-conferr'd
On many a wretch of her Cæsarean herd:
Most on the base Caligula, who burn'd
With frantic folly that all limits spurn'd.
His life express'd, in every wild design,
Delirious fancy, with a heart malign;
And most display'd that fancy and that heart
In the fair province of insulted Art.
Where Nature sinks by Power's despotic weight!
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Made a calm exit from his brilliant stage,
In that vast theatre what scenes ensu'd!
What beasts of Tyranny's imperial brood!
Sculpture, in days of turpitude profuse,
Of her sunk powers deplor'd the shameful use
When statues rose, to wound the public eye,
To the base sycophant and murd'rous spy;
Nor mourn'd she less distinction ill-conferr'd
On many a wretch of her Cæsarean herd:
Most on the base Caligula, who burn'd
With frantic folly that all limits spurn'd.
His life express'd, in every wild design,
Delirious fancy, with a heart malign;
And most display'd that fancy and that heart
In the fair province of insulted Art.
Oft o'er her Grecian works griev'd Sculpture sigh'd,
Made the maim'd vassals of his impious pride!
He dies; but still the burthen'd earth must groan
For guilt gigantic on th'imperial throne;
And Sculpture's call'd, as waiting on the nod
Of Grandeur, wishing to be deem'd a god.
To her Greek votary she denied the skill
Requir'd to execute vain Nero's will,
Who sought all splendor that could strike mankind
Save the pure splendor of the chasten'd mind;
Who marr'd the statues of Perfection's mould,
Thy bronze, Lysippus, with debasing gold.
The daring despot wish'd, with frantic aim,
To awe the world by his colossal frame:
Vainly he bade his molten image run
With metals to out-blaze the Rhodian sun;
His toiling Greek, though fam'd for works of brass,
Fail'd in his art to form the fluid mass.
Made the maim'd vassals of his impious pride!
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For guilt gigantic on th'imperial throne;
And Sculpture's call'd, as waiting on the nod
Of Grandeur, wishing to be deem'd a god.
To her Greek votary she denied the skill
Requir'd to execute vain Nero's will,
Who sought all splendor that could strike mankind
Save the pure splendor of the chasten'd mind;
Who marr'd the statues of Perfection's mould,
Thy bronze, Lysippus, with debasing gold.
The daring despot wish'd, with frantic aim,
To awe the world by his colossal frame:
Vainly he bade his molten image run
With metals to out-blaze the Rhodian sun;
His toiling Greek, though fam'd for works of brass,
Fail'd in his art to form the fluid mass.
But turn, indignant Muse! thine eyes away
From the mad monsters of unbridled sway,
To mark with just applause the milder mind,
Whom boundless domination fail'd to blind;
Whose voice imperial bade the Arts appear
The friends of bounty, not the slaves of fear.
From the mad monsters of unbridled sway,
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Whom boundless domination fail'd to blind;
Whose voice imperial bade the Arts appear
The friends of bounty, not the slaves of fear.
Frugal and gay, behold Vespasian's care
Honour and Virtue's ruin'd fanes repair!
To statues, meant for Nero's golden dome,
Peace in her temple gives a purer home.
Titus! the pride of Nature and her friend,
Could thy brief reign to happier length extend,
How might the warmth of thy benignant heart
Raise and inspirit every graceful art!
Sculpture might well her finest toil employ
To fill thy bosom with parental joy.
Fancy e'en now exults to see thee gaze
On thy rich gem, beyond the diamond's blaze.
Where by Evodus wrought, in narrow space
Shone thy fair Julia, full of filial grace:
Beauty and sweetness deck'd her maiden life,
But ah! no common shame awaits the wife:
And Heaven, mild Titus! made thy days so brief,
To spare thee torments of domestic grief:
Thy brother's statues, in their fate, fulfill'd
The rabble's vengeance on a tyrant kill'd.
Honour and Virtue's ruin'd fanes repair!
To statues, meant for Nero's golden dome,
Peace in her temple gives a purer home.
Titus! the pride of Nature and her friend,
Could thy brief reign to happier length extend,
How might the warmth of thy benignant heart
Raise and inspirit every graceful art!
Sculpture might well her finest toil employ
To fill thy bosom with parental joy.
Fancy e'en now exults to see thee gaze
On thy rich gem, beyond the diamond's blaze.
Where by Evodus wrought, in narrow space
Shone thy fair Julia, full of filial grace:
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But ah! no common shame awaits the wife:
And Heaven, mild Titus! made thy days so brief,
To spare thee torments of domestic grief:
Thy brother's statues, in their fate, fulfill'd
The rabble's vengeance on a tyrant kill'd.
In radiant contrast to that wretch, ascend,
Trajan! the graceful Pliny's martial friend!
Justly 'tis thine to stand an honour'd name
On thy rich column of imperial fame!
Through thy vast empire, in which vice had spread
The worst contagion springing from its head,
Thy active spirit gloried to inspire
A noble portion of new vital fire.
Though fond, too fond of war and warlike praise,
Pacific talents shar'd thy soft'ring rays.
Not that thy hand proud Victory's flag unfurl'd,
And added Dacia to the Roman world,
But for mild acts, that purer aims evince,
Shall memory prize thy name, excelling prince!
Thy softer merit, that commands my praise,
Was thy fond care with regal grace to raise
Statues to youthful virtue, in its prime
Unseasonably crush'd by envious Time:
Thy gift imperial to a noble chief
(The filial statue) sooth'd a father's grief
With the true temper of a sovereign mind,
Tenderly just, magnificently kind.
Trajan! the graceful Pliny's martial friend!
Justly 'tis thine to stand an honour'd name
On thy rich column of imperial fame!
Through thy vast empire, in which vice had spread
The worst contagion springing from its head,
Thy active spirit gloried to inspire
A noble portion of new vital fire.
Though fond, too fond of war and warlike praise,
Pacific talents shar'd thy soft'ring rays.
Not that thy hand proud Victory's flag unfurl'd,
And added Dacia to the Roman world,
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Shall memory prize thy name, excelling prince!
Thy softer merit, that commands my praise,
Was thy fond care with regal grace to raise
Statues to youthful virtue, in its prime
Unseasonably crush'd by envious Time:
Thy gift imperial to a noble chief
(The filial statue) sooth'd a father's grief
With the true temper of a sovereign mind,
Tenderly just, magnificently kind.
Thee, too, with sovereigns not unjustly plac'd
For bright magnificence and liberal taste,
Whose hand well-judging Fortune deign'd to use,
O'er Grecian scenes new lustre to diffuse;
Smiling to see, from Wealth's mysterious springs,
Her private favourite surpassing kings—
Thee, rich Herodes! Honour has enroll'd
For elegance of mind that match'd thy gold:
Exhausted quarries form thy graceful piles;
Thy Venus prais'd thee with victorious smiles.
For bright magnificence and liberal taste,
Whose hand well-judging Fortune deign'd to use,
O'er Grecian scenes new lustre to diffuse;
Smiling to see, from Wealth's mysterious springs,
Her private favourite surpassing kings—
Thee, rich Herodes! Honour has enroll'd
For elegance of mind that match'd thy gold:
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Thy Venus prais'd thee with victorious smiles.
Lo, with new joy, peculiarly their own,
The Arts surrounding the Cæsarean throne!
See their prime patron that firm throne ascend,
Talent's enlighten'd judge, and Sculpture's friend!
His spirit, active as the boundless air,
Pervades each province of imperial Care;
While sated Conquest keeps his banner furl'd,
And peace and beauty re-adorn the world.
Accomplish'd Adrian! doom'd to double fame,
Uniting brightest praise and darkest blame!
To noble heights the monarch's merit ran,
But injur'd Nature execrates the man.
Had he, with various bright endowments blest,
The higher sway of that sweet power confess'd,
How might fair Sculpture, in her triumphs chaste,
Unblushing, glory in her sovereign's taste!
Wielding himself her implements of skill,
He joy'd the cities of the earth to fill
With all the splendor that endears the day
Of cherish'd talents and pacific sway;
Aiming, by lib'ral patronage, to crown
Athens, Art's fav'rite seat, with new renown!
In her consummated Olympian fane
He taught sublime magnificence to reign.
The Arts surrounding the Cæsarean throne!
See their prime patron that firm throne ascend,
Talent's enlighten'd judge, and Sculpture's friend!
His spirit, active as the boundless air,
Pervades each province of imperial Care;
While sated Conquest keeps his banner furl'd,
And peace and beauty re-adorn the world.
Accomplish'd Adrian! doom'd to double fame,
Uniting brightest praise and darkest blame!
To noble heights the monarch's merit ran,
But injur'd Nature execrates the man.
Had he, with various bright endowments blest,
The higher sway of that sweet power confess'd,
How might fair Sculpture, in her triumphs chaste,
Unblushing, glory in her sovereign's taste!
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He joy'd the cities of the earth to fill
With all the splendor that endears the day
Of cherish'd talents and pacific sway;
Aiming, by lib'ral patronage, to crown
Athens, Art's fav'rite seat, with new renown!
In her consummated Olympian fane
He taught sublime magnificence to reign.
Where, in rich scenes, beneath unclouded skies,
He bids his own Italian villa rise,
Th'imperial structures with such charms increase,
They form a fair epitome of Greece.
There all her temples, theatres, and towers,
Fabrics for studious and for active hours,
All that made Attica the eye's delight,
In sweet reflection re-inchant the sight.
He bids his own Italian villa rise,
Th'imperial structures with such charms increase,
They form a fair epitome of Greece.
There all her temples, theatres, and towers,
Fabrics for studious and for active hours,
All that made Attica the eye's delight,
In sweet reflection re-inchant the sight.
O Desolation! thou hast ne'er defac'd
More graceful precincts of imperial Taste!
But, with a ravage by no charms controll'd
O'er the proud spot thy ruthless flood has roll'd:
Still from thy vortex, by the tide of Time,
Its buried treasures rise, to deck some distant clime.
More graceful precincts of imperial Taste!
But, with a ravage by no charms controll'd
O'er the proud spot thy ruthless flood has roll'd:
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Its buried treasures rise, to deck some distant clime.
As o'er this fairest scene of scenes august
Whose pride has moulder'd into shapeless dust,
My fancy mus'd, a vision of the night
Brought it in recent splendor to my sight.
Its shrines, its statues, its Lyceum caught
My wond'ring eye, and fix'd my roving thought:
Beneath the shadow of a laurel bough,
With all the cares of empire on his brow,
I saw the master of the villa rove
In shades that seem'd the academic grove:
Sudden a form, array'd in softest light,
Benignly simple, temperately bright,
Yet more than mortal, in the quiet vale,
Appear'd the pensive emperor to hail.
Sculpture's insignia, and her graceful mein,
Announc'd of finer Arts the modest queen.
Troubled, yet mild in gesture and in tone,
She made the troubles of her spirit known:
“O thou,” she said, “that in thy sovereign plan
“Art often more, and often less than man!
“Whom, as my just, though strange emotions rise,
“I love, admire, and pity, and despise!
“While to vain heights thy blind ambition towers,
“Thou hast ennobled and debas'd my powers
“As far as fame and infamy can stretch,
“To deck the world, and deify a wretch!
“I come th'Almighty Spirit to obey,
“For Arts are heralds of his purer day—
“I come, with visions of portentous aim,
“To mortify thy frantic rage of fame!
“As a prophetic parent, taught to trace
“The future troubles of a fated race,
“'Tis mine to shew how ruin shall be hurl'd
“On the vain grandeur of thy Roman world.
“Mark how my visionary scenes reveal
“The destin'd havoc that our works must feel!”
Whose pride has moulder'd into shapeless dust,
My fancy mus'd, a vision of the night
Brought it in recent splendor to my sight.
Its shrines, its statues, its Lyceum caught
My wond'ring eye, and fix'd my roving thought:
Beneath the shadow of a laurel bough,
With all the cares of empire on his brow,
I saw the master of the villa rove
In shades that seem'd the academic grove:
Sudden a form, array'd in softest light,
Benignly simple, temperately bright,
Yet more than mortal, in the quiet vale,
Appear'd the pensive emperor to hail.
Sculpture's insignia, and her graceful mein,
Announc'd of finer Arts the modest queen.
Troubled, yet mild in gesture and in tone,
She made the troubles of her spirit known:
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“Art often more, and often less than man!
“Whom, as my just, though strange emotions rise,
“I love, admire, and pity, and despise!
“While to vain heights thy blind ambition towers,
“Thou hast ennobled and debas'd my powers
“As far as fame and infamy can stretch,
“To deck the world, and deify a wretch!
“I come th'Almighty Spirit to obey,
“For Arts are heralds of his purer day—
“I come, with visions of portentous aim,
“To mortify thy frantic rage of fame!
“As a prophetic parent, taught to trace
“The future troubles of a fated race,
“'Tis mine to shew how ruin shall be hurl'd
“On the vain grandeur of thy Roman world.
“Mark how my visionary scenes reveal
“The destin'd havoc that our works must feel!”
She spoke, and suddenly before her grew
The semblance of a city large and new,
Where pomp imperial seem'd employ'd to place
Sculpture's prime labours on a lasting base.
There Samian Juno and Olympian Jove,
The rarest treasures of each holy grove,
The pride of ransack'd Asia, Greece, and Rome,
There, in new scenes, new dignity assume.
The startled master of the Roman throne
Exclaim'd, in envy's quick, indignant tone,
“What mean these pageants that my eyes explore?
“They seem to sparkle on Byzantium's shore!”
The lovely raiser of the vision cried,
“Thou see'st a second Rome in Roman pride!
“But turn, and see what miseries await
“The pomp that wakes thy envy! Mark its fate!”
He turn'd: but O, what language can disclose
The changing scene's accumulated woes?
Barbaric outrage, rapine, sword, and fire
Convert it to a vast funereal pyre.
Supreme in height, colossal Phœbus burns,
The Phydian brass to fluid lava turns;
And lo, yet dearer to poetic eyes,
The living bronze of high-wrought Homer dies!
The sculptur'd pride of every clime and age,
The guardian god, the hero, and the sage,
All in promiscuous devastation fall;
And Time, self-styl'd the conqueror of all—
Time, the proud offspring of Lysippus' hand,
Adorn'd with emblems of his wide command—
Time perishes himself! Aggriev'd, aghast,
The heart-struck Hadrian exclaim'd at last,
“Shew me no more of distant lands the doom—
“I ask the fate of my embellish'd Rome!”
“Look, and behold it!” the enchantress said:
Byzantium disappear'd, and in its stead
Rome's recent boast, with all its splendor crown'd,
The speaking monarch's monumental mound,
In graceful pomp arose, and on its height,
That glitter'd to our view with orient light,
His image seem'd to guide a blazing car,
And shone triumphant like the morning star.
Sudden, at sounds of discord and dismay,
The imperial form in darkness melts away;
The Mausoleum, of stupendous state,
Turns to a fort; and at its guarded gate
Barbaric foes, in Roman plunder fierce,
Strain their rough powers the massive mound to pierce.
Romans defend the dome: but O what arms
Rash Fury seizes in its blind alarms!
Marbles divine, of Praxitelian form,
Are snatch'd as weapons in the raging storm;
And, in the tumult of defensive wrath,
Are hurl'd in fragments at th'invading Goth.
The semblance of a city large and new,
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Sculpture's prime labours on a lasting base.
There Samian Juno and Olympian Jove,
The rarest treasures of each holy grove,
The pride of ransack'd Asia, Greece, and Rome,
There, in new scenes, new dignity assume.
The startled master of the Roman throne
Exclaim'd, in envy's quick, indignant tone,
“What mean these pageants that my eyes explore?
“They seem to sparkle on Byzantium's shore!”
The lovely raiser of the vision cried,
“Thou see'st a second Rome in Roman pride!
“But turn, and see what miseries await
“The pomp that wakes thy envy! Mark its fate!”
He turn'd: but O, what language can disclose
The changing scene's accumulated woes?
Barbaric outrage, rapine, sword, and fire
Convert it to a vast funereal pyre.
Supreme in height, colossal Phœbus burns,
The Phydian brass to fluid lava turns;
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The living bronze of high-wrought Homer dies!
The sculptur'd pride of every clime and age,
The guardian god, the hero, and the sage,
All in promiscuous devastation fall;
And Time, self-styl'd the conqueror of all—
Time, the proud offspring of Lysippus' hand,
Adorn'd with emblems of his wide command—
Time perishes himself! Aggriev'd, aghast,
The heart-struck Hadrian exclaim'd at last,
“Shew me no more of distant lands the doom—
“I ask the fate of my embellish'd Rome!”
“Look, and behold it!” the enchantress said:
Byzantium disappear'd, and in its stead
Rome's recent boast, with all its splendor crown'd,
The speaking monarch's monumental mound,
In graceful pomp arose, and on its height,
That glitter'd to our view with orient light,
His image seem'd to guide a blazing car,
And shone triumphant like the morning star.
119
The imperial form in darkness melts away;
The Mausoleum, of stupendous state,
Turns to a fort; and at its guarded gate
Barbaric foes, in Roman plunder fierce,
Strain their rough powers the massive mound to pierce.
Romans defend the dome: but O what arms
Rash Fury seizes in its blind alarms!
Marbles divine, of Praxitelian form,
Are snatch'd as weapons in the raging storm;
And, in the tumult of defensive wrath,
Are hurl'd in fragments at th'invading Goth.
On this dire fate of fav'rite statues plac'd
To deck this hallow'd scene of royal taste,
From wounded Pride a groan convulsive burst,
And at the mournful sound the visions all dispers'd.
To deck this hallow'd scene of royal taste,
From wounded Pride a groan convulsive burst,
And at the mournful sound the visions all dispers'd.
THE END OF THE FOURTH EPISTLE.
| An essay on sculpture | |