University of Virginia Library

TO THE MEMORY OF SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

Parent of sorrow, Melancholy pale,
And Pity, withering in thy vestal bloom,
And musing sage, with sullen eye,
And all the rainbow vested pow'rs that ply
Th' ethereal pencil on the cloud of morn,
Languid, oppress'd, forlorn,
Forth from your dim, mysterious mansions come,
And o'er yon holy tomb,
Where the dead sparks of awful genius lie,
Pour the full tear of woe, and heave th' emphatic sigh!
They come—lo! Melancholy pale,
And Pity, with'ring in her vestal bloom,
And musing sage, with sullen eye,
And all the rainbow-vested pow'rs that ply
Th' ethereal pencil on the clouds of morn,
Lament their second Titian's doom,
And, plucking from each bud the latent thorn,
Ambrosian garlands weave, and look, and pause, and mourn.
In Palmer's weeds; hoar Judgment joins their train,
His manly visage, amiably mild,
Leading young Fancy, his enchanting child,
Whose little fingers bind
Each blushing native of the fruitful wild,
The lily pale, the vi'let blue,
The pansy drooping with distemper'd hue;
The willow trembling on the quer'lous wave;
Those the sportive infant flings,
Meanwhile she sings
Some effort of the pure poetic mind,
And hangs with lasting verse th' immortal painter's grave.
Master of the potent art,
To fix the sight, to charm the heart,
To bid the distant scene return,
The sympathetic bosom burn?
While to thy canvas looks th' enamour'd youth,
Sadly he thinks upon her charming face,
Which wore the smile of innocence and truth,
Which won with love's inimitable grace;
Thy hand her fleeting beauties drew,
The shadow flourish'd, though the substance flew!
Nor was thy genius that which rais'd thy name,
Fame crown'd thee high whilst thou didst shrink from fame;
Thine was unbroken friendship's link divine,
Honour unblam'd, and gen'rous bounty thine;
The fervent tear that pity bade to flow,
The feeling breast that bled at alien woe;
The simple worth, relieving, as by stealth,
The scorn of title, and the scorn of wealth,
Proclaim'd thy heart on heav'n's sublimest plan,
And even the artist sunk beneath the man!
Witness, poor Goldsmith, by thy favour rais'd,
At once rewarded, comforted, and prais'd;
Witness his grateful spirit, hov'ring here
To greet thy coming with a tender tear.
Sweet bard of auburn! lift thy pensive head,
Thine hours of grief are gone—on this blest shore
Aye shalt thou soothe thy friend with genuine lore,
United living, and united dead!
What mien majestic hurries through the shade,
In all the pomp of excellence array'd,
Flashes his bright eye through the gleam around,
And hark! shrill fairy measures sound,
'Tis Garrick—followed by his Shakspeare's train,
Garrick, who, thy admirable draught,
Seems more than mortal, as a marvel left
For noble souls to startle at, below.
Peace to thy manes! Virtue's lip, on earth
Thy praise shall breathe, and Time, his ruthless scythe
Lay by, astonish'd at thy wond'rous works!”