 | A Poetical Epistle to Sir Joshua Reynolds |  |
YOU BUT PRESERVE A FORM.
Pope.
Pope.
1
A POETICAL EPISTLE TO Sir JOSHUA REYNOLDS, Knt.
“Painter, vain's thy utmost art
“To draw the Idol of my Heart!
“Thy Canvass never can receive
“The varied charms her Features give.
“When grave, she wears the awful grace
“That's seen in regal Juno's face;
“When on her cheeks the smiles appear,
“'Tis Venus' better self is there;
“And when she looks with studious eye,
“Another Pallas we descry.
“To draw the Idol of my Heart!
“Thy Canvass never can receive
“The varied charms her Features give.
“When grave, she wears the awful grace
“That's seen in regal Juno's face;
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“'Tis Venus' better self is there;
“And when she looks with studious eye,
“Another Pallas we descry.
“Painter, thy Pencil well may trace
“A Juno's awful, heavenly grace;
“Upon your Canvass may be seen
“Chaste Beauty's fair, imperial Queen;
“E'en Wisdom's Goddess may appear
“In all her native splendor there.
“But in my breast alone can be
“The perfect Image of the Three.”
“A Juno's awful, heavenly grace;
“Upon your Canvass may be seen
“Chaste Beauty's fair, imperial Queen;
“E'en Wisdom's Goddess may appear
“In all her native splendor there.
“But in my breast alone can be
“The perfect Image of the Three.”
Thus did the Muse the Art defy:
Thy Pencil, eager to reply,
Dash'd on the cloth in colours warm
The semblance of Maria's Form;
And soon I saw her cheeks disclose
The lilly mingled with the rose;
And soon her beaming eyes dispense
The soften'd rays of manly sense:
Her graceful form, her auburn hair,
All, all thy magic power declare.
Loose flow'd her robe upon the ground,
And many a Cupid flutter'd round.
The bending branches kindly spread
Their verdant beauties o'er her head,
And far beyond the hills arise,
And seem to mingle with the skies.
At length, in all your art array'd,
The Canvass' spreading form display'd
The beauties of my charming Maid.
You shew'd the Piece—I saw your pride,
And thus the wayward Muse reply'd:
Thy Pencil, eager to reply,
Dash'd on the cloth in colours warm
The semblance of Maria's Form;
And soon I saw her cheeks disclose
The lilly mingled with the rose;
And soon her beaming eyes dispense
The soften'd rays of manly sense:
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All, all thy magic power declare.
Loose flow'd her robe upon the ground,
And many a Cupid flutter'd round.
The bending branches kindly spread
Their verdant beauties o'er her head,
And far beyond the hills arise,
And seem to mingle with the skies.
At length, in all your art array'd,
The Canvass' spreading form display'd
The beauties of my charming Maid.
You shew'd the Piece—I saw your pride,
And thus the wayward Muse reply'd:
“Ah happy Canvass, that dost bear
“The features of my lovely Fair!
“Upon thy surface, mild and clear,
“I see my heavenly Maid appear,
“With all the glories of her Face,
“Her winning smiles, and gentle grace.
“—But where's the virtue of her Mind,
“Which makes her of angelic kind?
“Where is the softness of her Heart,
“To pity prone, and void of art?
“These cannot on thy bosom shine—
“They're only to be found in mine.”
“The features of my lovely Fair!
“Upon thy surface, mild and clear,
“I see my heavenly Maid appear,
“With all the glories of her Face,
“Her winning smiles, and gentle grace.
“—But where's the virtue of her Mind,
“Which makes her of angelic kind?
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“To pity prone, and void of art?
“These cannot on thy bosom shine—
“They're only to be found in mine.”
Thus, Sir, the Muse pursued her song,
Nor did she mean to do you wrong!
The splendid gifts that partial Art,
By Genius aided, does impart,
She knows are thine—Thy talents bear
The marks of their united care.
But frolic Nature will outdo
The works of Art and Genius too:
Her cunning patterns render vain
The Painter's toil, the Sculptor's pain.
All of my Fair that Art could give,
Did on the glossy Canvass live.
Nor did she mean to do you wrong!
The splendid gifts that partial Art,
By Genius aided, does impart,
She knows are thine—Thy talents bear
The marks of their united care.
But frolic Nature will outdo
The works of Art and Genius too:
Her cunning patterns render vain
The Painter's toil, the Sculptor's pain.
All of my Fair that Art could give,
Did on the glossy Canvass live.
With joy the Picture home I bore,
And, smiling, view'd it o'er and o'er!
And, when Maria was away,
Gaz'd on it all the live-long day;
And hop'd that there her cheeks would bloom
In all their glow for years to come.
And, smiling, view'd it o'er and o'er!
And, when Maria was away,
Gaz'd on it all the live-long day;
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In all their glow for years to come.
Oft did the tear bedew my eye,
To think that if my Love should die,
My every joy and every care
Of future Life would center there.
But as I thus enraptur'd stand
Before the wonders of your hand,
I see the lively tints decay,
The vivid colours melt away;
And ere twelve fleeting months were o'er,
The lovely Charmer blush'd no more.
Her features sunk, her roses lost,
Maria stood a pallid Ghost:
Her looks were haggard, and her eyes
Now started forth with wild surprise;
And where their lustre should appear,
The faded tints had form'd a tear.
The spreading branches lose their green,
The azure sky no more is seen,
And the far mountain's distant blue
Is clouded with a sable hue.
Upon my sight the colours fade;
No more I see my heavenly Maid;
Her form is mingled with the shade,
And seems, in one eternal moan,
To weep like Niobe—in stone.
To think that if my Love should die,
My every joy and every care
Of future Life would center there.
But as I thus enraptur'd stand
Before the wonders of your hand,
I see the lively tints decay,
The vivid colours melt away;
And ere twelve fleeting months were o'er,
The lovely Charmer blush'd no more.
Her features sunk, her roses lost,
Maria stood a pallid Ghost:
Her looks were haggard, and her eyes
Now started forth with wild surprise;
And where their lustre should appear,
The faded tints had form'd a tear.
The spreading branches lose their green,
The azure sky no more is seen,
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Is clouded with a sable hue.
Upon my sight the colours fade;
No more I see my heavenly Maid;
Her form is mingled with the shade,
And seems, in one eternal moan,
To weep like Niobe—in stone.
Maria now, in Country Hall,
Adorns the rude, old-fashion'd wall,
And holds her venerable place
'Mid Dames and Lords of antient race.
At her the wond'ring Rustics stare,
As at the oldest Picture there:
Nor will the curious Crowd believe
That 'tis my Lady now alive.
But when the Metzotinto's shewn,
They all a strong resemblance own.
Adorns the rude, old-fashion'd wall,
And holds her venerable place
'Mid Dames and Lords of antient race.
At her the wond'ring Rustics stare,
As at the oldest Picture there:
Nor will the curious Crowd believe
That 'tis my Lady now alive.
But when the Metzotinto's shewn,
They all a strong resemblance own.
Unhappy Artist, to survive
The means by which your fame should live!
And on the Scraper's
art rely
For hopes of Immortality.
The means by which your fame should live!
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For hopes of Immortality.
Your Pencil summon'd into life,
For Garrick's choice, the ardent strife.
I saw the sad, but stately Queen
That stalks amid the tragic scene:
Around her floats the purple Stole;
The Dagger and the fatal Bowl
Are not unseen—and to the Sky
Her finger guides th' attentive eye.
'Tis vain:—Her mad-cap Rival's leer,
With roguish look and playful sneer,
From Madam Grave-Airs wins the field,
And Roscius yields—where all would yield.
Who would not to the covert fly
With all-enchanting Comedy?
For Garrick's choice, the ardent strife.
I saw the sad, but stately Queen
That stalks amid the tragic scene:
Around her floats the purple Stole;
The Dagger and the fatal Bowl
Are not unseen—and to the Sky
Her finger guides th' attentive eye.
'Tis vain:—Her mad-cap Rival's leer,
With roguish look and playful sneer,
From Madam Grave-Airs wins the field,
And Roscius yields—where all would yield.
Who would not to the covert fly
With all-enchanting Comedy?
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But now I'm told, and fear it true,
That Garrick's face is black and blue—
As if he'd run the risk of life
From jealousies of either Wife;
While the fair Dames in this agree,
To be as black and blue as he.
—Time joys to see the hasty ruin,
That cost so little in undoing.
Full many an age he must employ
The works of Raphael to destroy;
And Titian's tints his power defy
Through many a rolling century:
And e'en where Time has aim'd the blow,
Art hath withstood the biting Foe.
But years or months, at his command,
Efface the labours of your hand;
Nor, when they fade, can you restore
The work to what it was before:
Your utmost genius cannot give
Health to the Form, and bid it live.
That Garrick's face is black and blue—
As if he'd run the risk of life
From jealousies of either Wife;
While the fair Dames in this agree,
To be as black and blue as he.
—Time joys to see the hasty ruin,
That cost so little in undoing.
Full many an age he must employ
The works of Raphael to destroy;
And Titian's tints his power defy
Through many a rolling century:
And e'en where Time has aim'd the blow,
Art hath withstood the biting Foe.
But years or months, at his command,
Efface the labours of your hand;
Nor, when they fade, can you restore
The work to what it was before:
Your utmost genius cannot give
Health to the Form, and bid it live.
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I saw your daring Pencil trace
The manly lines of Amherst's face;
And as I stood, my wond'ring eyes
Beheld th' heroic Form arise.
A deep and solemn look he wore,
As if attentive to explore
Some dark design of Britain's Foe,
How to prevent th' approaching blow;
To stop the Fury in its course,
Or hurl it back with triple force;
Or, what in truth so far exceeds
The highest fame of warlike deeds,
Humanely thoughtful how to save
The starving thousands from the grave .
Upon his mild, but dauntless breast,
In its pale splendor was exprest
The lustre of the silver Star,
Well earn'd amid the toils of War.
At length, the final tint bestow'd,
The finish'd Portrait nobly glow'd
In colours warm, and touches true,
As Titian's Pencil ever drew.
The manly lines of Amherst's face;
And as I stood, my wond'ring eyes
Beheld th' heroic Form arise.
A deep and solemn look he wore,
As if attentive to explore
Some dark design of Britain's Foe,
How to prevent th' approaching blow;
To stop the Fury in its course,
Or hurl it back with triple force;
Or, what in truth so far exceeds
The highest fame of warlike deeds,
Humanely thoughtful how to save
The starving thousands from the grave .
Upon his mild, but dauntless breast,
In its pale splendor was exprest
The lustre of the silver Star,
Well earn'd amid the toils of War.
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The finish'd Portrait nobly glow'd
In colours warm, and touches true,
As Titian's Pencil ever drew.
And must the fair resemblance fade,
Ere the great Hero's self is laid
Beneath the marble that will bear
The Tribute of Britannia's Tear?
And when the sage, Historic pen
Shall rank him 'mong the first of Men?
Forbid it, Art! But thou should'st give
The glowing oil to look and live;
And while his future Offspring read
Of many a brave, heroic deed;
Of battles won, of trophies rear'd,
Of nations by his mercy spar'd;
Must their young eyes, in vain, desire
To see the likeness of their Sire,
Who British bands to triumph led,
And trod the paths they wish to tread?
Must they, in vain, the Canvass trace
To catch the generous, gentle Grace.
That o'er the vet'ran features ran,
And mark'd the Hero and the Man?
While many a curse their lips impart,
To damn Thee and thy fleeting Art!
Ere the great Hero's self is laid
Beneath the marble that will bear
The Tribute of Britannia's Tear?
And when the sage, Historic pen
Shall rank him 'mong the first of Men?
Forbid it, Art! But thou should'st give
The glowing oil to look and live;
And while his future Offspring read
Of many a brave, heroic deed;
Of battles won, of trophies rear'd,
Of nations by his mercy spar'd;
Must their young eyes, in vain, desire
To see the likeness of their Sire,
Who British bands to triumph led,
And trod the paths they wish to tread?
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To catch the generous, gentle Grace.
That o'er the vet'ran features ran,
And mark'd the Hero and the Man?
While many a curse their lips impart,
To damn Thee and thy fleeting Art!
Lo! Infant Jove prepares to throw
His lightnings on the world below;
But soon the heavenly flame expires,
Chang'd to blue Tartarean fires,
That stench Olympus' high abode,
And threat to suffocate the God.
His lightnings on the world below;
But soon the heavenly flame expires,
Chang'd to blue Tartarean fires,
That stench Olympus' high abode,
And threat to suffocate the God.
Reynolds! I'm not to censure prone;
Your genius I most gladly own;
And wish that genius might secure
A name, that would as long endure,
As those high honours which proclaim
Immortal Raphael's endless fame.
For such a fame pursue the toil,
And fix it deep in solid oil.
To Painting's highest efforts climb,
Nor fear thy fate, and laugh at Time:
In works of lasting form engage,
And be the Raphael of the Age.
Your genius I most gladly own;
And wish that genius might secure
A name, that would as long endure,
As those high honours which proclaim
Immortal Raphael's endless fame.
For such a fame pursue the toil,
And fix it deep in solid oil.
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Nor fear thy fate, and laugh at Time:
In works of lasting form engage,
And be the Raphael of the Age.
Proceed, great Painter! nor refuse
Your subjects from the friendly Muse:
Nor can she call from ancient Fame
Men of a more exalted name,
Than some whom our Britannia owns
Among her favourite, darling Sons.
Nor e'er did gentle Beauty move
To higher joys of virtuous Love,
Than many a Fair whose charms inspire
The British Youth with chaste desire.
—And Satire too demands thy aid.—
To make the vicious Great afraid,
To pale the glowing tints of Pride,
To urge Contrition's flowing tide,
To paint the lives of shameless Men,
She to thy Pencil yields the Pen.
Your subjects from the friendly Muse:
Nor can she call from ancient Fame
Men of a more exalted name,
Than some whom our Britannia owns
Among her favourite, darling Sons.
Nor e'er did gentle Beauty move
To higher joys of virtuous Love,
Than many a Fair whose charms inspire
The British Youth with chaste desire.
—And Satire too demands thy aid.—
To make the vicious Great afraid,
To pale the glowing tints of Pride,
To urge Contrition's flowing tide,
To paint the lives of shameless Men,
She to thy Pencil yields the Pen.
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Come, then, th' expecting cloth prepare!
Let Garrick's self be painted there!
Not as, erewhile, in wayward mood,
Doubtful the mighty Actor stood,
And hardly knew which Dame to chuse,
The Tragic or the Comic Muse.
In Shakespeare's Temple let him stand,
Erected by his grateful hand,
And let Parnassian Fingers shower
Each verdant leaf and fragrant flower;
And may the Laurel's green array
The same conducting Hands obey
To form a bower, where his age
May, from the turmoils of the Stage,
Enjoy that calm, sedate repose
Which conscious Merit only knows.
Above, may full-wing'd Fame be seen,
With patient but exulting mien;
And let her pluck a verdant spray
From Shakespeare's never-fading Bay;
And let a Muse the gift receive,
And into form the Garland weave,
And place it on the favour'd Brow
Where Shakespeare would the palm bestow.
Let Garrick's self be painted there!
Not as, erewhile, in wayward mood,
Doubtful the mighty Actor stood,
And hardly knew which Dame to chuse,
The Tragic or the Comic Muse.
In Shakespeare's Temple let him stand,
Erected by his grateful hand,
And let Parnassian Fingers shower
Each verdant leaf and fragrant flower;
And may the Laurel's green array
The same conducting Hands obey
To form a bower, where his age
May, from the turmoils of the Stage,
Enjoy that calm, sedate repose
Which conscious Merit only knows.
Above, may full-wing'd Fame be seen,
With patient but exulting mien;
And let her pluck a verdant spray
From Shakespeare's never-fading Bay;
And let a Muse the gift receive,
And into form the Garland weave,
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Where Shakespeare would the palm bestow.
Beneath let Serpent Flatt'ry lour;
Bedeck'd with many a fading flower;
And let her pois'nous train appear,
To writhe in foul contortion there.
Bedeck'd with many a fading flower;
And let her pois'nous train appear,
To writhe in foul contortion there.
Again th' unfading tints prepare!
Great Painter! ply thy utmost care!
To ev'ry touch attention give:
Let Burke upon the canvass live!
Let him with solemn grace appear
Before the Senate's awful Chair,
As if preparing to dispense
That flood of rapid eloquence,
Which now with wond'rous sweetness charms,
Now by its nervous force alarms;
And, with a more than Wizard's art,
Commands the pulses of the heart.
Let Emblems of exalted Sense,
Of Genius, Wit, and Eloquence,
Of cunning Art's collected store,
Of Erudition's hidden lore,
With careless grace, be scatter'd round,
And, where he stands, bestrew the ground.
But 'mid th' inestimable heap
Let Party-Rage be laid asleep!
Great Painter! ply thy utmost care!
To ev'ry touch attention give:
Let Burke upon the canvass live!
Let him with solemn grace appear
Before the Senate's awful Chair,
As if preparing to dispense
That flood of rapid eloquence,
Which now with wond'rous sweetness charms,
Now by its nervous force alarms;
And, with a more than Wizard's art,
Commands the pulses of the heart.
Let Emblems of exalted Sense,
Of Genius, Wit, and Eloquence,
15
Of Erudition's hidden lore,
With careless grace, be scatter'd round,
And, where he stands, bestrew the ground.
But 'mid th' inestimable heap
Let Party-Rage be laid asleep!
Now on the Canvass be display'd
The figure of a weeping Maid!
Paint her thin cheeks of pallid hue;
With flooding tears those cheeks bedew;
And turn her humble, streaming eye
To the soft mercies of the Sky.
Upon her arm, with haggard mien,
Let E---x's tawny figure lean;
And, in his face, pourtray the smart
Which Conscience lashes on his heart.
Before them paint the bright abodes
Of Virtue and her kindred Gods:
Let Hope beside the portal stand,
The Anchor in her beck'ning hand,
And kindly bid the sorrowing Pair
To urge their steps, and enter there .
The figure of a weeping Maid!
Paint her thin cheeks of pallid hue;
With flooding tears those cheeks bedew;
And turn her humble, streaming eye
To the soft mercies of the Sky.
Upon her arm, with haggard mien,
Let E---x's tawny figure lean;
And, in his face, pourtray the smart
Which Conscience lashes on his heart.
Before them paint the bright abodes
Of Virtue and her kindred Gods:
Let Hope beside the portal stand,
The Anchor in her beck'ning hand,
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To urge their steps, and enter there .
Your hand an harder task must try,
And change the Vet'ran to the Boy!
No more let T--- ---d's form appear
With martial grace and hoary hair!
Let crisped curls his brow bedeck,
And hang in ringlets on his neck;
Such as around the fingers twin'd
Of panting Venus, when reclin'd
Upon her breast Adonis lay,
And heav'nly raptures bless'd the day!
Paint on his cheek Health's crimson glow,
Let whiteness clad his youthful brow,
And give him ev'ry charm beside
Expected by a blooming Bride!
And change the Vet'ran to the Boy!
No more let T--- ---d's form appear
With martial grace and hoary hair!
Let crisped curls his brow bedeck,
And hang in ringlets on his neck;
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Of panting Venus, when reclin'd
Upon her breast Adonis lay,
And heav'nly raptures bless'd the day!
Paint on his cheek Health's crimson glow,
Let whiteness clad his youthful brow,
And give him ev'ry charm beside
Expected by a blooming Bride!
But if your Pencil should refuse
The arduous task; my forward Muse
An easy subject will propose.
Time, Sir, and you have long been foes:
For once, then, take the lead of Time,
And wrinkle T--- ---d in her prime.
For since you cannot bring his years
Back to the strength and youth of hers,
Your hand to fitness must accord,
And make her aged as her Lord.
The wrinkles on her face display,
And turn her floating tresses grey.
And give her such a form and dress
As she at fifty will possess;
Such as your Pencil would have given
To F--- ***rs, now a Saint in Heaven.
In nuptial ties this truth I hold:
Both should be Young, or both be Old!
The arduous task; my forward Muse
An easy subject will propose.
Time, Sir, and you have long been foes:
For once, then, take the lead of Time,
And wrinkle T--- ---d in her prime.
For since you cannot bring his years
Back to the strength and youth of hers,
Your hand to fitness must accord,
And make her aged as her Lord.
The wrinkles on her face display,
And turn her floating tresses grey.
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As she at fifty will possess;
Such as your Pencil would have given
To F--- ***rs, now a Saint in Heaven.
In nuptial ties this truth I hold:
Both should be Young, or both be Old!
Again I urge the Pencil's power:
Come, trace the lone monastic Tower,
Whose walls, with ivy overgrown,
Echo the sad repentant moan
Of sinful souls, who glad repair
To shed their daily sorrows there;
And in a Turret place the Bell
That from the dark and dreary Cell,
At midnight hour, breaks off the sleep
Of those who only wake to weep.
Beneath the wall's dark umbrage place,
Repentance mark'd upon her face,
Some aged and repentant Dame,
That doth the heav'nly mercies claim.
Let her before His Image bend,
Who died to be the Sinner's Friend;
And hang the Cross adown her side,
Emblem of that whereon He died.
Make her eyes shed the dropping tear,
As tho' she urg'd a doubtful prayer;
And give to the repentant Nun
The wrinkled form of H*** ***ton.
Come, trace the lone monastic Tower,
Whose walls, with ivy overgrown,
Echo the sad repentant moan
Of sinful souls, who glad repair
To shed their daily sorrows there;
And in a Turret place the Bell
That from the dark and dreary Cell,
At midnight hour, breaks off the sleep
Of those who only wake to weep.
Beneath the wall's dark umbrage place,
Repentance mark'd upon her face,
Some aged and repentant Dame,
That doth the heav'nly mercies claim.
19
Who died to be the Sinner's Friend;
And hang the Cross adown her side,
Emblem of that whereon He died.
Make her eyes shed the dropping tear,
As tho' she urg'd a doubtful prayer;
And give to the repentant Nun
The wrinkled form of H*** ***ton.
Thus, thus, my Friend, exert your art,
And please the Eye, and mend the Heart!
Uncrimson A*** ***r's gawdy face,
But leave her all her share of Grace.
To M---lb--- give her Father's spirit,
And D*** ***r all her Mother's merit.
Make C*** ***n sober, P*** *** refin'd,
And B*** *** gen'rous, brave and kind.
Let them their better Natures see,
And paint them what they ought to be.
And please the Eye, and mend the Heart!
Uncrimson A*** ***r's gawdy face,
But leave her all her share of Grace.
To M---lb--- give her Father's spirit,
And D*** ***r all her Mother's merit.
Make C*** ***n sober, P*** *** refin'd,
And B*** *** gen'rous, brave and kind.
Let them their better Natures see,
And paint them what they ought to be.
Already youthful Bedford's sword,
Urg'd by the valour of its Lord,
Gives, to a Dragon's form, the wound
That lays the Monster on the ground .
—So may he in his future Age
Quell Passion's unrelenting rage;
Or, by his sweetness, soothe to rest
The Tyrants of the Human Breast.
Urg'd by the valour of its Lord,
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That lays the Monster on the ground .
—So may he in his future Age
Quell Passion's unrelenting rage;
Or, by his sweetness, soothe to rest
The Tyrants of the Human Breast.
Then be yourself! nor blend your fame
With Artists of inferior name.
Do not your moral Works expose
At Royal-Academic Shows;
But thus hold forth, to mend the Town,
An Exhibition all your own!
With Artists of inferior name.
Do not your moral Works expose
At Royal-Academic Shows;
But thus hold forth, to mend the Town,
An Exhibition all your own!
FINIS.
It may not, perhaps, be impertinent to observe, that this title is applied to that species of engravers, who prepare the plates for Metzotinto impressions.
I shall not, by relating the whole of the transaction to which I allude, suppose any one ignorant of that splendid Act of Humanity which, during the last war in Canada, reflected so much honour upon Lord Amherst, and, through him, upon his Country and his nature.
While I was amusing myself with this Composition, I was asked who the Lady of Fashion might be, whom I had join'd with Mr. F--- in this penitential progress? It may therefore be proper, for the satisfaction of enquirers, to say something concerning her.
She is not a Lady of Fashion, for she seldom appears in public; and when she does, no one of the Ton will own an acquaintance with her. She is of a very ancient family and high birth, and all the Monarchs in Europe, with their Ministers, Favourites, &c. acknowledge her in their closets. And I should be glad, for I am myself well acquainted with her salutary influence, to recommend her to the immediate intimacy of our Young Men and Women of Fashion—that she might be saved the disagreeable necessity of intruding herself upon them at some future period of their lives.— The Lady's name is Repentance.
| A Poetical Epistle to Sir Joshua Reynolds | |