 | The poems (1969) |  |
23 [Lines Addressed to James Harris]
These would I sing: O art for ever dear,
Whose charms so oft have caught my raptured ear,
O teach me thou, if my unpolished lays
Are all too rude to speak thy gentle praise,
O teach me softer sounds of sweeter kind,
Whose charms so oft have caught my raptured ear,
529
Are all too rude to speak thy gentle praise,
O teach me softer sounds of sweeter kind,
Then let the Muse and Picture each contend,
This plan her tale and that her colours blend:
With me, though both their kindred charms combine,
No power shall emulate or equal thine!
This plan her tale and that her colours blend:
With me, though both their kindred charms combine,
No power shall emulate or equal thine!
And thou, the gentlest patron, born to grace
And add new brightness even to Ashley's race,
Intent like him in Plato's polished style
To fix fair Science in our careless isle:
Whether through Wilton's pictured halls you stray,
Or o'er some speaking marble waste the day,
Or weigh each sound, its various power to learn,
Come, son of Harmony, O hither turn!
Led by thy hand, Philosophy will deign
To own me, meanest of her votive train.
O, I will listen as thy lips impart
Why all my soul obeys her powerful art;
Why at her bidding, or by strange surprise
Or waked by fond degrees, my passions rise;
How well-formed reeds my sure attention gain
And what the lyre's well-measured strings contain.
The mighty masters too, unpraised so long,
Shall not be lost, if thou assist my song,
They who, with Pindar's in one age bestowed,
Clothed the sweet words which in their numbers flowed;
And Rome's and Adria's sons, if thou but strive
To guard their names, shall in my name survive.
And add new brightness even to Ashley's race,
Intent like him in Plato's polished style
To fix fair Science in our careless isle:
Whether through Wilton's pictured halls you stray,
530
Or weigh each sound, its various power to learn,
Come, son of Harmony, O hither turn!
Led by thy hand, Philosophy will deign
To own me, meanest of her votive train.
O, I will listen as thy lips impart
Why all my soul obeys her powerful art;
Why at her bidding, or by strange surprise
Or waked by fond degrees, my passions rise;
How well-formed reeds my sure attention gain
And what the lyre's well-measured strings contain.
The mighty masters too, unpraised so long,
Shall not be lost, if thou assist my song,
They who, with Pindar's in one age bestowed,
Clothed the sweet words which in their numbers flowed;
And Rome's and Adria's sons, if thou but strive
To guard their names, shall in my name survive.
| The poems (1969) | |