Poems and Plays By William Hayley ... in Six Volumes. A New Edition |
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| AN
ESSAY
ON
PAINTING:
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 | Poems and Plays |  |
1
AN ESSAY ON PAINTING:
IN TWO EPISTLES TO Mr. ROMNEY.
Συγγενειαν τινα προς ποιητικην εχειν η τεχνη ευρισκεται, και κοινη τις αμφοιν ειναι φαντασια,
—α λεγειν οι ποιηται εχουσι ταυτα εν τω γραμματι σημαινουσα.
Philostratus.
---Patet omnibus Ars, nondum est occupata, multum ex illâ etiam futuris relictum est.
Senec. Epist. 33.
Senec. Epist. 33.
EPISTLE THE FIRST.
2
ARGUMENT OF THE FIRST EPISTLE.
Introduction—The flourishing state of Art in this country—Disadvantages attending the modern Painter of Portraits—Short encomium on this branch of Art, with the account of its origin in the story of the Maid of Corinth—Superiority of Historical Painting—Some account of the Greeks who excelled in it—Its destruction and revival in Italy—Short account of the most eminent Italian and Spanish Painters—Those of Flanders and France—The corruption of Art among the latter.
3
Blest be the hour, when fav'ring gales restore
The travell'd Artist to his native shore!
His mind enlighten'd, and his fancy fraught
With finest forms by ancient genius wrought;
Whose magic beauty charm'd, with spell sublime,
The scythe of Ruin from the hand of Time,
And mov'd the mighty leveller to spare
Models of grace so exquisitely fair.
The travell'd Artist to his native shore!
His mind enlighten'd, and his fancy fraught
With finest forms by ancient genius wrought;
Whose magic beauty charm'd, with spell sublime,
The scythe of Ruin from the hand of Time,
And mov'd the mighty leveller to spare
Models of grace so exquisitely fair.
While you, whom Painting thus inspir'd to roam,
Bring these rich stores of ripen'd judgment home;
While now, attending my accomplish'd friend,
Science and Taste his soften'd colours blend;
Let the fond Muse, tho' with a transient view,
The progress of her sister art pursue;
Eager in tracing from remotest time
The steps of Painting through each favour'd clime,
To praise her dearest sons, whose daring aim
Gain'd their bright stations on the heights of fame,
And mark the paths by which her partial hand
Conducts her Romney to this radiant band.
Bring these rich stores of ripen'd judgment home;
While now, attending my accomplish'd friend,
Science and Taste his soften'd colours blend;
Let the fond Muse, tho' with a transient view,
The progress of her sister art pursue;
4
The steps of Painting through each favour'd clime,
To praise her dearest sons, whose daring aim
Gain'd their bright stations on the heights of fame,
And mark the paths by which her partial hand
Conducts her Romney to this radiant band.
Painting, sweet Nymph! now leaves in lifeless trance
Exhausted Italy and tinsel France,
And sees in Britain, with exulting eyes,
Her vot'ries prosper, and her glories rise.
Yet tho', my friend, thy art is thus carest,
And with the homage of the public blest,
And flourishes with growing beauty fair,
The child of Majesty's adoptive care,
The youthful artist still is doom'd to feel
Obstruction's chilling hand, that damps his zeal:
Th' imperious voice of Vanity and Pride
Bids him from Fancy's region turn aside,
And quit the magic of her scene, to trace
The vacant lines of some unmeaning face:
E'en in this work his wishes still are crost,
And all the efforts of his art are lost;
For when the canvas, with the mirror's truth,
Reflects the perfect form of age or youth,
The fond affections of the partial mind
The eye of judgment with delusion blind:
Each mother bids him brighter tints employ,
And give new spirit to her booby boy;
Nor can the painter, with his utmost art,
Express the image in the lover's heart:
Unconscious of the change the seasons bring,
Autumnal beauty asks the rose of spring,
And vain self-love, in every age the same,
Will fondly urge some visionary claim.
The luckless painter, destin'd to submit,
Mourns the lost likeness which he once had hit,
And, doom'd to groundless censure, bears alone
The grievous load of errors not his own.
Exhausted Italy and tinsel France,
And sees in Britain, with exulting eyes,
Her vot'ries prosper, and her glories rise.
Yet tho', my friend, thy art is thus carest,
And with the homage of the public blest,
And flourishes with growing beauty fair,
The child of Majesty's adoptive care,
The youthful artist still is doom'd to feel
Obstruction's chilling hand, that damps his zeal:
Th' imperious voice of Vanity and Pride
Bids him from Fancy's region turn aside,
And quit the magic of her scene, to trace
The vacant lines of some unmeaning face:
E'en in this work his wishes still are crost,
And all the efforts of his art are lost;
For when the canvas, with the mirror's truth,
Reflects the perfect form of age or youth,
5
The eye of judgment with delusion blind:
Each mother bids him brighter tints employ,
And give new spirit to her booby boy;
Nor can the painter, with his utmost art,
Express the image in the lover's heart:
Unconscious of the change the seasons bring,
Autumnal beauty asks the rose of spring,
And vain self-love, in every age the same,
Will fondly urge some visionary claim.
The luckless painter, destin'd to submit,
Mourns the lost likeness which he once had hit,
And, doom'd to groundless censure, bears alone
The grievous load of errors not his own.
Nor is it Pride, or Folly's vain command,
That only fetters his creative hand;
At Fashion's nod he copies as they pass
Each quaint reflection from her crowded glass.
The formal coat, with intersecting line,
Mars the free graces of his fair design;
The towering cap he marks with like distress,
And all the motley mass of female dress.
The hoop extended with enormous size,
The corks that like a promontory rise;
The stays of deadly steel, in whose embrace
The tyrant Fashion tortures injur'd Grace.
But Art, despairing over shapes like these
To cast an air of elegance and ease,
Invokes kind Fancy's aid—she comes to spread
Her magic spells—the Gothic forms are fled;
And see, to crown the painter's just desire,
Her free positions, and her light attire!
Th' ambitious artist wishes to pursue
This brilliant plan with more extensive view,
And with adopted character to give
A lasting charm to make the portrait live;
All points of art by one nice effort gain,
Delight the learned, and content the vain;
Make history to life new value lend,
And in the comprehensive picture blend
The ancient hero with the living friend.
Most fair device! “but, ah! what foes to sense,
What broods of motley monsters rise from hence!”
The strange pretensions of each age and sex
These plans of fancy and of taste perplex;
For male and female, to themselves unknown,
Demand a character unlike their own,
Till oft the painter to this quaint distress
Prefers the awkward shapes of common dress.
Sweet girls, of mild and pensive softness, choose
The sportive emblems of the comic Muse;
And sprightly damsels are inclin'd to borrow
The garb of penitence, and tears of sorrow:
While awkward pride, tho' safe from war's alarms,
Round his plump body buckles ancient arms,
And, from an honest justice of the peace,
Starts up at once a demi-god of Greece;
Too firm of heart by ridicule to fall,
The finish'd hero crowns his country hall,
Ordain'd to fill, if fire his glory spare,
The lumber-garret of his wiser heir.
Not less absurd to flatter Nero's eyes
Arose the portrait of colossal size:
Twice fifty feet th' enormous sheet was spread,
To lift o'er gazing slaves the monster's head,
When impious Folly sway'd Oppression's rod,
And servile Rome ador'd the mimic God.
That only fetters his creative hand;
At Fashion's nod he copies as they pass
Each quaint reflection from her crowded glass.
The formal coat, with intersecting line,
Mars the free graces of his fair design;
The towering cap he marks with like distress,
And all the motley mass of female dress.
The hoop extended with enormous size,
The corks that like a promontory rise;
6
The tyrant Fashion tortures injur'd Grace.
But Art, despairing over shapes like these
To cast an air of elegance and ease,
Invokes kind Fancy's aid—she comes to spread
Her magic spells—the Gothic forms are fled;
And see, to crown the painter's just desire,
Her free positions, and her light attire!
Th' ambitious artist wishes to pursue
This brilliant plan with more extensive view,
And with adopted character to give
A lasting charm to make the portrait live;
All points of art by one nice effort gain,
Delight the learned, and content the vain;
Make history to life new value lend,
And in the comprehensive picture blend
The ancient hero with the living friend.
Most fair device! “but, ah! what foes to sense,
What broods of motley monsters rise from hence!”
The strange pretensions of each age and sex
These plans of fancy and of taste perplex;
7
Demand a character unlike their own,
Till oft the painter to this quaint distress
Prefers the awkward shapes of common dress.
Sweet girls, of mild and pensive softness, choose
The sportive emblems of the comic Muse;
And sprightly damsels are inclin'd to borrow
The garb of penitence, and tears of sorrow:
While awkward pride, tho' safe from war's alarms,
Round his plump body buckles ancient arms,
And, from an honest justice of the peace,
Starts up at once a demi-god of Greece;
Too firm of heart by ridicule to fall,
The finish'd hero crowns his country hall,
Ordain'd to fill, if fire his glory spare,
The lumber-garret of his wiser heir.
Not less absurd to flatter Nero's eyes
Arose the portrait of colossal size:
Twice fifty feet th' enormous sheet was spread,
To lift o'er gazing slaves the monster's head,
When impious Folly sway'd Oppression's rod,
And servile Rome ador'd the mimic God.
8
Think not, my friend, with supercilious air,
I rank the portrait as beneath thy care.
Blest be the pencil! which from death can save
The semblance of the virtuous, wife, and brave;
That youth and emulation still may gaze
On those inspiring forms of ancient days,
And, from the force of bright example bold,
Rival their worth, “and be what they behold.”
Blest be the pencil! whose consoling pow'r,
Soothing soft Friendship in her pensive hour,
Dispels the cloud, with melancholy fraught,
That absence throws upon her tender thought.
Blest be the pencil! whose enchantment gives
To wounded Love the food on which he lives.
Rich in this gift, tho' cruel ocean bear
The youth to exile from his faithful fair,
He in fond dreams hangs o'er her glowing cheek,
Still owns her present, and still hears her speak:
Oh! Love, it was thy glory to impart
Its infant being to this magic art!
Inspir'd by thee, the soft Corinthian maid
Her graceful lover's sleeping form portray'd:
Her boding heart his near departure knew,
Yet long'd to keep his image in her view:
Pleas'd she beheld the steady shadow fall,
By the clear lamp upon the even wall:
The line she trac'd with fond precision true,
And, drawing, doated on the form she drew;
Nor, as she glow'd with no forbidden fire,
Conccal'd the simple picture from her sire:
His kindred fancy, still to nature just,
Copied her line, and form'd the mimic bust.
Thus from thy power, inspiring Love, we trace
The modell'd image, and the pencil'd face!
I rank the portrait as beneath thy care.
Blest be the pencil! which from death can save
The semblance of the virtuous, wife, and brave;
That youth and emulation still may gaze
On those inspiring forms of ancient days,
And, from the force of bright example bold,
Rival their worth, “and be what they behold.”
Blest be the pencil! whose consoling pow'r,
Soothing soft Friendship in her pensive hour,
Dispels the cloud, with melancholy fraught,
That absence throws upon her tender thought.
Blest be the pencil! whose enchantment gives
To wounded Love the food on which he lives.
Rich in this gift, tho' cruel ocean bear
The youth to exile from his faithful fair,
He in fond dreams hangs o'er her glowing cheek,
Still owns her present, and still hears her speak:
Oh! Love, it was thy glory to impart
Its infant being to this magic art!
Inspir'd by thee, the soft Corinthian maid
Her graceful lover's sleeping form portray'd:
9
Yet long'd to keep his image in her view:
Pleas'd she beheld the steady shadow fall,
By the clear lamp upon the even wall:
The line she trac'd with fond precision true,
And, drawing, doated on the form she drew;
Nor, as she glow'd with no forbidden fire,
Conccal'd the simple picture from her sire:
His kindred fancy, still to nature just,
Copied her line, and form'd the mimic bust.
Thus from thy power, inspiring Love, we trace
The modell'd image, and the pencil'd face!
We pity Genius, when, by interest led,
His toils but reach the semblance of a head;
Yet are those censures too severe and vain,
That scorn the Portrait as the Painter's bane.
Tho' up the mountain winds the arduous road
That leads to pure Perfection's bright abode,
In humbler walks some tempting laurels grow,
Some flowers are gather'd in the vale below:
Youth on the plain collects increasing force,
To climb the steep in his meridian course.
While Nature sees her living models share
The rising artist's unremitting care,
She on his mind her every charm imprints,
Her easy postures, and her perfect tints,
Till his quick pencil, in maturer hour,
Becomes her rival in creative power.
His toils but reach the semblance of a head;
Yet are those censures too severe and vain,
That scorn the Portrait as the Painter's bane.
Tho' up the mountain winds the arduous road
That leads to pure Perfection's bright abode,
In humbler walks some tempting laurels grow,
Some flowers are gather'd in the vale below:
Youth on the plain collects increasing force,
To climb the steep in his meridian course.
While Nature sees her living models share
The rising artist's unremitting care,
10
Her easy postures, and her perfect tints,
Till his quick pencil, in maturer hour,
Becomes her rival in creative power.
Yet in these paths disdain a long delay,
While eager Genius points a nobler way:
For see! expanding to thy raptur'd gaze,
The epic field a brighter scene displays!
Here stands the temple, where, to merit true,
Fame gives her laurel to the favour'd few:
Whose minds, illumin'd with cœlestial fire,
Direct the pencil, or awake the lyre;
Who trace the springs of nature to their source,
And by her guidance, with resistless force,
The tides of error and of transport roll
Thro' every channel of the human soul!
While eager Genius points a nobler way:
For see! expanding to thy raptur'd gaze,
The epic field a brighter scene displays!
Here stands the temple, where, to merit true,
Fame gives her laurel to the favour'd few:
Whose minds, illumin'd with cœlestial fire,
Direct the pencil, or awake the lyre;
Who trace the springs of nature to their source,
And by her guidance, with resistless force,
The tides of error and of transport roll
Thro' every channel of the human soul!
How few, my friend, tho' millions boast the aim,
Leave in this temple an unclouded name!
Vain the attempt, in every age and clime,
Without the slow conductors toil and time;
Without that secret, soul-impelling power,
Infus'd by Genius in the natal hour;
And vain with these, if bright occasion's ray
Fail to illuminate the doubtful way.
Leave in this temple an unclouded name!
Vain the attempt, in every age and clime,
Without the slow conductors toil and time;
Without that secret, soul-impelling power,
Infus'd by Genius in the natal hour;
And vain with these, if bright occasion's ray
Fail to illuminate the doubtful way.
11
The elders of thy art ordain'd to stand
In the first circle of this honour'd band,
(Whose pencil, striving for the noblest praise,
The heart to soften and the mind to raise,
Gave life and manners to the finish'd piece)
These sons of glory were the sons of Greece!
Hail! throne of genius, hail! what mighty hand
Form'd the bright offspring of this famous land?
First in the annals of the world they shine:
Such gifts, O Liberty, are only thine;
Thy vital fires thro' kindling spirits run,
Thou soul of life, thou intellectual sun;
Thy rays call forth, profuse and unconfin'd,
The richest produce of the human mind.
First taught by thee, the Grecian pencil wrought
The forceful lessons of exalted thought,
And generously gave, at glory's call,
The patriot picture to the public hall.
In the first circle of this honour'd band,
(Whose pencil, striving for the noblest praise,
The heart to soften and the mind to raise,
Gave life and manners to the finish'd piece)
These sons of glory were the sons of Greece!
Hail! throne of genius, hail! what mighty hand
Form'd the bright offspring of this famous land?
First in the annals of the world they shine:
Such gifts, O Liberty, are only thine;
Thy vital fires thro' kindling spirits run,
Thou soul of life, thou intellectual sun;
Thy rays call forth, profuse and unconfin'd,
The richest produce of the human mind.
First taught by thee, the Grecian pencil wrought
The forceful lessons of exalted thought,
And generously gave, at glory's call,
The patriot picture to the public hall.
'Twas then Panæus drew, with freedom's train,
The Chief of Marathon's immortal plain,
In glorious triumph o'er the mighty host
That Persia pour'd in torrents on their coast.
The Chief of Marathon's immortal plain,
In glorious triumph o'er the mighty host
That Persia pour'd in torrents on their coast.
12
There Polygnotus, scorning servile hire,
Display'd th' embattled scene from Homer's lyre.
His country view'd the gift with fond regard,
And rank'd the painter with their noblest bard.
Display'd th' embattled scene from Homer's lyre.
His country view'd the gift with fond regard,
And rank'd the painter with their noblest bard.
Thy tragic pencil, Aristides, caught
Each varied feeling, and each tender thought;
While moral virtue sanctified thy art,
And passion gave it empire o'er the heart.
Each varied feeling, and each tender thought;
While moral virtue sanctified thy art,
And passion gave it empire o'er the heart.
Correct Parrhasius first to rich design
Gave nice proportion, and the melting line,
Whose soft extremes from observation fly,
And with ideal distance cheat the eye.
Gave nice proportion, and the melting line,
Whose soft extremes from observation fly,
And with ideal distance cheat the eye.
The gay, the warm, licentious Zeuxis drew
Voluptuous Beauty in her richest hue:
Bade in one form her scatter'd rays unite,
And charm'd the view with their collected light.
Voluptuous Beauty in her richest hue:
Bade in one form her scatter'd rays unite,
And charm'd the view with their collected light.
But Grace consign'd, while her fair works he plann'd,
Her softest pencil to Apelles' hand:
Yet oft to gain sublimer heights he strove,
Such strong expression mark'd his mimic Jove,
Inimitably great he seem'd to tower,
And pass the limits of the pencil's power.
Her softest pencil to Apelles' hand:
Yet oft to gain sublimer heights he strove,
Such strong expression mark'd his mimic Jove,
13
And pass the limits of the pencil's power.
Ye sons of art, tho' on the gulph of years
No floating relic of your toil appears,
Yet glory shews, in every cultur'd clime,
Your names still radiant thro' the clouds of time.
No floating relic of your toil appears,
Yet glory shews, in every cultur'd clime,
Your names still radiant thro' the clouds of time.
Thy pride, O Rome, inclin'd thee to abhor
Each work that call'd thee from thy sphere of war:
By Freedom train'd, and favour'd by the Nine,
The powers of eloquence and verse were thine,
While chilling damps upon the pencil hung,
Where Tully thunder'd and where Virgil sung,
Yet Grecian artists had the splendid fate
To triumph o'er the Romans' scornful hate.
Their matchless works profusion toil'd to buy,
Their wonders glitter'd in the public eye,
Till Rome's terrific pomp, and letter'd pride,
Were sunk in Desolation's whelming tide.
Each work that call'd thee from thy sphere of war:
By Freedom train'd, and favour'd by the Nine,
The powers of eloquence and verse were thine,
While chilling damps upon the pencil hung,
Where Tully thunder'd and where Virgil sung,
Yet Grecian artists had the splendid fate
To triumph o'er the Romans' scornful hate.
Their matchless works profusion toil'd to buy,
Their wonders glitter'd in the public eye,
Till Rome's terrific pomp, and letter'd pride,
Were sunk in Desolation's whelming tide.
Oh! lovely Painting! long thy cheering light
Was lost and buried in barbaric night;
The furious rage of Anarchy effac'd
Each hallow'd character thy hand had trac'd,
And Ign'rance, mutt'ring in her monkish cell,
Bound thy free soul in her lethargic spell.
Was lost and buried in barbaric night;
The furious rage of Anarchy effac'd
Each hallow'd character thy hand had trac'd,
14
Bound thy free soul in her lethargic spell.
At length from this long trance thy spirit rose,
In that sweet vale where silver Arno flows;
There studious Vinci treasur'd every rule,
To form the basis of a rising school:
Like early Hesiod, 'twas his fate to shine,
The herald of a master more divine.
In that sweet vale where silver Arno flows;
There studious Vinci treasur'd every rule,
To form the basis of a rising school:
Like early Hesiod, 'twas his fate to shine,
The herald of a master more divine.
Inflam'd by Genius with sublimest rage,
By toil unwearied, and unchill'd by age,
In the fine phrenzy of exalted thought
Gigantic Angelo his wonders wrought;
And high, by native strength of spirit rais'd,
The mighty Homer of the pencil blaz'd.
By toil unwearied, and unchill'd by age,
In the fine phrenzy of exalted thought
Gigantic Angelo his wonders wrought;
And high, by native strength of spirit rais'd,
The mighty Homer of the pencil blaz'd.
Taste, Fancy, Judgment, all on Raphael smil'd,
Of Grandeur and of Grace the darling child:
Truth, passion, character, his constant aim,
Both in the human and the heavenly frame,
Th' enchanting painter rules the willing heart,
And shines the finish'd Virgil of his art.
Of Grandeur and of Grace the darling child:
Truth, passion, character, his constant aim,
Both in the human and the heavenly frame,
Th' enchanting painter rules the willing heart,
And shines the finish'd Virgil of his art.
15
The daring Julio, tho' by Raphael train'd,
Reach'd not the summit where his master reign'd;
Yet to no common heights of epic fame
True Genius guided his adventurous aim.
Thus Statius, fraught with emulous regard,
Caught not the spirit of the Mantuan bard:
Tho' rival ardour his ambition fir'd,
And kindred talents his bold verse inspir'd.
Reach'd not the summit where his master reign'd;
Yet to no common heights of epic fame
True Genius guided his adventurous aim.
Thus Statius, fraught with emulous regard,
Caught not the spirit of the Mantuan bard:
Tho' rival ardour his ambition fir'd,
And kindred talents his bold verse inspir'd.
More richly warm, the glowing Titian knew
To blend with Nature's truth the living hue:
O! had sublime design his colours crown'd!
Then had the world a finish'd painter found:
With powers to seize the highest branch of art,
He fix'd too fondly on an humbler part;
Yet this low object of his partial care
Grew from his toil so exquisitely fair,
That dazzled judgment, with suspended voice,
Fears to condemn the error of his choice.
Thus pleas'd a flowery valley to explore,
Whence never Poet cull'd a wreath before,
Lucretius chose the epic crown to lose
For the bright chaplets of an humbler muse.
To blend with Nature's truth the living hue:
O! had sublime design his colours crown'd!
Then had the world a finish'd painter found:
With powers to seize the highest branch of art,
He fix'd too fondly on an humbler part;
Yet this low object of his partial care
Grew from his toil so exquisitely fair,
That dazzled judgment, with suspended voice,
Fears to condemn the error of his choice.
Thus pleas'd a flowery valley to explore,
Whence never Poet cull'd a wreath before,
16
For the bright chaplets of an humbler muse.
Soft as Catullus, sweet Corregio play'd
With all the magic charms of light and shade.
Tho' Parma claim it for her rival son,
The praise of sweetest grace thy pencil won:
Unhappy Genius! tho' of skill divine,
Unjust neglect and penury were thine.
Lamenting o'er thy labours unrepaid,
Afflicted Art opprest with wrongs decay'd,
Till with pure judgment the Caracci came,
And, raising her weak powers and sinking frame,
Reclaim'd the pencil of misguided youth
From Affectation's glare to tints of modest Truth.
They form'd the Pencil, to whose infant fame
Young Zampieri ow'd his nobler name:
Profoundly skill'd his figures to dispose,
The learned Lanfranc in their school arose,
And, train'd to glory, by their forming care,
The tender Guido caught his graceful air.
With all the magic charms of light and shade.
Tho' Parma claim it for her rival son,
The praise of sweetest grace thy pencil won:
Unhappy Genius! tho' of skill divine,
Unjust neglect and penury were thine.
Lamenting o'er thy labours unrepaid,
Afflicted Art opprest with wrongs decay'd,
Till with pure judgment the Caracci came,
And, raising her weak powers and sinking frame,
Reclaim'd the pencil of misguided youth
From Affectation's glare to tints of modest Truth.
They form'd the Pencil, to whose infant fame
Young Zampieri ow'd his nobler name:
Profoundly skill'd his figures to dispose,
The learned Lanfranc in their school arose,
17
The tender Guido caught his graceful air.
Nor shall ye fail your well-earn'd praise to gain,
Ye! who adorn'd with art your native Spain!
The unfrequented shore, that gave you birth,
Tempts not the faithful Muse to hide your worth:
Just to all regions, let her voice proclaim
Titian's mute scholar, rival of his fame.
The power, that Nature to his lips denied,
Indulgent Art, with fonder care, supplied:
The cruel bar his happy genius broke;
Tho' dumb the painter, all his pictures spoke.
Ye! who adorn'd with art your native Spain!
The unfrequented shore, that gave you birth,
Tempts not the faithful Muse to hide your worth:
Just to all regions, let her voice proclaim
Titian's mute scholar, rival of his fame.
The power, that Nature to his lips denied,
Indulgent Art, with fonder care, supplied:
The cruel bar his happy genius broke;
Tho' dumb the painter, all his pictures spoke.
And thou, Velasquez, share the honour due
To forceful tints, that fascinate the view!
Thy bold illusive talents soar'd so high,
They mock'd, with mimic life, the cheated eye.
Thou liberal artist! 'twas thy praise to guide
Thy happy scholar with parental pride;
Thy care the soft, the rich Murillo form'd,
And, as thy precept taught, thy friendship warm'd.
Yet other names, and not a scanty band!
Have added lustre to th' Iberian land;
But generous Italy, thy genial earth
Superior numbers bore of splendid worth!
And rais'd amidst them, in thy golden days,
No mean historian to record their praise.
To forceful tints, that fascinate the view!
Thy bold illusive talents soar'd so high,
They mock'd, with mimic life, the cheated eye.
Thou liberal artist! 'twas thy praise to guide
Thy happy scholar with parental pride;
Thy care the soft, the rich Murillo form'd,
And, as thy precept taught, thy friendship warm'd.
18
Have added lustre to th' Iberian land;
But generous Italy, thy genial earth
Superior numbers bore of splendid worth!
And rais'd amidst them, in thy golden days,
No mean historian to record their praise.
On Thee, whom Art, thy patroness and pride,
Taught both the pencil and the pen to guide;
Whose generous zeal and modest truth have known
To blazon others' skill, not boast thy own;
On thee, Vasari, let my verse bestow
That just applause, so freely seen to flow
From thy ingenuous heart and liberal hand,
To each great artist of thy native land!
Tho' many shine in thy elaborate page,
And more have risen since thy distant age,
Their various talents, and their different fame,
The Muse, unskilful, must decline to name,
Lest in the nice attempt her judgment fail
To poise their merits in Precision's scale.
Taught both the pencil and the pen to guide;
Whose generous zeal and modest truth have known
To blazon others' skill, not boast thy own;
On thee, Vasari, let my verse bestow
That just applause, so freely seen to flow
From thy ingenuous heart and liberal hand,
To each great artist of thy native land!
Tho' many shine in thy elaborate page,
And more have risen since thy distant age,
Their various talents, and their different fame,
The Muse, unskilful, must decline to name,
Lest in the nice attempt her judgment fail
To poise their merits in Precision's scale.
E'en public Taste, by no determin'd rule,
Has class'd the merit of each nobler school:
To Rome and Florence, in Expression strong,
The highest honours of Design belong;
On her pure Style see mild Bologna claim
Her fairest right to secondary fame;
Tho' prouder Venice would usurp that praise,
Upon the splendid force of Titian's golden rays.
But ill they know the value of their art,
Who, flattering the eye, neglect the heart.
Tho' matchless tints a lasting name secure,
Tho' strong the magic of the clear-obscure,
These must submit, as a dependant part,
To pure Design, the very soul of Art;
Or Fame, misguided, must invert her course,
And Raphael's Grace must yield to Rembrandt's Force;
Fancy's bold thought to Labour's patient touch,
And Rome's exalted genius to the Dutch.
Yet, Holland, thy unwearied labours raise
A perfect title to peculiar praise:
Thy hum'rous pencil shuns the epic field,
The blazing falchion, and the sanguine shield;
But hap'ly marks the group of rural Mirth,
In social circle round the chearful hearth;
And rustic Joy, from busy cares releas'd,
To the gay gambols of the village feast:
While Nature smiles her very faults to view,
Trac'd with a skill so exquisitely true.
These faults, O Rembrandt, 'twas thy praise to hide!
New pow'rs of Art thy fertile mind supplied;
With dazzling force thy gorgeous colouring glows,
And o'er each scene an air of grandeur throws:
The meanest Figures dignity assume,
From thy contrasted light, and magic gloom.
These strong illusions are supremely thine,
And laugh at Imitation's vague design:
So near to blemishes thy beauties run,
Those who affect thy splendor are undone:
While thy rash rivals, loose and incorrect,
Miscall their shadowy want of truth Effect,
And into paths of affectation start:
Neglect of Nature is the bane of Art.
Proud of the praise by Rubens' pencil won,
Let Flanders boast her bold inventive son!
Whose glowing hues magnificently shine
With warmth congenial to his rich design:
And him, her second pride, whose milder care
From living Beauty caught its loveliest air!
Who truth of character with grace combin'd,
And in the speaking feature mark'd the mind,
Her soft Vandyke, while graceful portraits please,
Shall reign the model of unrivall'd ease.
Painting shall tell, with many a grateful thought,
From Flanders first the secret pow'r she caught,
To grace and guard the offspring of her toil,
With all the virtues of enduring oil;
Tho' charm'd by Italy's alluring views,
(Where sumptuous Leo courted every Muse,
And lovely Science grew the public care)
She fix'd the glories of her empire there;
There in her zenith soon she ceas'd to shine,
And dated, passing her meridan line,
From the Caracci's death her period of decline.
Yet in her gloomy and disgraceful hour
Of faded beauty, and enfeebled power,
With talents flowing in free Nature's course,
With just exertion of unborrow'd force,
Untrodden paths of art Salvator tried,
And daring Fancy was his favourite guide.
O'er his wild rocks, at her command, he throws
A savage grandeur, and sublime repose;
Or gives th' historic scene a charm as strong
As the terrific gloom of Dante's song.
His bold ideas, unrefin'd by taste,
Express'd with vigour, tho' conceiv'd in haste,
Before slow judgment their defects can find,
With awful pleasure fill the passive mind.
Nor could one art, with various beauty fraught,
Engross the ardor of his active thought:
His pencil pausing, with satiric fire
He struck the chords of the congenial lyre;
By generous verse attempting to reclaim
The meaner artist from each abject aim.
But vain his satire! his example vain!
Degraded Painting sinks with many a stain:
Her clouded beams, from Italy withdrawn,
On colder France with transient lustre dawn.
There, in the arms of Roman science nurs'd,
In every work of ancient genius vers'd,
The sage Poussin, with purest fancy fraught,
Portray'd the classic scene, as Learning taught:
But Nature, jealous of her sacred right,
And piqu'd that his idolatry should slight
Her glowing graces, and her living air,
To worship marble with a fonder care,
Denied his pencil, in its mimic strife,
The bloom of beauty, and the warmth of life.
Has class'd the merit of each nobler school:
19
The highest honours of Design belong;
On her pure Style see mild Bologna claim
Her fairest right to secondary fame;
Tho' prouder Venice would usurp that praise,
Upon the splendid force of Titian's golden rays.
But ill they know the value of their art,
Who, flattering the eye, neglect the heart.
Tho' matchless tints a lasting name secure,
Tho' strong the magic of the clear-obscure,
These must submit, as a dependant part,
To pure Design, the very soul of Art;
Or Fame, misguided, must invert her course,
And Raphael's Grace must yield to Rembrandt's Force;
Fancy's bold thought to Labour's patient touch,
And Rome's exalted genius to the Dutch.
Yet, Holland, thy unwearied labours raise
A perfect title to peculiar praise:
Thy hum'rous pencil shuns the epic field,
The blazing falchion, and the sanguine shield;
20
In social circle round the chearful hearth;
And rustic Joy, from busy cares releas'd,
To the gay gambols of the village feast:
While Nature smiles her very faults to view,
Trac'd with a skill so exquisitely true.
These faults, O Rembrandt, 'twas thy praise to hide!
New pow'rs of Art thy fertile mind supplied;
With dazzling force thy gorgeous colouring glows,
And o'er each scene an air of grandeur throws:
The meanest Figures dignity assume,
From thy contrasted light, and magic gloom.
These strong illusions are supremely thine,
And laugh at Imitation's vague design:
So near to blemishes thy beauties run,
Those who affect thy splendor are undone:
While thy rash rivals, loose and incorrect,
Miscall their shadowy want of truth Effect,
And into paths of affectation start:
Neglect of Nature is the bane of Art.
Proud of the praise by Rubens' pencil won,
Let Flanders boast her bold inventive son!
21
With warmth congenial to his rich design:
And him, her second pride, whose milder care
From living Beauty caught its loveliest air!
Who truth of character with grace combin'd,
And in the speaking feature mark'd the mind,
Her soft Vandyke, while graceful portraits please,
Shall reign the model of unrivall'd ease.
Painting shall tell, with many a grateful thought,
From Flanders first the secret pow'r she caught,
To grace and guard the offspring of her toil,
With all the virtues of enduring oil;
Tho' charm'd by Italy's alluring views,
(Where sumptuous Leo courted every Muse,
And lovely Science grew the public care)
She fix'd the glories of her empire there;
There in her zenith soon she ceas'd to shine,
And dated, passing her meridan line,
From the Caracci's death her period of decline.
Yet in her gloomy and disgraceful hour
Of faded beauty, and enfeebled power,
22
With just exertion of unborrow'd force,
Untrodden paths of art Salvator tried,
And daring Fancy was his favourite guide.
O'er his wild rocks, at her command, he throws
A savage grandeur, and sublime repose;
Or gives th' historic scene a charm as strong
As the terrific gloom of Dante's song.
His bold ideas, unrefin'd by taste,
Express'd with vigour, tho' conceiv'd in haste,
Before slow judgment their defects can find,
With awful pleasure fill the passive mind.
Nor could one art, with various beauty fraught,
Engross the ardor of his active thought:
His pencil pausing, with satiric fire
He struck the chords of the congenial lyre;
By generous verse attempting to reclaim
The meaner artist from each abject aim.
But vain his satire! his example vain!
Degraded Painting sinks with many a stain:
Her clouded beams, from Italy withdrawn,
On colder France with transient lustre dawn.
23
In every work of ancient genius vers'd,
The sage Poussin, with purest fancy fraught,
Portray'd the classic scene, as Learning taught:
But Nature, jealous of her sacred right,
And piqu'd that his idolatry should slight
Her glowing graces, and her living air,
To worship marble with a fonder care,
Denied his pencil, in its mimic strife,
The bloom of beauty, and the warmth of life.
Then rose Le Brun, his scholar, and his friend,
More justly skill'd the vivid tints to blend;
Tho' with exalted spirit he present
The generous victor in the suppliant tent,
Too oft the genius of his gaudy clime
Misled his pencil from the pure sublime.
More justly skill'd the vivid tints to blend;
Tho' with exalted spirit he present
The generous victor in the suppliant tent,
Too oft the genius of his gaudy clime
Misled his pencil from the pure sublime.
Thy dawn, Le Sueur, announc'd a happier taste,
With fancy glowing, and with judgment chaste:
But Art, who gloried in thy rising bloom,
Shed fruitless tears upon thy early tomb.
With fancy glowing, and with judgment chaste:
But Art, who gloried in thy rising bloom,
Shed fruitless tears upon thy early tomb.
24
These lights withdrawn, Confusion and Misrule
Seize the vain pencil of the Gallic school:
Tho' Fresnoy teaches, in Horatian song,
The laws and limits that to Art belong;
In vain he strives, with Attic judgment chaste,
To crush the monsters of corrupted taste:
With ineffectual fire the poet sings,
Prolific still the wounded Hydra springs:
Gods roll'd on gods encumber every hall,
And saints, convulsive, o'er the chapel sprawl.
Bombast is Grandeur, Affectation Grace,
Beauty's soft smile is turn'd to pert grimace;
Loaded with dress, supremely fine advance
Old Homer's heroes, with the airs of France.
Indignant Art disclaim'd the motley crew,
Resign'd their empire, and to Britain flew.
Seize the vain pencil of the Gallic school:
Tho' Fresnoy teaches, in Horatian song,
The laws and limits that to Art belong;
In vain he strives, with Attic judgment chaste,
To crush the monsters of corrupted taste:
With ineffectual fire the poet sings,
Prolific still the wounded Hydra springs:
Gods roll'd on gods encumber every hall,
And saints, convulsive, o'er the chapel sprawl.
Bombast is Grandeur, Affectation Grace,
Beauty's soft smile is turn'd to pert grimace;
Loaded with dress, supremely fine advance
Old Homer's heroes, with the airs of France.
Indignant Art disclaim'd the motley crew,
Resign'd their empire, and to Britain flew.
END OF THE FIRST EPISTLE.
25
EPISTLE THE SECOND.
26
ARGUMENT OF THE SECOND EPISTLE.
The rise of Painting in England, and the reasons for its happening so late.—The rapidity of its improvement. —A slight sketch of the most eminent living Artists in England.—The author's wish to see his friend among the first of that number—His reasons for hoping it. —The reputation of a Painter in some degree owing to a happy choice of subjects—A few recommended from national events—and from Milton and Shakespeare. —Conclusion.—Author's wishes for his friend's success.
27
Ingenuous Romney, whom thy merits raise
To the pure summits of unclouded praise;
Whom Art has chosen, with successful hand,
To spread her empire o'er this honour'd land;
Thy Progress Friendship with delight surveys,
And this pure Homage to thy Goddess pays.
Hail! heavenly Visitant! whose cheering powers
E'en to the happy give still happier hours!
O! next to Freedom, and the Muse, design'd
To raise, ennoble, and adorn mankind!
At length we view thee in this favor'd Isle,
That greets thy presence, and deserves thy smile:
This favor'd Isle, in native Freedom bold,
And rich in Spirit as thy Greeks of old.
To the pure summits of unclouded praise;
Whom Art has chosen, with successful hand,
To spread her empire o'er this honour'd land;
Thy Progress Friendship with delight surveys,
And this pure Homage to thy Goddess pays.
Hail! heavenly Visitant! whose cheering powers
E'en to the happy give still happier hours!
O! next to Freedom, and the Muse, design'd
To raise, ennoble, and adorn mankind!
At length we view thee in this favor'd Isle,
That greets thy presence, and deserves thy smile:
This favor'd Isle, in native Freedom bold,
And rich in Spirit as thy Greeks of old.
28
Tho' foreign Theorists, with System blind,
Prescribe false limits to the British mind,
And, warp'd by Vanity, presume to hold
Our northern Genius dark, confin'd, and cold:
Painting, sweet Nymph, unconscious of their chain,
In this fair Island forms her new Domain,
And freely gives to Britain's eager view
Those charms which once her fav'rite Athens knew.
Prescribe false limits to the British mind,
And, warp'd by Vanity, presume to hold
Our northern Genius dark, confin'd, and cold:
Painting, sweet Nymph, unconscious of their chain,
In this fair Island forms her new Domain,
And freely gives to Britain's eager view
Those charms which once her fav'rite Athens knew.
'Tis true, when Painting, on Italia's shore,
Display'd those Graces which all Realms adore,
No kindred forms of English growth appear;
Age after age the hapless Pencil here
Dropt unsuccessful from the Native's hand,
And fail'd to decorate this darker Land.
But freely let impartial History say,
Why Art on Britain shone with later ray.
Display'd those Graces which all Realms adore,
No kindred forms of English growth appear;
Age after age the hapless Pencil here
Dropt unsuccessful from the Native's hand,
And fail'd to decorate this darker Land.
But freely let impartial History say,
Why Art on Britain shone with later ray.
When on this Isle, the Gothic clouds withdrawn,
The distant light of Painting seem'd to dawn,
Fierce Harry reign'd, who, soon with pleasure cloy'd,
Now lov'd, now scorn'd, now worshipp'd, now destroy'd.
Thee as his Wives, enchanting Art! he priz'd,
Now sought to crown thee, now thy death devis'd:
Now strove to fix, with liberal support,
Thy darling Raphael in his sumptuous Court;
Now o'er the hallow'd shrines thy hand had grac'd,
“Cried havock, and let slip the Dogs of Waste.”
When timid Art saw ruin his delight,
She fled in terror from the Tyrant's sight.
The distant light of Painting seem'd to dawn,
Fierce Harry reign'd, who, soon with pleasure cloy'd,
Now lov'd, now scorn'd, now worshipp'd, now destroy'd.
29
Now sought to crown thee, now thy death devis'd:
Now strove to fix, with liberal support,
Thy darling Raphael in his sumptuous Court;
Now o'er the hallow'd shrines thy hand had grac'd,
“Cried havock, and let slip the Dogs of Waste.”
When timid Art saw ruin his delight,
She fled in terror from the Tyrant's sight.
The Virgin Queen, whom dazzled eyes admire,
The subtle Child of this imperious Sire,
Untaught the moral force of Art to feel,
Proscrib'd it as the slave of bigot Zeal;
Or doom'd it, throwing nobler works aside,
To drudge in flatt'ring her fantastic Pride:
And hence the Epic pencil in the shade
Of blank neglect and cold obstruction laid,
E'en while the Fairy-sprite, and Muse of fire,
Hung high in Glory's hall the English lyre.
The subtle Child of this imperious Sire,
Untaught the moral force of Art to feel,
Proscrib'd it as the slave of bigot Zeal;
Or doom'd it, throwing nobler works aside,
To drudge in flatt'ring her fantastic Pride:
And hence the Epic pencil in the shade
Of blank neglect and cold obstruction laid,
E'en while the Fairy-sprite, and Muse of fire,
Hung high in Glory's hall the English lyre.
James, both for Empire and for Arts unfit,
(His sense a quibble, and a pun his wit)
Whatever works he patroniz'd debas'd,
But haply left the Pencil undisgrac'd.
(His sense a quibble, and a pun his wit)
Whatever works he patroniz'd debas'd,
But haply left the Pencil undisgrac'd.
30
With fairer mind arose his nobler Son,
Seduc'd by Parasites, by Priests undone:
Unhappy Charles! oh! had thy feeling heart
But honour'd Freedom as it valued Art!
To merit just, thy bounty flow'd alike
On bolder Rubens, and the soft Vandyke:
To this ennobled realm thy judgment brought
The sacred miracles that Raphael wrought.
But regal Pride, with vain Ambition blind,
Cut off the promise of thy cultur'd mind.
By wounded Liberty's convulsive hand
Unbound, fierce Anarchy usurps the Land;
While trembling Art to foreign regions flies,
To seek a refuge in serener skies.
Seduc'd by Parasites, by Priests undone:
Unhappy Charles! oh! had thy feeling heart
But honour'd Freedom as it valued Art!
To merit just, thy bounty flow'd alike
On bolder Rubens, and the soft Vandyke:
To this ennobled realm thy judgment brought
The sacred miracles that Raphael wrought.
But regal Pride, with vain Ambition blind,
Cut off the promise of thy cultur'd mind.
By wounded Liberty's convulsive hand
Unbound, fierce Anarchy usurps the Land;
While trembling Art to foreign regions flies,
To seek a refuge in serener skies.
These storms subsiding, see her once again
Returning in the second Charles's train!
She comes to copy, in licentious sport,
The Minions of a loose luxurious Court;
From whence the modest Graces turn their eyes,
Where Genius sees, and o'er the prospect sighs,
Lely's soft tints, and Dryden's nobler Lyre,
Made the mean Slaves of dissolute Desire.
Returning in the second Charles's train!
She comes to copy, in licentious sport,
The Minions of a loose luxurious Court;
From whence the modest Graces turn their eyes,
Where Genius sees, and o'er the prospect sighs,
Lely's soft tints, and Dryden's nobler Lyre,
Made the mean Slaves of dissolute Desire.
Once more, alarm'd by War's terrific roar,
The sweet Enchantress quits the troubled shore;
While sacred Freedom, darting in disdain
Her vengeful Thunder on th' apostate Train,
And, pleas'd the gloomy Tyrant to disown,
Gives to Nassau the abdicated Throne.
The sweet Enchantress quits the troubled shore;
31
Her vengeful Thunder on th' apostate Train,
And, pleas'd the gloomy Tyrant to disown,
Gives to Nassau the abdicated Throne.
The peaceful Prince may rising Art defend,
And Art shall crown her Patron and her Friend.
In tumults, from the cradle to the grave,
'Tis thine, O William! sinking realms to save.
To thee no leisure mightier cares allow,
To bind the laurel on the Artist's brow:
'Tis thine to fix, with tutelary hand,
The Base of Freedom, on which Art must stand.
Yet to thy Palace Kneller's skill supplied
Its richest ornament in Beauty's pride.
Unhappy Kneller! covetous though vain;
Thee Glory yielded to seducing Gain:
While partial Taste from modest Riley turn'd,
By diffidence depriv'd of praise well earn'd.
And Art shall crown her Patron and her Friend.
In tumults, from the cradle to the grave,
'Tis thine, O William! sinking realms to save.
To thee no leisure mightier cares allow,
To bind the laurel on the Artist's brow:
'Tis thine to fix, with tutelary hand,
The Base of Freedom, on which Art must stand.
Yet to thy Palace Kneller's skill supplied
Its richest ornament in Beauty's pride.
Unhappy Kneller! covetous though vain;
Thee Glory yielded to seducing Gain:
While partial Taste from modest Riley turn'd,
By diffidence depriv'd of praise well earn'd.
Tho' in succeeding years the Muses taught,
“How Ann commanded, and how Marlbro' fought;”
And Thornhill's blaze of Allegory gilt
The piles, that Wren's superior genius built;
Contending Factions, in her closing reign,
Like winds imprison'd, shook fair Freedom's Fane.
Painting, soft timid Nymph, still chose to roam,
And fear'd to settle in this shaking Dome.
“How Ann commanded, and how Marlbro' fought;”
32
The piles, that Wren's superior genius built;
Contending Factions, in her closing reign,
Like winds imprison'd, shook fair Freedom's Fane.
Painting, soft timid Nymph, still chose to roam,
And fear'd to settle in this shaking Dome.
At length, the fury of each storm o'erblown,
That threaten'd Brunswick's race on Britain's throne,
Rebellion vanquish'd on her native shore,
Her clans extinguish'd, and her chiefs no more:
The youthful Noble, on a princely Plan,
Encourag'd infant Art, and first began
Before the studious eye of Youth to place
The ancient Models of ideal Grace.
That threaten'd Brunswick's race on Britain's throne,
Rebellion vanquish'd on her native shore,
Her clans extinguish'd, and her chiefs no more:
The youthful Noble, on a princely Plan,
Encourag'd infant Art, and first began
Before the studious eye of Youth to place
The ancient Models of ideal Grace.
When Britain triumph'd, thro' her wide domain,
O'er France, supported by imperious Spain,
And, sated with her Laurels' large increase,
Began to cultivate the plants of Peace;
Fixt by kind Majesty's protecting hand,
Painting, no more an alien in our land,
First smil'd to see, on this propitious ground,
Her temples open'd, and her altars crown'd:
And Grace, the first attendant of her train,
She whom Apelles wooed, nor wooed in vain,
To Reynolds gives her undulating line,
And Judgment doats upon his chaste design.
Tho' Envy whispers in the ear of Spleen,
What thoughts are borrow'd in his perfect scene,
With glee she marks them on her canker'd scroll,
Malicious Fiend! 'twas thus that Virgil stole,
To the bright Image gave a brighter Gloss,
Or turn'd to purest Gold the foreign Dross.
Excelling Artist! long delight the eye!
Teach but thy transient tints no more to fly,
Britain shall then her own Apelles see,
And all the Grecian shall revive in thee.
Thy manly spirit glories to impart
The leading Principles of lib'ral Art;
To youthful Genius points what course to run,
What Lights to follow, and what Rocks to shun:
So Orpheus taught, by Learning's heavenly sway,
To daring Argonauts their doubtful way,
And mark'd, to guide them in their bold Career,
Th' unerring Glories of the starry Sphere.
Thy Hand enforces what thy Precept taught,
And gives new lessons of exalted thought;
Thy nervous Pencil on the canvass throws
The tragic story of sublimest woes:
The wretched Sons, whom Grief and Famine tear,
The Parent petrified with blank Despair,
Thy Ugolino gives the heart to thrill
With Pity's tender throbs, and Horror's icy chill.
O'er France, supported by imperious Spain,
And, sated with her Laurels' large increase,
Began to cultivate the plants of Peace;
Fixt by kind Majesty's protecting hand,
Painting, no more an alien in our land,
First smil'd to see, on this propitious ground,
Her temples open'd, and her altars crown'd:
33
She whom Apelles wooed, nor wooed in vain,
To Reynolds gives her undulating line,
And Judgment doats upon his chaste design.
Tho' Envy whispers in the ear of Spleen,
What thoughts are borrow'd in his perfect scene,
With glee she marks them on her canker'd scroll,
Malicious Fiend! 'twas thus that Virgil stole,
To the bright Image gave a brighter Gloss,
Or turn'd to purest Gold the foreign Dross.
Excelling Artist! long delight the eye!
Teach but thy transient tints no more to fly,
Britain shall then her own Apelles see,
And all the Grecian shall revive in thee.
Thy manly spirit glories to impart
The leading Principles of lib'ral Art;
To youthful Genius points what course to run,
What Lights to follow, and what Rocks to shun:
So Orpheus taught, by Learning's heavenly sway,
To daring Argonauts their doubtful way,
And mark'd, to guide them in their bold Career,
Th' unerring Glories of the starry Sphere.
34
And gives new lessons of exalted thought;
Thy nervous Pencil on the canvass throws
The tragic story of sublimest woes:
The wretched Sons, whom Grief and Famine tear,
The Parent petrified with blank Despair,
Thy Ugolino gives the heart to thrill
With Pity's tender throbs, and Horror's icy chill.
The offspring now of many a rival hand,
Sublimity and Grace adorn the Land;
Tho' but some few years past, this barren coast
Scarce one fair grain of native Art could boast.
Of various form, where'er we turn our eyes,
With strong and rapid growth new wonders rise;
Like seeds that Mariners, with generous toil,
Have wisely carried to some kindred soil,
Which, shooting quick and vig'rous in their birth,
Speak the fond bounty of the virgin Earth:
The land o'erjoy'd a fairer fruit to see,
Adopts, with glad surprize, the alien Tree.
Sublimity and Grace adorn the Land;
Tho' but some few years past, this barren coast
Scarce one fair grain of native Art could boast.
Of various form, where'er we turn our eyes,
With strong and rapid growth new wonders rise;
Like seeds that Mariners, with generous toil,
Have wisely carried to some kindred soil,
Which, shooting quick and vig'rous in their birth,
Speak the fond bounty of the virgin Earth:
The land o'erjoy'd a fairer fruit to see,
Adopts, with glad surprize, the alien Tree.
Now Art exults, with annual Triumphs gay,
And Britain glories in her rich display;
Merit, who unassisted, and unknown,
Late o'er his unseen labours sigh'd alone,
Sees honour now his happier toils attend,
And in the generous Public finds a friend.
And Britain glories in her rich display;
35
Late o'er his unseen labours sigh'd alone,
Sees honour now his happier toils attend,
And in the generous Public finds a friend.
O lovely Painting, to whose charms I bow,
“And breathe my willing verse with suppliant vow,”
Forgive me, if by undiscerning Praise,
Or groundless Censure, which false Judgment sways,
My failing line with faint resemblance wrong
Thy Sons, the subject of no envious song!
“And breathe my willing verse with suppliant vow,”
Forgive me, if by undiscerning Praise,
Or groundless Censure, which false Judgment sways,
My failing line with faint resemblance wrong
Thy Sons, the subject of no envious song!
Supremely skill'd the varied group to place,
And range the crowded scene with easy grace;
To finish parts, yet not impair the whole,
But on th' impassion'd action fix the soul;
Thro' wandering throngs the patriot Chief to guide,
The shame of Carthage, as of Rome the pride;
Or, while the bleeding Victor yields his breath,
Give the bright lesson of heroic Death.
Such are thy Merits, West: by Virtue's hand
Built on the human heart thy praise shall stand,
While dear to Glory, in her guardian Fane,
The names of Regulus and Wolfe remain.
And range the crowded scene with easy grace;
To finish parts, yet not impair the whole,
But on th' impassion'd action fix the soul;
Thro' wandering throngs the patriot Chief to guide,
The shame of Carthage, as of Rome the pride;
Or, while the bleeding Victor yields his breath,
Give the bright lesson of heroic Death.
Such are thy Merits, West: by Virtue's hand
Built on the human heart thy praise shall stand,
While dear to Glory, in her guardian Fane,
The names of Regulus and Wolfe remain.
With kindred power a rival hand succeeds,
For whose just fame expiring Chatham pleads;
Like Chatham's language, luminous and bold,
Thy colours, Copley, the dread scene unfold,
Where that prime Spirit, by whose guidance hurl'd,
Britain's avenging thunder aw'd the world,
In patriot cares employ'd his parting breath,
Struck in his field of Civic fame by Death;
And Freedom, happy in the tribute paid
By Art and Genius to so dear a Shade,
Shall own, the measure of thy praise to fill,
The awful subject equall'd by thy skill.
For whose just fame expiring Chatham pleads;
36
Thy colours, Copley, the dread scene unfold,
Where that prime Spirit, by whose guidance hurl'd,
Britain's avenging thunder aw'd the world,
In patriot cares employ'd his parting breath,
Struck in his field of Civic fame by Death;
And Freedom, happy in the tribute paid
By Art and Genius to so dear a Shade,
Shall own, the measure of thy praise to fill,
The awful subject equall'd by thy skill.
To Dance's pencil, in Precision strong,
Transcendant Force, and Truth of Line belong,
Not Garrick's self, to Shakespeare's spirit true,
Display'd that spirit clearer to our view,
Than Dance expresses, in its fiercest flame,
The Poet's Genius in the Actor's Frame.
From Garrick's features, with distraction fraught,
He copies every trace of troubled thought;
And paints, while back the waves of Battle roll,
The Storm of sanguinary Richard's soul.
Transcendant Force, and Truth of Line belong,
Not Garrick's self, to Shakespeare's spirit true,
Display'd that spirit clearer to our view,
Than Dance expresses, in its fiercest flame,
The Poet's Genius in the Actor's Frame.
From Garrick's features, with distraction fraught,
He copies every trace of troubled thought;
And paints, while back the waves of Battle roll,
The Storm of sanguinary Richard's soul.
The rapid Mortimer, of Spirit wild,
Imagination's dear and daring Child,
Marks the fierce Ruffian, in the Dungeon's gloom,
Stung with remorse, and shudd'ring at his doom.
Yet still to nobler heights his Genius springs,
And paints a lesson to tyrannic Kings:
In his bright colours see the field appear
To Freedom sacred, and to Glory dear,
Where John, proud Monarch, baffled on his throne,
Hears the brave Chief his lawless pow'r disown,
And, for an injur'd Nation, nobly claim
The glorious Charter of immortal Fame!
Imagination's dear and daring Child,
Marks the fierce Ruffian, in the Dungeon's gloom,
Stung with remorse, and shudd'ring at his doom.
37
And paints a lesson to tyrannic Kings:
In his bright colours see the field appear
To Freedom sacred, and to Glory dear,
Where John, proud Monarch, baffled on his throne,
Hears the brave Chief his lawless pow'r disown,
And, for an injur'd Nation, nobly claim
The glorious Charter of immortal Fame!
But see far off the modest Wright retire!
Alone he rules his Element of Fire:
Like Meteors darting through the gloom of Night,
His sparkles flash upon the dazzled sight;
Our eyes with momentary anguish smart,
And Nature trembles at the power of Art.
May thy bold colours, claiming endless praise,
For ages shine with undiminish'd blaze,
And when the fierce Vesuvio burns no more,
May his red deluge down thy canvass pour!
Alone he rules his Element of Fire:
Like Meteors darting through the gloom of Night,
His sparkles flash upon the dazzled sight;
Our eyes with momentary anguish smart,
And Nature trembles at the power of Art.
May thy bold colours, claiming endless praise,
For ages shine with undiminish'd blaze,
And when the fierce Vesuvio burns no more,
May his red deluge down thy canvass pour!
Art with no common gifts her Gainsb'rough grac'd,
Two different Pencils in his hand she plac'd;
This shall command, she said, with certain aim,
A perfect Semblance of the human Frame;
This, lightly sporting on the village-green,
Paint the wild beauties of the rural Scene.
Two different Pencils in his hand she plac'd;
This shall command, she said, with certain aim,
A perfect Semblance of the human Frame;
This, lightly sporting on the village-green,
Paint the wild beauties of the rural Scene.
38
In storms sublime the daring Wilson soars,
And on the blasted Oak his mimic Lightning pours:
Apollo triumphs in his flaming skies,
And classic Beauties in his scenes arise.
And on the blasted Oak his mimic Lightning pours:
Apollo triumphs in his flaming skies,
And classic Beauties in his scenes arise.
Thy Graces, Humphreys, and thy Colours clear,
From Miniature's small circle disappear:
May their distinguish'd merit still prevail,
And shine with lustre on the larger Scale.
From Miniature's small circle disappear:
May their distinguish'd merit still prevail,
And shine with lustre on the larger Scale.
Let candid Justice our attention lead
To the soft Crayon of the graceful Read:
Nor, Gard'ner, shall the Muse, in haste, forget
Thy Taste and Ease; tho' with a fond regret
She pays, while here the Crayon's pow'r she notes,
A sigh of homage to the Shade of Coates.
Nor, if her favour'd hand may hope to shed
The flowers of glory o'er the skilful dead,
Thy Talents, Hogarth! will she leave unsung;
Charm of all eyes, and Theme of every tongue!
A separate province 'twas thy praise to rule;
Self-form'd thy Pencil! yet thy works a School;
Where strongly painted, in gradations nice,
The Pomp of Folly, and the Shame of Vice,
Reach'd thro' the laughing Eye the mended Mind,
And moral Humour sportive Art refin'd.
While fleeting Manners, as minutely shewn
As the clear prospect on the mirror thrown;
While Truth of Character, exactly hit,
And drest in all the dyes of comic wit;
While these, in Fielding's page, delight supply,
So long thy Pencil with his Pen shall vie.
Science with grief beheld thy drooping age
Fall the sad victim of a Poet's rage:
But Wit's vindictive spleen, that mocks controul,
Nature's high tax on luxury of soul!
This, both in Bards and Painters, Fame forgives;
Their Frailty's buried, but their Genius lives.
To the soft Crayon of the graceful Read:
Nor, Gard'ner, shall the Muse, in haste, forget
Thy Taste and Ease; tho' with a fond regret
She pays, while here the Crayon's pow'r she notes,
A sigh of homage to the Shade of Coates.
Nor, if her favour'd hand may hope to shed
The flowers of glory o'er the skilful dead,
Thy Talents, Hogarth! will she leave unsung;
Charm of all eyes, and Theme of every tongue!
A separate province 'twas thy praise to rule;
Self-form'd thy Pencil! yet thy works a School;
Where strongly painted, in gradations nice,
The Pomp of Folly, and the Shame of Vice,
39
And moral Humour sportive Art refin'd.
While fleeting Manners, as minutely shewn
As the clear prospect on the mirror thrown;
While Truth of Character, exactly hit,
And drest in all the dyes of comic wit;
While these, in Fielding's page, delight supply,
So long thy Pencil with his Pen shall vie.
Science with grief beheld thy drooping age
Fall the sad victim of a Poet's rage:
But Wit's vindictive spleen, that mocks controul,
Nature's high tax on luxury of soul!
This, both in Bards and Painters, Fame forgives;
Their Frailty's buried, but their Genius lives.
Still many a Painter, not of humble Name,
Appears the tribute of applause to claim;
Some alien Artists, more of English Race,
With fair Angelica, our foreign Grace,
Who paints, with Energy and Softness join'd,
The fond Emotions of the female Mind;
And Cipriani, whom the Loves surround,
And sportive Nymphs in Beauty's Cestus bound:
For him those Nymphs their every Charm display,
For him coy Venus throws her veil away;
And Zaffani, whose faithful colours give
The transient glories of the Stage to live;
On his bright canvass each dramatic Muse
A perfect copy of her scene reviews;
Each, while those scenes her lost delight restore,
Almost forgets her Garrick is no more.—
O'er these I pass reluctant, lest too long
The Muse diffusely spin a tedious Song.
Appears the tribute of applause to claim;
Some alien Artists, more of English Race,
With fair Angelica, our foreign Grace,
Who paints, with Energy and Softness join'd,
The fond Emotions of the female Mind;
And Cipriani, whom the Loves surround,
And sportive Nymphs in Beauty's Cestus bound:
For him those Nymphs their every Charm display,
For him coy Venus throws her veil away;
40
The transient glories of the Stage to live;
On his bright canvass each dramatic Muse
A perfect copy of her scene reviews;
Each, while those scenes her lost delight restore,
Almost forgets her Garrick is no more.—
O'er these I pass reluctant, lest too long
The Muse diffusely spin a tedious Song.
Yet one short pause, ye Pow'rs of Verse, allow
To cull a Myrtle Leaf for Meyers's Brow!
Tho' small its Field, thy Pencil may presume
To ask a Wreath where Flowers immortal bloom.
As Nature's self, in all her pictures fair,
Colours her Infect works with nicest care,
Nor better forms, to please the curious eye,
The spotted Leopard than the gilded Fly;
So thy fine Pencil, in its narrow space,
Pours the full portion of uninjur'd Grace,
And Portraits, true to Nature's larger line,
Boast not an air more exquisite than thine.
Soft Beauty's charms thy happiest works express,
Beauty thy model and thy Patroness.
For her thy care has to perfection brought
Th' uncertain toil, with anxious trouble fraught;
Thy colour'd Crystal, at her fond desire,
Draws deathless Lustre from the dang'rous Fire,
And, pleas'd to gaze on its immortal charm,
She binds thy Bracelet on her snowy arm.
To cull a Myrtle Leaf for Meyers's Brow!
Tho' small its Field, thy Pencil may presume
To ask a Wreath where Flowers immortal bloom.
As Nature's self, in all her pictures fair,
Colours her Infect works with nicest care,
Nor better forms, to please the curious eye,
The spotted Leopard than the gilded Fly;
So thy fine Pencil, in its narrow space,
Pours the full portion of uninjur'd Grace,
And Portraits, true to Nature's larger line,
Boast not an air more exquisite than thine.
Soft Beauty's charms thy happiest works express,
Beauty thy model and thy Patroness.
For her thy care has to perfection brought
Th' uncertain toil, with anxious trouble fraught;
41
Draws deathless Lustre from the dang'rous Fire,
And, pleas'd to gaze on its immortal charm,
She binds thy Bracelet on her snowy arm.
While Admiration views, with raptur'd eye,
These Lights of Art that gild the British sky;
Oh! may my Friend arise, with lustre clear,
And add new Glory to this radiant Sphere.
This wish, my Romney, from the purest source,
Has Reason's Warrant, join'd to Friendship's Force.
For Genius breath'd into thy infant Frame
The vital Spirit of his sacred Flame,
Which frequent mists of Diffidence o'ercloud,
Proving the vigor of the Sun they shroud.
Nature in thee her every gift combin'd,
Which forms the Artist of the noblest kind;
That fond Ambition, which bestows on Art
Each talent of the Mind, and passion of the Heart;
That dauntless Patience, which all toil defies,
Nor feels the labour while it views the prize.
Enlight'ning Study, with maturing pow'r,
From these fair seeds has call'd the op'ning flow'r;
Thy just, thy graceful Portraits charm the view,
With every tender tint that Titian knew.
Round Fancy's circle when thy Pencil flies,
With what terrific pomp thy Spectres rise!
What lust of mischief marks thy Witch's form,
While on the Lapland Rock she swells the storm!
Tho' led by Fancy thro' her boundless reign,
Well dost thou know to quit her wild domain,
When History bids thee paint, severely chaste,
Her simpler scene, with uncorrupted taste.
While in these fields thy judging eyes explore,
What spot untried may yield its secret ore,
Thy happy Genius springs a virgin Mine
Of copious, pure, original Design;
Truth gives it value, and, distinctly bold,
The stamp of Character compleats thy Gold.
Thy Figures rise in Beauty's noblest scale,
Sublimely telling their heroic Tale.
Still may thy Powers in full exertion blaze,
And Time revere them with unrivall'd praise!
May Art, in honour of a Son like thee,
So justly daring, with a soul so free,
Each separate Province to thy care commend,
And all her Glories in thy Pencil blend!
May tender Titian's mellow softness join,
With mighty Angelo's sublimer Line;
Corregio's Grace with Raphael's Taste unite,
And in thy perfect Works inchant the ravish'd Sight!
These Lights of Art that gild the British sky;
Oh! may my Friend arise, with lustre clear,
And add new Glory to this radiant Sphere.
This wish, my Romney, from the purest source,
Has Reason's Warrant, join'd to Friendship's Force.
For Genius breath'd into thy infant Frame
The vital Spirit of his sacred Flame,
Which frequent mists of Diffidence o'ercloud,
Proving the vigor of the Sun they shroud.
Nature in thee her every gift combin'd,
Which forms the Artist of the noblest kind;
That fond Ambition, which bestows on Art
Each talent of the Mind, and passion of the Heart;
That dauntless Patience, which all toil defies,
Nor feels the labour while it views the prize.
Enlight'ning Study, with maturing pow'r,
From these fair seeds has call'd the op'ning flow'r;
Thy just, thy graceful Portraits charm the view,
With every tender tint that Titian knew.
42
With what terrific pomp thy Spectres rise!
What lust of mischief marks thy Witch's form,
While on the Lapland Rock she swells the storm!
Tho' led by Fancy thro' her boundless reign,
Well dost thou know to quit her wild domain,
When History bids thee paint, severely chaste,
Her simpler scene, with uncorrupted taste.
While in these fields thy judging eyes explore,
What spot untried may yield its secret ore,
Thy happy Genius springs a virgin Mine
Of copious, pure, original Design;
Truth gives it value, and, distinctly bold,
The stamp of Character compleats thy Gold.
Thy Figures rise in Beauty's noblest scale,
Sublimely telling their heroic Tale.
Still may thy Powers in full exertion blaze,
And Time revere them with unrivall'd praise!
May Art, in honour of a Son like thee,
So justly daring, with a soul so free,
Each separate Province to thy care commend,
And all her Glories in thy Pencil blend!
May tender Titian's mellow softness join,
With mighty Angelo's sublimer Line;
43
And in thy perfect Works inchant the ravish'd Sight!
How oft we find that when, with noblest aim,
The glowing Artist gains the heights of Fame,
To the well-chosen Theme he chiefly owes
That praise which Judgment with delight bestows!
The Lyre and Pencil both this Truth confess,
The happy Subject forms their full success.
The glowing Artist gains the heights of Fame,
To the well-chosen Theme he chiefly owes
That praise which Judgment with delight bestows!
The Lyre and Pencil both this Truth confess,
The happy Subject forms their full success.
Hard is the Painter's fate, when, wisely taught
To trace with ease the deepest lines of thought,
By hapless Fortune he is doom'd to rove
Thro' all the frolicks of licentious Jove,
That some dark Philip, phlegmatic and cold,
(Whose needy Titian calls for ill-paid gold)
May with voluptuous Images enflame
The fated Passions of his languid frame.
To trace with ease the deepest lines of thought,
By hapless Fortune he is doom'd to rove
Thro' all the frolicks of licentious Jove,
That some dark Philip, phlegmatic and cold,
(Whose needy Titian calls for ill-paid gold)
May with voluptuous Images enflame
The fated Passions of his languid frame.
Abuse like this awakens generous Pain,
And just Derision mingles with Disdain,
When such a Pencil, in a Roman hand,
While the rich Abbess issues her command,
Makes wild St. Francis on the canvass sprawl,
That some warm Nun in mimic trance may fall,
Or, fondly gazing on the pious whim,
Feel faintly Love o'erload each lazy limb,
Mistaking, in the Cloister's dull embrace,
The Cry of Nature for the Call of Grace.
And just Derision mingles with Disdain,
When such a Pencil, in a Roman hand,
While the rich Abbess issues her command,
Makes wild St. Francis on the canvass sprawl,
That some warm Nun in mimic trance may fall,
44
Feel faintly Love o'erload each lazy limb,
Mistaking, in the Cloister's dull embrace,
The Cry of Nature for the Call of Grace.
But see th' historic Muse before thee stand,
Her nobler subjects court thy happier Hand!
Her Forms of reverend Age, of graceful Youth,
Of public Virtue, and of private Truth:
The sacred power of injur'd Beauty's charms,
And Freedom, fierce in adamantine Arms:
Whence Sympathy, thro' thy assisting art,
With floods of Joy may fill the human heart.
Her nobler subjects court thy happier Hand!
Her Forms of reverend Age, of graceful Youth,
Of public Virtue, and of private Truth:
The sacred power of injur'd Beauty's charms,
And Freedom, fierce in adamantine Arms:
Whence Sympathy, thro' thy assisting art,
With floods of Joy may fill the human heart.
But while the bounds of Hist'ry you explore,
And bring new Treasures from her farthest shore,
Thro' all her various fields, tho' large and wide,
Still make Simplicity thy constant guide:
And most, my Friend, a Syren's wiles beware,
Ah! shun insidious Allegory's snare!
Her Flattery offers an alluring wreath,
Fair to the eye, but poisons lurk beneath,
By which, too lightly tempted from his guard,
Full many a Painter dies, and many a Bard.
How sweet her voice, how dangerous her spell,
Let Spenser's Knights, and Rubens' Tritons tell;
Judgment at colour'd riddles shakes his head,
And fairy Songs are prais'd, but little read;
Where, in the Maze of her unbounded Sphere,
Unbridled Fancy runs her wild Career.
And bring new Treasures from her farthest shore,
Thro' all her various fields, tho' large and wide,
Still make Simplicity thy constant guide:
And most, my Friend, a Syren's wiles beware,
Ah! shun insidious Allegory's snare!
Her Flattery offers an alluring wreath,
Fair to the eye, but poisons lurk beneath,
By which, too lightly tempted from his guard,
Full many a Painter dies, and many a Bard.
How sweet her voice, how dangerous her spell,
Let Spenser's Knights, and Rubens' Tritons tell;
45
And fairy Songs are prais'd, but little read;
Where, in the Maze of her unbounded Sphere,
Unbridled Fancy runs her wild Career.
In Realms where Superstition's tyrant sway
“Takes half the vigour of the soul away,”
Let Art for subjects the dark Legend search,
Where Saints unnumber'd people every Church;
Let Painters run the wilds of Ovid o'er,
To hunt for monsters which we heed no more.
But here, my Romney, where, on Freedom's wings,
The towering Spirit to Perfection springs;
Where Genius, proud to act as Heav'n inspires,
On Taste's pure Altars lights his facred fires;
Oh! here let Painting, as of old in Greece,
With patriot passions warm the finish'd piece;
Let Britain, happy in a gen'rous race,
Of manly Spirit, and of female Grace;
Let this frank Parent with fond eyes explore
Some just memorials of the line she bore,
In tints immortal to her view recall
Her dearest Offspring on the storied Wall.
“Takes half the vigour of the soul away,”
Let Art for subjects the dark Legend search,
Where Saints unnumber'd people every Church;
Let Painters run the wilds of Ovid o'er,
To hunt for monsters which we heed no more.
But here, my Romney, where, on Freedom's wings,
The towering Spirit to Perfection springs;
Where Genius, proud to act as Heav'n inspires,
On Taste's pure Altars lights his facred fires;
Oh! here let Painting, as of old in Greece,
With patriot passions warm the finish'd piece;
Let Britain, happy in a gen'rous race,
Of manly Spirit, and of female Grace;
Let this frank Parent with fond eyes explore
Some just memorials of the line she bore,
In tints immortal to her view recall
Her dearest Offspring on the storied Wall.
But some there are, who, with pedantic scorn,
Despise the Hero, if in Britain born:
For them Perfection has herself no charms,
Without a Roman robe, or Grecian arms:
Our slighted Country, for whose fame they feel
No generous interest, no manly zeal,
Sees public Judgment their false Taste arraign,
And treat their cold contempt with due disdain;
To the fair Annals of our Isle we trust,
To prove this patriot indignation just,
And, nobly partial to our native earth,
Bid English Pencils honour English Worth.
Despise the Hero, if in Britain born:
46
Without a Roman robe, or Grecian arms:
Our slighted Country, for whose fame they feel
No generous interest, no manly zeal,
Sees public Judgment their false Taste arraign,
And treat their cold contempt with due disdain;
To the fair Annals of our Isle we trust,
To prove this patriot indignation just,
And, nobly partial to our native earth,
Bid English Pencils honour English Worth.
Shall Bayard, glorious in his dying hour,
Of Gallic Chivalry the fairest Flow'r,
Shall his pure Blood in British colours flow,
And Britain, on her canvass, fail to shew
Her wounded Sidney, Bayard's perfect peer,
Sidney, her Knight, without Reproach or Fear,
O'er whose pale corse heroic Worth should bend,
And mild Humanity embalm her Friend!
Oh! Romney, in his hour of Death we find
A Subject worthy of thy feeling Mind;
Methinks I see thy rapid Hand display
The field of Zutphen, on that fatal day,
When arm'd for Freedom, 'gainst the guilt of Spain,
The Hero bled upon the Belgic plain!
In that great moment thou hast caught the Chief,
When pitying Friends supply the wish'd relief;
While Sickness, Pain, and Thirst his pow'r subdue,
I see the draught he pants for in his view:
Near him the Soldier, that expiring lies,
This precious Water views with ghastly eyes,
With eyes that from their sockets seem to burst,
With eager, frantic, agonizing Thirst:
I see the Hero give, oh! generous Care!
The Cup untasted to this silent Pray'r:
I hear him say, with Tenderness divine,
“Thy strong Necessity surpasses mine.”
Of Gallic Chivalry the fairest Flow'r,
Shall his pure Blood in British colours flow,
And Britain, on her canvass, fail to shew
Her wounded Sidney, Bayard's perfect peer,
Sidney, her Knight, without Reproach or Fear,
O'er whose pale corse heroic Worth should bend,
And mild Humanity embalm her Friend!
Oh! Romney, in his hour of Death we find
A Subject worthy of thy feeling Mind;
Methinks I see thy rapid Hand display
The field of Zutphen, on that fatal day,
47
The Hero bled upon the Belgic plain!
In that great moment thou hast caught the Chief,
When pitying Friends supply the wish'd relief;
While Sickness, Pain, and Thirst his pow'r subdue,
I see the draught he pants for in his view:
Near him the Soldier, that expiring lies,
This precious Water views with ghastly eyes,
With eyes that from their sockets seem to burst,
With eager, frantic, agonizing Thirst:
I see the Hero give, oh! generous Care!
The Cup untasted to this silent Pray'r:
I hear him say, with Tenderness divine,
“Thy strong Necessity surpasses mine.”
Shall Roman Charity for ever share
Thro' every various School each Painter's Care?
And Britain still her bright examples hide
Of female Glory, and of filial Pride?
Instruct our eyes, my Romney, to adore
Th' heroic Daughter of the virtuous More,
Resolv'd to save, or in th' attempt expire,
The precious relicks of her martyr'd Sire:
Before the cruel Council let her stand,
Press the dear ghastly Head with pitying Hand,
And plead, while Bigotry itself grows mild,
The sacred duties of a grateful Child.
Thro' every various School each Painter's Care?
And Britain still her bright examples hide
Of female Glory, and of filial Pride?
Instruct our eyes, my Romney, to adore
Th' heroic Daughter of the virtuous More,
Resolv'd to save, or in th' attempt expire,
The precious relicks of her martyr'd Sire:
48
Press the dear ghastly Head with pitying Hand,
And plead, while Bigotry itself grows mild,
The sacred duties of a grateful Child.
Forgive the Muse, if haply she commend
A Theme ill-chosen to her skilful Friend;
She, tho' its pow'r commands her willing heart,
Knows not the limits of thy lovely Art,
Yet boldly owns an eager wish to see
Her darling Images adorn'd by thee.
Nor shall her social Love in silence hide
The just emotions of her grateful Pride,
When thy quick Pencil pours upon her sight
Her own Creation in a fairer light;
When her Serena learns from thee to live,
And please by every charm that life can give.
Thou hast imparted to th' ideal Fair
Yet more than Beauty's bloom, and Youth's attractive air;
For in thy studious Nymph th' enamour'd Eye
May, thro' her breast, her gentle Heart descry;
See the fond thoughts, that o'er her Fancy roll,
And Sympathy's soft swell, that fills her soul.
But happier Bards, who boast a higher claim,
Ask from thy Genius an increase of Fame.
A Theme ill-chosen to her skilful Friend;
She, tho' its pow'r commands her willing heart,
Knows not the limits of thy lovely Art,
Yet boldly owns an eager wish to see
Her darling Images adorn'd by thee.
Nor shall her social Love in silence hide
The just emotions of her grateful Pride,
When thy quick Pencil pours upon her sight
Her own Creation in a fairer light;
When her Serena learns from thee to live,
And please by every charm that life can give.
Thou hast imparted to th' ideal Fair
Yet more than Beauty's bloom, and Youth's attractive air;
For in thy studious Nymph th' enamour'd Eye
May, thro' her breast, her gentle Heart descry;
See the fond thoughts, that o'er her Fancy roll,
And Sympathy's soft swell, that fills her soul.
49
Ask from thy Genius an increase of Fame.
Oh! let the Sisters, who, with friendly aid,
The Grecian Lyre, and Grecian Pencil sway'd,
Who join'd their rival Powers with fond delight,
To grace each other with reflected Light,
Let them in Britain thus united reign,
And double lustre from that union gain!
Not that my Verse, adventurous, would pretend
To point each varied subject to my Friend;
Far nobler guides their better aid supply:
When mighty Shakespeare to thy judging eye
Presents that magic Glass, whose ample Round
Reflects each Figure in Creation's bound,
And pours, in floods of supernatural light,
Fancy's bright Beings on the charmed sight.
This chief Inchanter of the willing breast,
Will teach thee all the magic he possest.
Plac'd in his Circle, mark in colours true
Each brilliant Being that he calls to view.
Wrapt in the gloomy storm, or rob'd in light,
His weïrd Sister or his fairy Sprite,
Boldly o'erleaping, in the great design,
The bounds of Nature, with a Guide divine.
The Grecian Lyre, and Grecian Pencil sway'd,
Who join'd their rival Powers with fond delight,
To grace each other with reflected Light,
Let them in Britain thus united reign,
And double lustre from that union gain!
Not that my Verse, adventurous, would pretend
To point each varied subject to my Friend;
Far nobler guides their better aid supply:
When mighty Shakespeare to thy judging eye
Presents that magic Glass, whose ample Round
Reflects each Figure in Creation's bound,
And pours, in floods of supernatural light,
Fancy's bright Beings on the charmed sight.
This chief Inchanter of the willing breast,
Will teach thee all the magic he possest.
Plac'd in his Circle, mark in colours true
Each brilliant Being that he calls to view.
Wrapt in the gloomy storm, or rob'd in light,
His weïrd Sister or his fairy Sprite,
Boldly o'erleaping, in the great design,
The bounds of Nature, with a Guide divine.
50
Let Milton's self, conductor of thy way,
Lead thy congenial spirit to portray
In Colours, like his Verse, sublimely strong,
The scenes that blaze in his immortal song.
Lead thy congenial spirit to portray
In Colours, like his Verse, sublimely strong,
The scenes that blaze in his immortal song.
See Michael drawn, by many a skilful Hand,
As suits the Leader of the Seraph-Band!
But oh! how poor the prostrate Satan lies,
With bestial form debas'd and goatish eyes!
How chang'd from him who leads the dire debate,
Fearless tho' fallen, and in Ruin great!
Let thy bold Pencil, more sublimely true,
Present his Arch Apostate to our view
In worthier Semblance of infernal Pow'r,
And proudly standing like a stately tow'r,
While his infernal mandate bids awake
His Legions, slumbering on the burning Lake.
As suits the Leader of the Seraph-Band!
But oh! how poor the prostrate Satan lies,
With bestial form debas'd and goatish eyes!
How chang'd from him who leads the dire debate,
Fearless tho' fallen, and in Ruin great!
Let thy bold Pencil, more sublimely true,
Present his Arch Apostate to our view
In worthier Semblance of infernal Pow'r,
And proudly standing like a stately tow'r,
While his infernal mandate bids awake
His Legions, slumbering on the burning Lake.
Or paint him falling from the Realms of Bliss,
Hurl'd in Combustion to the deep Abyss!
In light terrific let the Flash display
His Pride, still proof against almighty Sway:
Tho' vanquish'd, yet immortal, let his Eye
The Lightning's flame, the Thunder's bolt defy,
And still, with Looks of Execration, dare
To face the Horrors of the last Despair.
Hurl'd in Combustion to the deep Abyss!
In light terrific let the Flash display
His Pride, still proof against almighty Sway:
Tho' vanquish'd, yet immortal, let his Eye
The Lightning's flame, the Thunder's bolt defy,
51
To face the Horrors of the last Despair.
To these great Lords of Fancy's wide domain,
That o'er the human Soul unquestion'd reign,
To their superior Guidance be consign'd
Thy rival Pencil and congenial Mind.
Yet O! let Friendship, ere the Verse she close,
Which in just Tribute to thy Merit flows,
The sanguine wishes of her heart express,
With fond presages of thy full Success.
That o'er the human Soul unquestion'd reign,
To their superior Guidance be consign'd
Thy rival Pencil and congenial Mind.
Yet O! let Friendship, ere the Verse she close,
Which in just Tribute to thy Merit flows,
The sanguine wishes of her heart express,
With fond presages of thy full Success.
May Health and Joy, in happiest union join'd,
Breathe their warm Spirit o'er thy fruitful Mind!
To noblest Efforts raise thy glowing Heart,
And string thy sinews to the toils of Art!
May Independance, bursting Fashion's chain,
To eager Genius give the flowing rein,
And o'er thy epic Canvass smile to see
Thy Judgment active, and thy Fancy free!
May thy just Country, while thy bold design
Recalls the Heroes of her ancient Line,
Gaze on the martial Group with dear delight!
May Youth and Valour, kindling at the sight,
O'er the bright Tints with Admiration lean,
And catch new Virtue from the moral Scene!
May Time himself a fond Reluctance feel,
Nor from thy aged hand the Pencil steal,
But grant it still to gain increasing Praise,
In the late Period of thy lengthen'd days,
While fairest Fortune thy long Life endears,
With Raphael's Glory join'd to Titian's Years!
Breathe their warm Spirit o'er thy fruitful Mind!
To noblest Efforts raise thy glowing Heart,
And string thy sinews to the toils of Art!
May Independance, bursting Fashion's chain,
To eager Genius give the flowing rein,
And o'er thy epic Canvass smile to see
Thy Judgment active, and thy Fancy free!
May thy just Country, while thy bold design
Recalls the Heroes of her ancient Line,
Gaze on the martial Group with dear delight!
May Youth and Valour, kindling at the sight,
O'er the bright Tints with Admiration lean,
And catch new Virtue from the moral Scene!
52
Nor from thy aged hand the Pencil steal,
But grant it still to gain increasing Praise,
In the late Period of thy lengthen'd days,
While fairest Fortune thy long Life endears,
With Raphael's Glory join'd to Titian's Years!
END OF THE SECOND EPISTLE.
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