 | The Poetical Works of John Scott |  |
AN ESSAY ON PAINTING.
The Author had conceived a design of writing a pretty extensive Poem on the subject of Painting, long before Mr. Hayley's ingenious “Poetical Epistle to an Eminent Painter” appeared. That performance anticipated and precluded part of his intended Work, but seemed not to render the suppression of the following Lines necessary.
From Tyber's vales and Arno's viny bowers,
The Muse of Painting seeks Britannia's plain,
And leads to Thames's bank her favourite train:
There, where a nation's wealth her dome has plac'd,
With her kind Sister's Attic beauties grac'd,
She, like the Spring, as liberal and as gay,
Bids her rich hand its annual stores display;
And mimic Being glowing round the walls,
From scene to scene the rapt attention calls.
And only Merit to renown can raise,
Doubtless, my Friend, the just ambition's thine
To see thy future works distinguish'd shine.
Hear then thy Poet's monitory lay,
That hints not useless may perchance convey:
No artist I, like Him of Gallia's shore ,
Whose pencil practis'd, ere he taught his lore;
Yet Taste incites me others' works to view,
And risk a judgment haply not untrue.
The choice of subject much my care should claim;
His graphic power he sure but ill bestows,
Who best a trifle's nice resemblance shows.
Tho' the rich tints so finely blended fall,
When carps and pheasants deck the rural hall,
To tempt to touch the feather or the scale,—
Yet not ev'n Elmer's skill can make us prize
What every field or every pond supplies;
Regret gives pain to view such wonderous art
Tried on no theme that interests the heart.
From all that Life's inferior ranks contain ;
Thy conscious pallet ne'er its hues should spare
To draw a sportsman's hound or racer's mare;
Nor thy reluctant crayon stoop to trace
A fool's dull eye, or villain's ill-mark'd face.
Portrait, the source of many a pure delight!
When Bards' or Sages' works our wishes fire
To see their forms whose minds we there admire,
The featur'd canvas full to view displays
Reason's deep calm or Fancy's glowing rays.
When Beauty's charms their varied graces wear,
Love's gentle smile, or Mirth's vivacious air,
The pleasing image strikes remotest climes,
And goes unalter'd down to distant times.
When Death's relentless hand in dust has laid
The school-companion, or the first-lov'd maid;
The father kind, with filial awe rever'd;
The tender mother, by her cares endear'd;
When from our arms the darling child is torn,
Or when the husband or the wife we mourn—
As on their picture many a glance we cast,
Remembrance wanders to the vanish'd past;
And pain-mix'd pleasure solaces the soul.
To Portrait's study should thy choice incline,
Ev'n there to aim at excellence be thine;
And strive to reach the point that few can gain,
Preserve the likeness, yet the spirit retain.
From the deep vale and humble rural grange,
To Cambrian heaths sublimely brown and bare ,
Or Alpine ice-points glittering white in air:
And not from Nature only she designs,
But different parts of different scenes combines;
Or new creations of her own she forms,
Illumes with sunshine, or involves in storms .
Mark what our hay-fields and our hop-grounds show;
Where in neat rows the russet cocks are seen,
Or from tall poles depend festoons of green;
And long straight paths in perspective extend,
And yellow sandhills close behind ascend .
Nor sweeter contrast sure can meet the eye
Than village lanes in vernal months supply,
When amber clouds, in sky of soft bright blue,
Hang o'er the copse just crown'd with verdure new;
Or where the orchard's sun-gilt branches spread
Their bloom of white or faintly-blushing red.
The fairest scenes, when peopled, look more fair,
But these to people asks peculiar care:
We wish not here for Virgil's classic swains,
Nor Dryad nymphs light tripping o'er the plains;
Nor cottage Marians in their torn array:
The rustic life, in every varied place,
Can boast its few of beauty and of grace;
From them select the forms that most may please,
And clothe with simple elegance and ease:
Such forms in Smith's delightful spots we prize,
And such in Sandby's pleasant fields arise.
Increase of knowledge well rewards his pains.
Now his pleas'd eye o'er Tuscan prospects roves,
Their sunny corn-fields and their cypress groves;
Their roads, where sports from tree to tree the vine,
And thro' broad leaves its chrystal clusters shine ;
Their white Casines, with olive groves around;
And glittering cliffs with towns and castles crown'd.
Where Nile's vast flood on Egypt's level lies;
While 'midst the tide tall palms their tops uprear,
And causeways broad and cities fair appear .
Now Indian climes he east or west explores,
Quits the dull factory and the sandy shores ,
Climbs craggy hills, pervades romantic woods,
Or winds along the cataracts of the floods;
Thro' beasts and birds and insects, fruits and flow'rs,
In shape and colour all distinct from ours;
Or strays o'er isles that spicy vales unfold,
'Midst skies of glory and 'midst seas of gold;
Such skies, such seas, as Hodges' pencil drew,
And round the rocks of Ulitea threw .
Thro' all the piece one character should reign:
When Claude's bright morn on Mola's precincts dawns,
What sweet quiescence marks the groves and lawns!
How calm his herds among the ruins graze!
How calm his curious peasant stands to gaze !
When bold Salvator under turbid skies
Bids his scath'd hills and blasted trees arise,
Behind wild rocks bids his wild streams be lost,
And from vast cliffs shews broken fragments tost;
'Midst them no shepherds lead their flocks along,
Nor village maidens seem to tune their song;
But solemn augurs flights of birds survey,
Or stern-eyed robbers wait the passing prey .
Plung'd in the stream, attempts the further shore,
How the fierce dogs retard his aukward speed!
How the fierce hunters urge the staining steed!
And eager one the winged arrow sends,
And one firm-fix'd the expectant spear protends .
Strikes kindred feelings on the gazer's breast,—
To History's group, the epic of thy art,
Proceed we now, and what we can, impart.
All Rome, all Florence, and Bologna claim;
Whose fresco forms still animate their walls,
Whose living canvas decks their domes and halls:
What various powers for these their glory won,
And what of theirs to chuse, and what to shun,
And more my verse pretends not to unfold.
These still thy study but with caution make,
Nor prize the picture for the Painter's sake;
Raffaelle himself, beneath himself oft fell,
And meaner hands' best works his worst excel .
Must give our fame in future times to shine:
Sublime and pathos, like the Sun's fix'd flame,
Remain, and please thro' every age the same;
Humour's light shapes, like vapours in the sky,
Rise, pass, and vary, and for ever fly:
Hogarth and Swift, if living, might deplore
Half their keen jokes, that now are jokes no more.
What Fancy's powers of fabled act devise,
Before thee lie—but where the field so wide,
There Judgment's hand Selection's step must guide.
To Spaniolet's flay'd saints and torturing wheels;
Nor praise for nauseous images we win,
For Spenser's Error, or for Milton's Sin.
Has reign'd the idol of the painting throng:
But Reason's thought disdains Ovidian dreams
Absurd, of nymphs transform'd to trees and streams;
And Virtue Homer's wanton gods abhors,
With all their lewd amours and all their idle wars.
The effects of fury, fear, and pain to show;
As different features these unlike express,
The contrast's force affects us more or less.
But here Confusion holds his crowded reign,
And the tir'd eye attempts to rest in vain;
And o'er the scene Humanity complains,
Where mangled corses lie, and blood the land distains.
When in the fore-ground kings or generals stand,
Direct the attack, or head the charging band,
Their graceful forms we unconcern'd survey,
Who fight for conquest, or who fight for pay:
Nor in their postures can there much be prais'd,
Their pistols levell'd, or their fauchions rais'd;
And to dull sameness here so oft we fall,
That who beholds one piece, beholds them all.
Affords us often incidents that please:
Can win our wishes on some hero's part;
His country nam'd, his place and parents known,
Our busy thought his perils makes its own.
To fierce Pelides, 'midst Scamander's waves,
When young Lycaon's voice for pity craves ;
The Chief's stern brow, and lance suspended high,
The Youth's bent knee and deprecating eye,
Not West's rich pencil need disdain to trace,
Or Romney's stroke with glowing colours grace.
When Dithyrambus, on Oëta's plain,
Mourns the brave Persian whom his hand has slain,
Nor marks his danger from the approaching foe,
Nor his bold friend prepar'd to ward the blow;
In one what ardour, might the sight engage !
The sentimental feelings of the Fair,
When soft Erminia in the sylvan shade
Leaves Tancred's name on every tree display'd ;
Or kind Louisa pens the friendly scroll,
To sooth the mournful sister of her soul .
At Edward's feet when Woodville's daughter lies ;
Or, 'midst the admiring weeping train around,
Fond Eleanora sucks the poison'd wound .
Delightful Artist!—Grace her pencil guides,
And Delicacy o'er its stroke presides!
The immortal Swans, appointed to redeem
Genius and Worth from Lethe's silent stream,
Pleas'd with their charge shall bear her medall'd name
To the fair Priestess of the fane of Fame .
Enough for thee as yet untouch'd remain.
On Clementina's face the lines of woe;
Or let sweet Harriet's livelier beauty wear
The soul-fraught eye and apprehensive air;
Or draw the proud Olivia's rage-flush'd charms,
When the calm Hero seiz'd her deadly arms;
And paint that Hero, firm in trial prov'd,
Unaw'd by Danger, and by Vice unmov'd .
To Sterne's soft Maniac let thy hand impart
The languid cheek, the look that pierc'd his heart,
When to her Virgin Saint the vesper song she rais'd,
Or earnest view'd him as he sat and gaz'd .
That swells the breast and bids the features shine,
When the tear glistening starts from Toby's eyes
Fix'd on the couch where poor Le Fevre dies.
I see thee often diligent explore;
What Homer's Muse to Chian cities taught,
Or Pity's Priest to Athens' audience brought.
Methinks, now rising from thy plastic hand,
Troy's hoary Monarch shall a suppliant stand;
To stern Achilles all his griefs explain,
And ask his Hector's corse, nor ask in vain .
Shall his restor'd unknown Alcestis bring;
Admetus' eyes his anguish'd thoughts declare,
And turn disgusted from the proffer'd Fair .
The vulgar magic's puerile rite demeans;
Where hags their caldrons fraught with toads prepare,
Or glide on broomsticks thro' the midnight air.
Chain'd on the rock let bold Prometheus lie,
And cast wild looks, upbraiding, to the sky ;
Bid Milton's Satan from the burning steep
Call his wide legions, slumbering on the deep;
Or Camoens' Spirit of the Cape upraise,
And show him only by the lightning's blaze;
Where by the pale Moon anchor'd navies ride .
To bold Fitzwalter and the barons brave,
When, rang'd in arms along their Thames's strand,
They snatch'd their charter from a tyrant's hand ?
Thro' all the scenes his rapid stroke bestow'd,
Rosa's wild grace and daring spirit glow'd;
In him—ah lost ere half his powers were shown!—
Britain perhaps an Angelo had known!
And give the Patriot Energy to view,—
Deep in the gloom of Dalecarlia's mine,
Bid Freedom's flame in Vasa's visage shine ;
And Sparta's Monarch's port august pourtray .
From Sacred Story toils their walls to fill;
Where'er we turn, its subjects strike the eye,
And few untried are left for us to try.
Yet who has Jepthah's matchless woe exprest,
By his lov'd Daughter's sudden sight distrest;
Or shewn the Patriarchs, struck with wild amaze,
As on the Viceroy's hidden cup they gaze ?
Despairing lie,—a thirst-afflicted train!—
Has bade the Prophet and his minstrel stand,
And call new waters o'er the burning sand ?
When David's chiefs, with generous thought inspir'd,
Bring the clear wave his sickening soul desir'd;
What dignity might to his act be given,
The pure libation pouring out to Heaven !
The mind's strong picture when we hear or read ,
Where every person finds his proper place,
And turn of attitude and turn of face:
Whose figures point not out at once his tale .
When Lystra's crowd around the Apostles throng,
And joyful lead the victim ox along;
Ask we the cause, while He that cause explains,
Whose limb, late useless, strength and use obtains ?
When West's young Warrior, bleeding on the ground,
His mournful group of martial friends surround;
Their gallant General instantly we know,
Their griefs, their cares, his life's importance show;
In distant view discriminates the scene .
In course unbroken to the purpos'd end;
So must the Picture's business still maintain
The same connective unity of train.
When Copley's Youth, swift-struggling thro' the wave,
The anxious boatmen strain each nerve to save;
As strives the ravenous shark to reach his prey,
One lifts the javelin to arrest his way;
And now, as near his dreadful jaws expand,
One casts the cord, and one extends the hand:
What care, what pity, mark their eager eyes!
What hopes, what terrors, in our bosoms rise !
Positions various, fails not all to try;
And those prefers, where every part the best
Accordance keeps, illustrating the rest.
By different modes effect he oft obtains;
To one Chief Figure now the attention gains;
Now force on Second Characters bestows,
And all his meaning by reflection shows;
Now thro' the Whole, each rank, and sex, and age,
One common ruling passion bids engage.
Such majesty and grace his presence blends,
That the fix'd eye contemplates him alone,
Nor heeds the astonish'd guards around him thrown .
Sunk Persia's pride, and check'd the Goth's career,
And sightless age on daily alms sustains;
As the young Chief the affecting scene surveys,
How all his form the emotion'd soul betrays!
‘O thus has Fortune for the brave decreed?
‘Of toils and dangers this at last the meed ?’
Her late-lost Consort's sacred ashes bore,
With steps slow-moving o'er Brundusium's strand,
Meets her lov'd friends—a numerous mourning band—
Her gentle frame no gestures rude disgrace,
No vulgar grief deforms her beauteous face;
Her downcast eyes immoveable remain,
Fix'd on the urn her careful hands sustain.
The widow'd mother, by her garment's folds,
Close on each side each tender offspring holds;
While Melancholy all the train o'ershades
Of hoary warriors and of blooming maids;
And for the dead and for the living grieve .
Exert thy utmost power, nor fear excess.
When Passion's tumults in the bosom rise,
Inflate the features, and enrage the eyes;
To Nature's outline can we draw too true,
Or Nature's colours give too full to view?
Did Reynolds' hand with force too strong disclose
Those looks that mark the unutterable woes,
When Ugoline the wretch in prison lies,
And hears his dying children's piercing cries,
And while fell Hunger haunts the impervious walls,
And one by one the suffering victims calls,
Or earth to open, and his miseries end ?
And spoil with bombast and conceit their tale;
Their heroes rant in many a curious strain
Of thought, that none could think in anger or in pain.
Where Knowledge fails, and Fancy sole can guide:
The Great First Cause no form reveals to sight,
We mark his presence by excess of light ;
While angel shapes at ease on wing remain,
Or on thin clouds their airy steps sustain.
And strong expression, much to please is thine;
Yet not from these thy utmost praises rise,
For useful moral oft thy work supplies.
When, 'midst Poussin's Arcadian vale serene,
The virgin's sculptur'd monument is seen,
And the sad shepherd pointing seems to say,
‘O Death, no place is sacred from thy sway!’
Our mournful thoughts the well-known truth recal,
That Youth and Beauty oft untimely fall .
On Carthage' plains when Marius meets the eye,
And the stern Prætor's mandate bids him fly;
Fresh from the view the strong reflection springs,
How strange the vast vicissitude of things!
Her haughty Consul there denied to rest !
When Persia's Conqueror, 'midst her female train,
Appears the chaste, the generous, and humane;
His look, his action, on the mind impress
The needful knowledge how to bear success .
Of force, to Virtue, and from Vice, to move!
To Statesmen, thoughtless on the heights of pow'r,
Mark Wolsey's fall, or show his final hour;
To Patriot eyes give Marvell's calm disdain,
When Daney urg'd the tempting bribe in vain ;
In the sad exit of the hapless Shore .
The world no Painter nor no Poet knows:
But think not Mind in its own depth contains
A source of wealth that no disbursement drains:
Quick Observation, ever on the wing,
Home, like the bee, its useful stores must bring;
From hills, and vales, and rocks, and streams, and trees,
And towns, and all that people those and these,
From meanest objects that may hints inspire,
Discolour'd walls, or heaps of glowing fire .
Care too beside thee still must take her place,
Retouch each stroke, and polish every grace;
Nor thou canst paint, nor I can write, to please.
Who with his work unsatisfied remains:
Da Vinci's thought an excellence conceiv'd,
That his eye miss'd in all his hand atchiev'd .
And what of various tints the various use,
My lay to that presumes not to aspire,
Nor with trite precept this thy ear shall tire:
Coreggio's practice that describes the best;
In Fresnoy's theory this we find exprest.
No motley modes of different time and place;
By Grecian chiefs no Gallic airs be worn ,
Nor in their hands be modern weapons borne;
With the vast curl'd peruke, or pointed tail.
And sacred ever be the solemn scene
From base intrusion of burlesque and mean;
Nor in a Patriarch's or Apostle's sight
Set snarling dogs and growling cats to fight.
Shun Naked Form, that scandal of thy art:
Even Dryden blames them who refuse to spare
The painful blushes of the modest Fair.
Let Decency her veil of drapery throw,
And Grace diffuse its folds in easy flow .
Employ congenial to thy liberal mind;
Begun reluctant, and pursued with pain.
What warms the heart, the hand with force reveals,
And all that force the charm'd spectator feels:
For Genius, piercing as the electric flame,
When wak'd in one, in others wakes the same.
The Author must here once for all remark, that whatever he may say respecting the works of any Painter is solely the result of impartial, though possibly mistaken opinion. He cannot be misled by friendship; for, excepting a slight acquaintance with those amiable characters, Mr. West and Mrs. Kauffman, he has not the pleasure of knowing any Artist whose name he has taken the liberty to mention.
This is meant only of such objects, when considered as the principal subject of a picture. Almost every class of animals may be occasionally introduced as ornaments in landscape, and often in history.
That celebrated artist, Mr. Wilson, has painted a set of beautiful Views from Nature, in different parts of Wales.
These circumstances, termed by the Painters Accidents of Nature, often agreeably diversify landscape.
For this imagery the Author is indebted to Mr. Walpole, who, in his Anecdotes of Painting, vol. iv. p. 65, proposes our hay-fields and hop-grounds as new subjects of landscape.
Several of our Artists have attended to this circumstance of foreign scenery. The ingenious Mr. George Robertson has painted several fine romantic Views in Jamaica, which have been engraved.
Several beautiful Landscapes, taken in different parts of the New Discovered Islands, by Mr. Hodges, who attended Captain Cook in one of his Voyages, must be well remembered by those who attend the annual Exhibitions of the Royal Academy.
Vide a beautiful Engraving, by Vivarez, from a capital Picture of Claude Lorrain, called the Morning, in which he introduces himself drawing an antique temple on the banks of the Tyber, between Ponte Mola and Rome.
Vide Salvator Rosa's Landscapes, engraved by Goupy. See also Sir Joshua Reynolds's Discourses, p. 175.
For this assertion the Author has the highest authority, viz. that of Sir Joshua Reynolds. “I have no desire,” says he, “to degrade Raffaelle from the high rank he deservedly holds; but, in comparing him with himself, he does not appear to me to be the same man in Oil as in Fresco.”—Discourses, p. 165.
Gioseppe Ribera, a native of Valencia in Spain. He was noted for painting horrid subjects; such as Prometheus with the Vulture feeding on his liver; Ixion tortured on the wheel; and St. Bartholomew with the skin flayed from his body. —Vide Dryden's Translation of Fresnoy, p. 352.
Vide the Iliad, book xxi.—This story of Lycaon is perhaps one of the most affecting passages in the whole Poem. Vide Pope's Note, vol. v. p. 208. of his Translation. The countenance of Achilles, at the moment when the death of Patroclus, occurring to his thought, determined him to kill Lycaon, would afford a fine expression:
“Patroclus dead, whoever meets me dies.”
Vide Leonidas, book viii. l. 355.
“Who, while his gallant enemy expir'd,
“While Hyperanthes tenderly receiv'd
“The last embraces of his gasping friend,
“Stood nigh reclin'd in sadness on his shield,
“And in the pride of victory repin'd.
“Unmark'd his foe approach'd. But forward sprung
“Diomedon. Before the Thespian youth
“Aloft he rais'd his targe------”
See the story of Elizabeth Grey, daughter of Sir Richard Woodville, suing to Edward IV. for restitution of her lands.— Rapin, vol. i. p. 601.
The well-known story of Eleanor of Castile, queen of Edward I., sucking the poison from her husband's arm, when he was wounded by an assassin in Palestine.
See a Painting of Mrs. Kauffman's, from a passage in Ariosto, where swans are introduced bringing the names of ingenious persons, inscribed on medals, to a nymph who deposits them in the Temple of Fame.
The History of Sir Charles Grandison, vol. iv. p. 176. The interview between Grandison and Olivia, at the instant of his seizing her poniard, would make a noble picture. This work of Richardson's abounds with fine situations. Brooke's Fool of Quality, and the Adventurer of Hawkesworth, are also books worthy the perusal of an artist who wishes for choice of interesting incidents.
This subject has been attempted by several ingenious artists, who have given very pleasing figures; but perhaps none that convey the precise idea of Sterne. This author being mentioned, a trite observation must be indulged, viz. That there probably never was a more striking instance of misapplication of talents than in him. With superior powers for the pathos, he chose to descend to ribaldry, that affronted the taste and corrupted the morals of the Public. What pity that the gold had not been separated from the dross, and the latter consigned to that oblivion it so richly merits!
Vide the Alcestis of Euripides. Hercules restores to life Alcestis, the deceased wife of Admetus, and brings her to her husband, disguised with a veil, and represented as a stranger; whom Admetus, in the height of distress for the loss of his beloved consort, refuses to admit into his palace.
Vide the late Mr. Mortimer's Picture of King John delivering Magna Charta to the Barons. That ingenious Artist's obvious powers of imagination promised the attainment of a high degree of excellence in his profession.
Brooke's Gustavus Vasa, act i. sc. 2. where Gustavus discovers himself to Anderson and Arnoldus in the copper-mines of Dalecarlia. See another fine subject in the same Tragedy, act iv. scene xi.
Vide Leonidas, book x. where the Hero of the Poem repeats to the assembled council the message of Argestes; while Alpheus, at the same instant, brings news of the Persians having passed the Upper Strait. This would make a noble picture; the dauntless appearance of the Greeks might be well contrasted with the fear and shame of the ambassador of Xerxes.—The Banquet of Melissa, Priestess of the Muses, where Leonidas and Æschylus are supposed present, book vii. is another fine subject. Such pictures would hardly be popular; but to some minds they would afford singular pleasure.
The Author does not recollect seeing or hearing of any celebrated picture on those interesting subjects, of Jepthah's return, and the discovery of Joseph's cup in the sack of Benjamin.
Vide 2 Kings, chap. iii.—This subject would afford a variety of noble expression in the different characters of the Kings, the pious confidence of Jehosaphat, and the desponding anxiety of Jehoram, the distress of the soldiers, and the enthusiasm of Elisha. The streams of water might appear in the distance, seemingly visible only to the Prophet, from his situation.
“That composition must be defective, which cannot, to a careful observer, point out its own tendency; and those expressions must be either weak or false, which do not in some degree mark the interest of each actor in the drama.” —Webb's Inquiry into the Beauties of Painting, preface, p. 8.
Vide Raffaelle's St. Paul and Barnabas at Lystra. For the above observation and description the Author is indebted to the ingenious “Inquiry into the Beauties of Painting,” p. 180.
See Mr. Copley's Picture of a Youth rescued by Sailors from a Shark in the Harbour of the Havannah. There is a fine Mezzotinto of this Piece by Green.
Raffaelle's Picture of the Resurrection of Christ; engraved by Vivarez and Grignion from a Drawing of Dalton.
This capital Picture of Agrippina landing at Brundusium, with the ashes of Germanicus, is, in the Author's opinion, one of Mr. West's most pleasing compositions. There is a beautiful Print of it by Earlom.
Vide Sir Joshua Reynolds's excellent Picture of Count Ugolino and his Children in the Dungeon; where they were confined and starved to death by the archbishop Ruggieri. This circumstance is described by the Italian poet Dantè.
The Author could not here omit censuring the practice of some celebrated Painters, who have presumptuously and absurdly represented the Supreme Being in the form of an Aged Man.
Vide Poussin's Picture, called The Shepherds in Arcadia; engraved by Ravenet, in Mr. Boydell's Collection of Prints: Also the Abbé Du Bos's Reflections on Poetry, Painting, and Music; and Dr. Warton's ingenious Essay on Didactic Poetry, in his Translation of Virgil.
There is a fine Picture of Mortimer's on this subject. The reply of Marius, to the messenger who came with orders for him to depart, was nobly concise and affecting: “Go, tell the Prætor, thou hast seen Marius sitting on the ruins of Carthage.”
| The Poetical Works of John Scott | |