Three poetical epistles To Mr. Hogarth, Mr. Dandridge, and Mr. Lambert, masters in the art of painting. Written by Mr. Mitchell |
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| 3. | THE THIRD EPISTLE.
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 | Three poetical epistles |  |
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THE THIRD EPISTLE.
To Mr. LAMBERT. An Eminent Landschape Painter.
Last, but not Least.
Shakespeare.
Hail, noble Artist! Nature's Rival, hail!
How shall a Muse, so feeble and so frail,
Attempt to do thy deathless Labours Right,
And set thy Merit in a fairer Light?
Can Mitchell add to Lambert's gather'd Fame?
Needs He a Bard his Virtues to proclaim?
No. But, while others, in Prosaic Strain,
Their Sense of thy Perfections strive t'explain,
Accept of Me a tributary Lay.
Praise is thy Due, and Verse is in my Way.
How shall a Muse, so feeble and so frail,
Attempt to do thy deathless Labours Right,
And set thy Merit in a fairer Light?
Can Mitchell add to Lambert's gather'd Fame?
Needs He a Bard his Virtues to proclaim?
No. But, while others, in Prosaic Strain,
Their Sense of thy Perfections strive t'explain,
Accept of Me a tributary Lay.
Praise is thy Due, and Verse is in my Way.
Yet far be Flatt'ry from my faithful Muse.
By venal Means, I'd not my Credit lose.
Borrow'd Encomiums a false Heart betray,
And hateful Sounds to wise Mens Ears convey.
Who writes to Lambert shou'd, like Him, be free,
And make his Morals and his Mind agree;
By Reason guided, and to Nature true,
The Paths of Honour, undisguis'd, pursue;
Easie, tho' regular; tho' noble, Plain;
And elegant, in unaffected Strain.
By venal Means, I'd not my Credit lose.
Borrow'd Encomiums a false Heart betray,
And hateful Sounds to wise Mens Ears convey.
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And make his Morals and his Mind agree;
By Reason guided, and to Nature true,
The Paths of Honour, undisguis'd, pursue;
Easie, tho' regular; tho' noble, Plain;
And elegant, in unaffected Strain.
I gaze thy Glories, and, by what's admir'd,
Conceive Emotion, and appear inspir'd:
But ne'er can hope, with such unequal Lays,
To celebrate thy brighter Pow'r and Praise.
Here, well might Pope his outmost Skill display,
Whose Muse so much, in Jervas' Praise, cou'd say.
How wou'd the Master's raptur'd Genius shine
On such a Theme, in each melodious Line!
Touch'd by his Hand, ev'n Lambert's Light and Shade
Wou'd seem with greater Grace and Spirit laid.
We then shou'd see Perfection's Self improv'd,
And doat on Landschapes, that before we lov'd.
Conceive Emotion, and appear inspir'd:
But ne'er can hope, with such unequal Lays,
To celebrate thy brighter Pow'r and Praise.
Here, well might Pope his outmost Skill display,
Whose Muse so much, in Jervas' Praise, cou'd say.
How wou'd the Master's raptur'd Genius shine
On such a Theme, in each melodious Line!
Touch'd by his Hand, ev'n Lambert's Light and Shade
Wou'd seem with greater Grace and Spirit laid.
We then shou'd see Perfection's Self improv'd,
And doat on Landschapes, that before we lov'd.
But Pope himself, on a Seraphic Wing,
Wou'd strive in vain thy mighty Pow'r to sing:
But, boldly soaring to supreme Renown,
Like Icarus, from Heav'n fall headlong down.
Thro' what strange Scenes thy Pencil's taught to trace
The Master Lines of Nature's finish'd Face;
How with false Life thy Strokes amuse the Eye,
And Pictures with the Places seem to vie;
'Twou'd tire the Virtuoso's Strength to tell.
Myst'ries, by Priests, might be explain'd as well.
Whose bold Ideas reconcil'd can be,
To view the various Virtues mix'd in Thee,
In whom both grand and simple Taste we find,
And Claude Lorrain and Gaspar Pausin join'd?
Wou'd strive in vain thy mighty Pow'r to sing:
But, boldly soaring to supreme Renown,
Like Icarus, from Heav'n fall headlong down.
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The Master Lines of Nature's finish'd Face;
How with false Life thy Strokes amuse the Eye,
And Pictures with the Places seem to vie;
'Twou'd tire the Virtuoso's Strength to tell.
Myst'ries, by Priests, might be explain'd as well.
Whose bold Ideas reconcil'd can be,
To view the various Virtues mix'd in Thee,
In whom both grand and simple Taste we find,
And Claude Lorrain and Gaspar Pausin join'd?
What living Muse can trace thy wond'rous Flights
Thro' Fancy's lofty and unbounded Heights?
Tell how, from Objects by the Senses brought;
Thy intellectual Imagery is wrought?
How thy great Genius grasps Creation broad,
And, on the Canvass, draws the Works of God.
Contracts the Wonders of his Sea and Land,
And, while Beholders in Amazement stand,
Almost provokes Idolatry of Heart?
So well is Nature copied by thy Art.
Ev'n thy coarse Dawbing and rough Strokes delight!
Thy Play-House shifted Scenes amuse the Sight;
Spectators think they're present where they seem,
And Rich himself the least Enchanter deem.
What Poets of Amphion's Musick feign,
Of dancing Stones, and Thebes rear'd up again,
Apply'd to thy great Pencil, wou'd be true,
Or so wou'd seem to the judicious few.
Powlett, with Pleasure, every Charm explores,
And, what he cannot comprehend, adores.
Thro' Fancy's lofty and unbounded Heights?
Tell how, from Objects by the Senses brought;
Thy intellectual Imagery is wrought?
How thy great Genius grasps Creation broad,
And, on the Canvass, draws the Works of God.
Contracts the Wonders of his Sea and Land,
And, while Beholders in Amazement stand,
Almost provokes Idolatry of Heart?
So well is Nature copied by thy Art.
Ev'n thy coarse Dawbing and rough Strokes delight!
Thy Play-House shifted Scenes amuse the Sight;
Spectators think they're present where they seem,
And Rich himself the least Enchanter deem.
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Of dancing Stones, and Thebes rear'd up again,
Apply'd to thy great Pencil, wou'd be true,
Or so wou'd seem to the judicious few.
Powlett, with Pleasure, every Charm explores,
And, what he cannot comprehend, adores.
Prodigious Pow'r! that yields such vast Delight,
And gives such full Enjoyment to the Sight;
Brings Objects, distant and dispers'd, so near,
And Order, 'midst Confusion, makes appear!
Such Warmth, such Keeping, Harmony and Taste
The Labours of a Master stand confest;
As Motion, Light and Heat, combin'd in one,
Make up the glorious Essence of the Sun.
But as, compar'd to that great Source of Day,
The Moon and Stars a scanty Light display,
What are thy Works, compar'd to thy Designs,
The Soul, whence every Beam of Wonder shines?
What are the glorious Products of thy Art,
When balanc'd with the Virtues of thy Heart?
Where hospitable Entertainment's giv'n
To all the Graces ever came from Heav'n!
Happy the few, in thy choice Friendship blest!
Thy Self how happy, of such Worth possest!
And gives such full Enjoyment to the Sight;
Brings Objects, distant and dispers'd, so near,
And Order, 'midst Confusion, makes appear!
Such Warmth, such Keeping, Harmony and Taste
The Labours of a Master stand confest;
As Motion, Light and Heat, combin'd in one,
Make up the glorious Essence of the Sun.
But as, compar'd to that great Source of Day,
The Moon and Stars a scanty Light display,
What are thy Works, compar'd to thy Designs,
The Soul, whence every Beam of Wonder shines?
What are the glorious Products of thy Art,
When balanc'd with the Virtues of thy Heart?
Where hospitable Entertainment's giv'n
To all the Graces ever came from Heav'n!
Happy the few, in thy choice Friendship blest!
Thy Self how happy, of such Worth possest!
December 19th, 1730.
FINIS.
| Three poetical epistles | |