Poems and Plays By William Hayley ... in Six Volumes. A New Edition |
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| II. | EPISTLE
THE SECOND. |
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 | Poems and Plays |  |
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EPISTLE THE SECOND.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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;
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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;”
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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:
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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.
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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;
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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;
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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.
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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.
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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,
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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;
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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;
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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!
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