An essay on sculpture In a series of epistles to John Flaxman, Esq. R. A.: With notes. By William Hayley |
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EPISTLE THE FIRST.
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 | An essay on sculpture |  |
EPISTLE THE FIRST.
Cognatas artes, studiumque affine sequamur!
Milton.
2
ARGUMENT OF THE FIRST EPISTLE.
Fervent wishes for the safety of the Sculptor, returning from Rome.—A sketch of the studies and situation of the Author and his friend.—The aim of the former in the present composition.
3
Infuriate War! whose gory flags unfurl'd,
Waft dire contagion round the madd'ning world,
Spare, in thy rage, or in thy pride defend,
Art's hallow'd pilgrim, Virtue's gifted friend,
The travell'd Sculptor, after years of toil,
Nobly pursu'd on many a foreign soil,
Hast'ning, with deep-stor'd mind and practis'd hand,
To prize and decorate his native land!
Fierce as thou art, those shadowy forms revere,
By Science hoarded, and to Fancy dear;
Which in the plastic soul of Genius rest,
Folded, like future gems, in Nature's breast!
To peaceful Sculpture's unarm'd son accord
Safety and honour for no mean reward:
He can requite thy favour—he can give
Thy dear lost heroes yet again to live;
And faithful still to thee, with martial fire
To speak in marble, e'en till War expire.
Waft dire contagion round the madd'ning world,
Spare, in thy rage, or in thy pride defend,
Art's hallow'd pilgrim, Virtue's gifted friend,
The travell'd Sculptor, after years of toil,
Nobly pursu'd on many a foreign soil,
Hast'ning, with deep-stor'd mind and practis'd hand,
To prize and decorate his native land!
Fierce as thou art, those shadowy forms revere,
By Science hoarded, and to Fancy dear;
4
Folded, like future gems, in Nature's breast!
To peaceful Sculpture's unarm'd son accord
Safety and honour for no mean reward:
He can requite thy favour—he can give
Thy dear lost heroes yet again to live;
And faithful still to thee, with martial fire
To speak in marble, e'en till War expire.
Thus, ardent Flaxman! while you now review
Rome's sculptur'd glories in a fond adieu,
Now haste, admonish'd by instructive Time,
With filial pride to England's rougher clime.
The studious hermit, who, in that dear isle,
You left depriv'd of Health's inspiring smile,
To prosper your return, with votive lays
Resumes the lyre of friendship and of praise.
Rome's sculptur'd glories in a fond adieu,
Now haste, admonish'd by instructive Time,
With filial pride to England's rougher clime.
The studious hermit, who, in that dear isle,
You left depriv'd of Health's inspiring smile,
To prosper your return, with votive lays
Resumes the lyre of friendship and of praise.
Dear Student! active as the Greeks of old,
In toil as steady, as in fancy bold;
Blending of discipline each separate part,
Diffusive knowledge with concenter'd art;
And adding, as you climb Discovery's hill,
The scholar's learning to the sculptor's skill;
Those years that roll'd o'er thee with lustre kind,
Rip'ning thy labours much, and more thy mind,
Those years, that gave thy faculties to shine,
In mists of malady enshrouded mine.
In toil as steady, as in fancy bold;
Blending of discipline each separate part,
Diffusive knowledge with concenter'd art;
5
The scholar's learning to the sculptor's skill;
Those years that roll'd o'er thee with lustre kind,
Rip'ning thy labours much, and more thy mind,
Those years, that gave thy faculties to shine,
In mists of malady enshrouded mine.
Think with what grief the spirit of thy friend,
Anxious as thine, but anxious to no end,
Year after year, of feverish sloth the prey,
Has seen each project of his mind decay,
And drop, like buds that, (when the parent rose,
Sick'ning in drought where no kind current flows,
Feels parching heat its genial powers enthrall,)
Unblown, unscented, and discolour'd, fall.
Anxious as thine, but anxious to no end,
Year after year, of feverish sloth the prey,
Has seen each project of his mind decay,
And drop, like buds that, (when the parent rose,
Sick'ning in drought where no kind current flows,
Feels parching heat its genial powers enthrall,)
Unblown, unscented, and discolour'd, fall.
Disease, dread fiend! whatever name thou bear,
I most abhor thee as the child of Care;
Nor fix'd of feature, nor of station sure,
Thy power as noxious as thy shape obscure;
While thy cold vapours, with a baleful gloom,
Blight intellectual fruits howe'er they bloom:
Yet e'en o'er thee, in thy despotic hours,
When thou hast chain'd the mind's excursive powers,
Though to thy gloomy keep by pain betray'd,
That mind can triumph by celestial aid:
From thee, dull monitor! e'en then can learn
A mental lesson of most high concern—
To know the suffering spirit's sure resource,
And hail the hallow'd fount of human force.
I most abhor thee as the child of Care;
Nor fix'd of feature, nor of station sure,
Thy power as noxious as thy shape obscure;
While thy cold vapours, with a baleful gloom,
Blight intellectual fruits howe'er they bloom:
6
When thou hast chain'd the mind's excursive powers,
Though to thy gloomy keep by pain betray'd,
That mind can triumph by celestial aid:
From thee, dull monitor! e'en then can learn
A mental lesson of most high concern—
To know the suffering spirit's sure resource,
And hail the hallow'd fount of human force.
God of those grateful hearts that own thy sway,
Howe'er their fibres flourish or decay,
Safe in thy goodness, with no will but thine,
Thy dearest gifts I cherish or resign!
Yet, if by storms of many a season tried,
And toss'd, not sunk, by life's uncertain tide,
I yet may view, benevolently gay,
A brighter evening to my darken'd day:
Grace it, blest Power! whate'er its date may be,
With lustre worthy of a gift from thee!
Howe'er their fibres flourish or decay,
Safe in thy goodness, with no will but thine,
Thy dearest gifts I cherish or resign!
Yet, if by storms of many a season tried,
And toss'd, not sunk, by life's uncertain tide,
I yet may view, benevolently gay,
A brighter evening to my darken'd day:
Grace it, blest Power! whate'er its date may be,
With lustre worthy of a gift from thee!
Poets, dear Sculptor! who to fame aspire,
Fearless pretend to inspiration's fire.
We boast of Muses, who, without reward,
Furnish the favour'd harp with golden chord:
Yet, to be frank, though pensive from my youth,
I play'd with Fiction as a child of Truth.
When my free mind in health's light vest was clad,
A feeling heart was all the lyre I had:
But quick as Memnon's statue felt the day,
And spoke responsive to the rising ray;
So quick the fibres of that heart I deem,
Of excellence, new risen, to feel the beam;
Feel the pure light a vocal transport raise,
And fondly hail it with melodious praise.
But Pain, dear Flaxman! the dull tyrant Pain,
A new Cambyses, broke this lyre in twain:
Still, like the statue sever'd on the ground,
Though weaker, still its wonted voice is found:
Warm'd by that light they love, the very fragments sound.
O could the texture of this suffering brain
The pleasing toil of patient thought sustain,
Unwearied now, as when in Granta's shade
Friendship endear'd the rites to Learning paid;
When keen for action, whether weak or strong,
My mind-disdain'd repose; and to prolong
The literary day's too brief delight,
Assign'd to social study half the night!
With ardour then, proportion'd to thy own,
My verse, dear Flaxman! in a louder tone
Should lead thy country, with a parent's hope,
To give thy talents animating scope;
Pleas'd, ere thy genius its best record frame,
To sound a prelude to thy future fame.
Fearless pretend to inspiration's fire.
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Furnish the favour'd harp with golden chord:
Yet, to be frank, though pensive from my youth,
I play'd with Fiction as a child of Truth.
When my free mind in health's light vest was clad,
A feeling heart was all the lyre I had:
But quick as Memnon's statue felt the day,
And spoke responsive to the rising ray;
So quick the fibres of that heart I deem,
Of excellence, new risen, to feel the beam;
Feel the pure light a vocal transport raise,
And fondly hail it with melodious praise.
But Pain, dear Flaxman! the dull tyrant Pain,
A new Cambyses, broke this lyre in twain:
Still, like the statue sever'd on the ground,
Though weaker, still its wonted voice is found:
Warm'd by that light they love, the very fragments sound.
8
The pleasing toil of patient thought sustain,
Unwearied now, as when in Granta's shade
Friendship endear'd the rites to Learning paid;
When keen for action, whether weak or strong,
My mind-disdain'd repose; and to prolong
The literary day's too brief delight,
Assign'd to social study half the night!
With ardour then, proportion'd to thy own,
My verse, dear Flaxman! in a louder tone
Should lead thy country, with a parent's hope,
To give thy talents animating scope;
Pleas'd, ere thy genius its best record frame,
To sound a prelude to thy future fame.
But worn with anguish, may thy bard command
Such notes as flow'd spontaneous from his hand
In that blest hour, when his applauded Muse,
Fond of no theme but what his heart might choose,
Appear'd that heart's ambitious hope to crown,
The happy herald of a friend's renown;
When Truth re-echoed her ingenuous praise,
And our lov'd Romney triumph'd in her lays.
Such notes as flow'd spontaneous from his hand
In that blest hour, when his applauded Muse,
Fond of no theme but what his heart might choose,
Appear'd that heart's ambitious hope to crown,
The happy herald of a friend's renown;
9
And our lov'd Romney triumph'd in her lays.
The Arts and Friendship are angelic powers,
Worshipp'd by me through all my chequer'd hours;
My early offerings at their feet I cast:
Be theirs my present song, and theirs my last!
If Health to him, who oft, with fruitless sighs,
Watches the glance of her averted eyes,
Those eyes, whose light can wither'd minds renew,
Those stars, that shed an intellectual dew—
If Health will yet her inspiration give,
Call into life my verse, and bid it live!
Worshipp'd by me through all my chequer'd hours;
My early offerings at their feet I cast:
Be theirs my present song, and theirs my last!
If Health to him, who oft, with fruitless sighs,
Watches the glance of her averted eyes,
Those eyes, whose light can wither'd minds renew,
Those stars, that shed an intellectual dew—
If Health will yet her inspiration give,
Call into life my verse, and bid it live!
Years that, like visions, vanish all by stealth,
When Time is dancing to the harp of Health—
But long, long links of an oppressive chain,
When his dull steps are told by lassitude and pain—
Years have elaps'd since, full of hope for thee,
Thy bard, though wreck'd on Study's restless sea,
Yet aim'd to give, by friendship's kind controul,
Miltonic temper to thy fervent soul;
And well hast thou, to make those years conduce
To future honour and immediate use,
Assign'd of early life thy studious prime
To bright Italia's art-enlighten'd clime;
That clime, where Milton, at an age like thine,
Imbib'd the fervour of sublime design,
As emulation wing'd his soul with fire,
In song to triumph o'er the Tuscan quire;
And Tasso's Muse, with epic glory bright,
Impell'd his fancy to a nobler flight:
So may the modern lord of Sculpture's sphere,
Whose mighty hand to many an art was dear—
May lofty Angelo thy mind inflame,
As happily to vie with Tuscan fame!
Then shall thy country, while thy works display
Force, feeling, truth, and beauty's moral sway,
Radiant, at last, with sculptural renown,
(A gem long wanting in her lucid crown,)
Feel new distinction animate her heart,
And high precedence hold in every art.
When Time is dancing to the harp of Health—
But long, long links of an oppressive chain,
When his dull steps are told by lassitude and pain—
Years have elaps'd since, full of hope for thee,
Thy bard, though wreck'd on Study's restless sea,
10
Miltonic temper to thy fervent soul;
And well hast thou, to make those years conduce
To future honour and immediate use,
Assign'd of early life thy studious prime
To bright Italia's art-enlighten'd clime;
That clime, where Milton, at an age like thine,
Imbib'd the fervour of sublime design,
As emulation wing'd his soul with fire,
In song to triumph o'er the Tuscan quire;
And Tasso's Muse, with epic glory bright,
Impell'd his fancy to a nobler flight:
So may the modern lord of Sculpture's sphere,
Whose mighty hand to many an art was dear—
May lofty Angelo thy mind inflame,
As happily to vie with Tuscan fame!
Then shall thy country, while thy works display
Force, feeling, truth, and beauty's moral sway,
11
(A gem long wanting in her lucid crown,)
Feel new distinction animate her heart,
And high precedence hold in every art.
Pass not this presage in Detraction's eyes
For partial friendship's weak or vain surmise;
'Tis hope well grounded, such as heaven inspires
When man submits to heaven his proud desires.
May'st thou, my friend! whose well-instructed youth
Grav'd on thy heart this animating truth,
“Talents are power which men from God deduce,
“And best acknowledge by benignant use;”—
May'st thou, by years of prosperous study, reach
Remote Perfection, that no precepts teach!
May'st thou, like Angelo and Milton, close
A life of labour in divine repose,
In that calm vale of years, by Science blest,
Where well-earn'd honour warms the veteran's breast,
Acknowledg'd (to reward his mental strife)
A sovereign of the art to which he gave his life!
Enough for me, whose thrilling nerves confess
Sincerest transport in a friend's success—
For me, who hold, in life's autumnal days,
Private esteem more dear than public praise—
If I may pour, benevolently clear,
Incentive notes in Friendship's partial ear;
By zealous verse uninjur'd minds inflame
To toils of highest hope and hardest aim,
Urge those I love in lovely arts to shine,
And make their triumphs by affection mine.
As when, through hazards on a sea untried,
Philanthropy and Fame the vessel guide,
A crippled boatswain, for Old England's sake,
By his shrill note may abler seamen wake
To happier service than himself could yield,
If yet unshatter'd on the watery field.
For partial friendship's weak or vain surmise;
'Tis hope well grounded, such as heaven inspires
When man submits to heaven his proud desires.
May'st thou, my friend! whose well-instructed youth
Grav'd on thy heart this animating truth,
“Talents are power which men from God deduce,
“And best acknowledge by benignant use;”—
May'st thou, by years of prosperous study, reach
Remote Perfection, that no precepts teach!
May'st thou, like Angelo and Milton, close
A life of labour in divine repose,
In that calm vale of years, by Science blest,
Where well-earn'd honour warms the veteran's breast,
Acknowledg'd (to reward his mental strife)
A sovereign of the art to which he gave his life!
12
Sincerest transport in a friend's success—
For me, who hold, in life's autumnal days,
Private esteem more dear than public praise—
If I may pour, benevolently clear,
Incentive notes in Friendship's partial ear;
By zealous verse uninjur'd minds inflame
To toils of highest hope and hardest aim,
Urge those I love in lovely arts to shine,
And make their triumphs by affection mine.
As when, through hazards on a sea untried,
Philanthropy and Fame the vessel guide,
A crippled boatswain, for Old England's sake,
By his shrill note may abler seamen wake
To happier service than himself could yield,
If yet unshatter'd on the watery field.
O generous passion, under just command,
Enlighten'd fondness for our native land!
Thy potent fire the Grecian arts refin'd,
And made them idols of the cultur'd mind:
From thee the hero, as the artist, caught
Vigour of nerve and dignity of thought.
Great were thy wonders in the world of old,
When glory triumph'd o'er inferior gold.
But sceptics say that, in the modern breast,
The patriot passion is a sordid jest;
The knavish politician's pompous mask,
That to the wise betrays his secret task
To cheat a nation with fictitious zeal,
And ape the noble warmth he ne'er can feel.
Enlighten'd fondness for our native land!
Thy potent fire the Grecian arts refin'd,
And made them idols of the cultur'd mind:
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Vigour of nerve and dignity of thought.
Great were thy wonders in the world of old,
When glory triumph'd o'er inferior gold.
But sceptics say that, in the modern breast,
The patriot passion is a sordid jest;
The knavish politician's pompous mask,
That to the wise betrays his secret task
To cheat a nation with fictitious zeal,
And ape the noble warmth he ne'er can feel.
O, blind to Nature the false sage, who thinks
That by the touch of Time her treasure sinks!
The mighty Parent draws from heaven the power
Freely to lavish her exhaustless dower;
That useful pride which, under many a name
The spring of action in the human frame,
Gives, at all periods, through her wide domain,
Force to the heart, and fancy to the brain—
The fruit may fail, as time and chance decree,
But every age and soil produce the tree—
That pride, the generous root of Grecian praise,
Lives yet, unweaken'd lives in modern days;
And oft it shoots, as many bards attest,
With attic vigour in an English breast!
That by the touch of Time her treasure sinks!
The mighty Parent draws from heaven the power
Freely to lavish her exhaustless dower;
That useful pride which, under many a name
The spring of action in the human frame,
Gives, at all periods, through her wide domain,
Force to the heart, and fancy to the brain—
The fruit may fail, as time and chance decree,
But every age and soil produce the tree—
14
Lives yet, unweaken'd lives in modern days;
And oft it shoots, as many bards attest,
With attic vigour in an English breast!
Say, servent Flaxman! when, with new delight,
Thy travels led thee first to feast thy sight
Where Sculpture reigns, and holds her triumph still,
With hoarded miracles of ancient skill;
When first thine eyes those darling forms survey'd
That make the colours of description fade,
Feeling their potent charms in every vein,
Till admiration rose almost to pain—
Prov'd not thy swelling heart a proud desire
That, if pure Health will guard thy mental fire,
Thou, by impassion'd Toil's repeated touch,
For thy dear England may'st achieve as much
As ever Grecian hand for Greece achiev'd,
When hands gave life to all the soul conceiv'd?
Thy travels led thee first to feast thy sight
Where Sculpture reigns, and holds her triumph still,
With hoarded miracles of ancient skill;
When first thine eyes those darling forms survey'd
That make the colours of description fade,
Feeling their potent charms in every vein,
Till admiration rose almost to pain—
Prov'd not thy swelling heart a proud desire
That, if pure Health will guard thy mental fire,
Thou, by impassion'd Toil's repeated touch,
For thy dear England may'st achieve as much
As ever Grecian hand for Greece achiev'd,
When hands gave life to all the soul conceiv'd?
Feelings like these the fervent Milton found,
Roving, in studious youth, o'er Tuscan ground;
Such, of refin'd ambition justly proud,
His candid spirit to the world avow'd,
When of his lot he spoke his early sense,
And consecrated life to toil intense.
Let pert Conceit, whom lighter fancies guide,
The aid of Toil and Piety deride;
Let flippant Wit conceive them dull allies,
That might forbid his active wing to rise,
And with a swallow's flight to dart at gilded flies;
Pure minds, to whom the highest powers are given,
Own what they owe to industry and heaven.
Milton by ceaseless toil to glory climb'd,
And strong devotion's fire his soul sublim'd;
Meek Newton thus his modest wisdom taught,
“All that I've done is due to patient thought.”
Roving, in studious youth, o'er Tuscan ground;
15
His candid spirit to the world avow'd,
When of his lot he spoke his early sense,
And consecrated life to toil intense.
Let pert Conceit, whom lighter fancies guide,
The aid of Toil and Piety deride;
Let flippant Wit conceive them dull allies,
That might forbid his active wing to rise,
And with a swallow's flight to dart at gilded flies;
Pure minds, to whom the highest powers are given,
Own what they owe to industry and heaven.
Milton by ceaseless toil to glory climb'd,
And strong devotion's fire his soul sublim'd;
Meek Newton thus his modest wisdom taught,
“All that I've done is due to patient thought.”
Hard is their fate, most pitiably hard,
Who feel the shatter'd mind from toil debarr'd;
Whom, on exploits of intellect intent,
Distemper holds in Sloth's dark prison pent,
Forbid in Fancy's favourite wilds to range,
And destin'd with reluctance to exchange
Refin'd ambition's brave and spotless strife,
For low and little cares of languid life.
Who feel the shatter'd mind from toil debarr'd;
Whom, on exploits of intellect intent,
Distemper holds in Sloth's dark prison pent,
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And destin'd with reluctance to exchange
Refin'd ambition's brave and spotless strife,
For low and little cares of languid life.
How oft, dear active friend! in listless pain,
Thy distant invalid has wish'd in vain
For strength, through Roman fanes with thee to rove;
And pausing near the Capitolian Jove,
In scenes with solemn inspiration fraught,
Catch the strong impulse of inspiring thought!
Thy distant invalid has wish'd in vain
For strength, through Roman fanes with thee to rove;
And pausing near the Capitolian Jove,
In scenes with solemn inspiration fraught,
Catch the strong impulse of inspiring thought!
While thou, in mental luxury refin'd,
Hast nobly banqueted thy thirsty mind
With all that art could yield, or taste require,
As purest aliment to Fancy's fire—
While thy unwearied hand, and soul elate,
Have jointly toil'd to copy or create,
My suffering mind would to itself complain,
Too conscious that the cloister of the brain
Seem'd like a fabric ransack'd by a Goth,
Whose cruel enmity and wasteful wrath,
Defacing all that Truth had treasur'd there,
Left but a cell for Sorrow's silent prayer.
But hence, desponding Sloth! hence, dull Complaint!
That make e'en Pity's wearied spirit faint!
If Health, like Fortune, with capricious sway
Chequers the course of life's contracting day,
From each coy goddess with delight we learn,
Long absence but endears the late return.
Hast nobly banqueted thy thirsty mind
With all that art could yield, or taste require,
As purest aliment to Fancy's fire—
While thy unwearied hand, and soul elate,
Have jointly toil'd to copy or create,
My suffering mind would to itself complain,
Too conscious that the cloister of the brain
17
Whose cruel enmity and wasteful wrath,
Defacing all that Truth had treasur'd there,
Left but a cell for Sorrow's silent prayer.
But hence, desponding Sloth! hence, dull Complaint!
That make e'en Pity's wearied spirit faint!
If Health, like Fortune, with capricious sway
Chequers the course of life's contracting day,
From each coy goddess with delight we learn,
Long absence but endears the late return.
Since my firm friend, for travel's noblest use,
Sail'd with the blessing of a sick recluse,
I have not lost, though cramp'd and cabin'd here,
In fruitless sloth each intervening year.
Though Health denied me limbs that might ascend
Rough Alpine heights with my excursive friend,
A different cause, and of a later date,
Fixing to English ground my studious fate,
Bade me no more that pleasing hope resume,
With thee, instructive guide, to study Rome.
The high and hallow'd bard, whose Muse of Fire
May, as I wish'd, thy plastic hand inspire:
Milton himself, with unresisted sway,
Held me from thee and Roman joys away.
Justice and truth, with strong affection join'd,
Imperious rulers of the feeling mind,
Urg'd me to vindicate from many a wrong
The slander'd paramount of English song:
Happy, dear friend! if this reviving hand
The line of just resemblance may command,
True as thy chissel, that can marble warm
With all the life that speaks in outward form.
Sail'd with the blessing of a sick recluse,
I have not lost, though cramp'd and cabin'd here,
In fruitless sloth each intervening year.
Though Health denied me limbs that might ascend
Rough Alpine heights with my excursive friend,
A different cause, and of a later date,
Fixing to English ground my studious fate,
18
With thee, instructive guide, to study Rome.
The high and hallow'd bard, whose Muse of Fire
May, as I wish'd, thy plastic hand inspire:
Milton himself, with unresisted sway,
Held me from thee and Roman joys away.
Justice and truth, with strong affection join'd,
Imperious rulers of the feeling mind,
Urg'd me to vindicate from many a wrong
The slander'd paramount of English song:
Happy, dear friend! if this reviving hand
The line of just resemblance may command,
True as thy chissel, that can marble warm
With all the life that speaks in outward form.
O! if, in kind beneficence profuse,
Heaven deigns, at destin'd periods, to produce
Superior spirits on this earthly stage,
To light and elevate a grov'ling age,
To shew how Genius bears Affliction's rod,
And fix the desultory soul on God:
Such, the fond reverence of the world to claim,
Nature to England gave, in Milton's name,
By darkness undismay'd, by toil untir'd,
When conscience dictated, or Heaven inspir'd.
Heaven deigns, at destin'd periods, to produce
Superior spirits on this earthly stage,
To light and elevate a grov'ling age,
19
And fix the desultory soul on God:
Such, the fond reverence of the world to claim,
Nature to England gave, in Milton's name,
By darkness undismay'd, by toil untir'd,
When conscience dictated, or Heaven inspir'd.
First of poetic minds! if, fondly true,
My willing heart has paid thee homage due;
If this weak hand, elaborately just,
Clear'd thy bright image from detraction's rust;
Teach me to baffle adverse Health's controul
With all thy fervency, and force of soul!
As amulets against all worldly ill,
In my free breast thy sentiments instill!
Not thy crude thoughts of democratic sway,
The hasty fruits of a distemper'd day,
But, never changing with the changeful hour,
Thy sense of human hopes and heavenly power!
In one sensation, one—my dearest pride—
Well may I boast a heart to thine allied:
In this my thoughts with thy frank words agree,
That, “if by Nature, or by Fate's decree,
“No toils of mine can teach me to ascend
“Heights of perfection that may wait my friend,
“The powers of heaven or earth will ne'er prevent
“My mind's persisting in its favourite bent
“To joy in excellence, and honour those
“On whom that coyest queen her smile bestows:”
Blest, if to future time my verse descend
A just record of an excelling friend;
Blest, if, with generous sympathy survey'd,
And its pure aim against its failings weigh'd,
It serve to quicken in the public mind
Love for those gentler arts that grace mankind.
My willing heart has paid thee homage due;
If this weak hand, elaborately just,
Clear'd thy bright image from detraction's rust;
Teach me to baffle adverse Health's controul
With all thy fervency, and force of soul!
As amulets against all worldly ill,
In my free breast thy sentiments instill!
Not thy crude thoughts of democratic sway,
The hasty fruits of a distemper'd day,
But, never changing with the changeful hour,
Thy sense of human hopes and heavenly power!
In one sensation, one—my dearest pride—
Well may I boast a heart to thine allied:
20
That, “if by Nature, or by Fate's decree,
“No toils of mine can teach me to ascend
“Heights of perfection that may wait my friend,
“The powers of heaven or earth will ne'er prevent
“My mind's persisting in its favourite bent
“To joy in excellence, and honour those
“On whom that coyest queen her smile bestows:”
Blest, if to future time my verse descend
A just record of an excelling friend;
Blest, if, with generous sympathy survey'd,
And its pure aim against its failings weigh'd,
It serve to quicken in the public mind
Love for those gentler arts that grace mankind.
Thus, my dear Flaxman! while I now descry
Thy goddess, Sculpture! in my mental eye,
Hoping the winds, by her entreaties won,
Will waft in safety home her travell'd son,
Thy bard, resuming long-forsaken rhyme,
Soothes, in this rambling verse, the anxious time;
Musing, if Heaven may to his mind afford
Joy's inspiration for a friend restor'd,
How he may raise, in that propitious hour,
An altar worthy of thy guardian Power;
Describe her progress from her distant birth,
And all her bounty to th'embellish'd earth;
Then how pure zeal, in this enlighten'd isle,
May court her presence, may ensure her smile;
And cherish hope that here she may attain
Dominion equal to her attic reign!
Thy goddess, Sculpture! in my mental eye,
Hoping the winds, by her entreaties won,
Will waft in safety home her travell'd son,
21
Soothes, in this rambling verse, the anxious time;
Musing, if Heaven may to his mind afford
Joy's inspiration for a friend restor'd,
How he may raise, in that propitious hour,
An altar worthy of thy guardian Power;
Describe her progress from her distant birth,
And all her bounty to th'embellish'd earth;
Then how pure zeal, in this enlighten'd isle,
May court her presence, may ensure her smile;
And cherish hope that here she may attain
Dominion equal to her attic reign!
Yes, though fierce havoc, in these frantic times,
Makes each fine art recoil from mortal crimes,
Yet, in celestial wrath's relenting day,
Those friends of earth shall reassume their sway!
Makes each fine art recoil from mortal crimes,
Yet, in celestial wrath's relenting day,
Those friends of earth shall reassume their sway!
Angels of light! who deeds of blood abhor,
Enchain that homicidal maniac, War!
All hell's dire agents in one form combin'd
To fire the globe, and demonize mankind!
Let Arts, that render men divinely brave,
To Peace's temple turn Destruction's cave;
And form, to counteract infernal strife,
New bonds of friendship, and new charms of life!
Enchain that homicidal maniac, War!
All hell's dire agents in one form combin'd
To fire the globe, and demonize mankind!
22
To Peace's temple turn Destruction's cave;
And form, to counteract infernal strife,
New bonds of friendship, and new charms of life!
THE END OF THE FIRST EPISTLE.
| An essay on sculpture | |