The Poetical Works of Anna Seward :: :: University of Virginia Library

Ingenious Romney, in thy liberal heart
We feel thy virtues rivals of thy art;
Indulgent wilt thou then accept my lay,
Though faintly gilded by poetic ray,
When it would tell how much to thee I owe,
That on these walls thy Hayley's features glow?

Remote in studious bowers, around his head
Too long false Modesty her shadows spread;
But when at length upon the general sight
Rose his gay Muse, array'd in classic light,

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Full on thy science her warm effluence shone,
And mark'd its dear relation to her own,
Painting and Poetry on one bright throne;
And 'mid their mutual votaries display'd
The kindred excellence that ne'er shall fade.
High on the tablet, consecrate to fame,
Painter belov'd, appears thy honor'd name.
Reclin'd and musing on the secret shade,
Oft have aerial Beings round me play'd,
While Fancy, promptress of the waking dream,
Bent her clear prism upon its rising theme;
Blest could I catch, O Romney, as they shine,
As brilliant lights, and shades as bold as thine!

Ah! not for me, in such resistless blaze,
Descend Poetic Fancy's plastic rays;
But when their utmost force the Muse inspires,
Through clearest crystal when they dart their fires,
Then scenes arise, in intellectual hue,
Gay, soft, and warm, as Claude or Poussin drew;
Then setting sun-beams gild the lonely vale,
Wet with the shower and trembling from the gale;

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Green circling hills imbibe them as they stream,
And their moist tops are yellow in the gleam.
Or sternly if she leads the mental sight
Where Horror scowls, beneath incumbent night,
With all Salvator's savage dignity
Scowl the dark, rugged rock, and lurid sky.
When Love and Beauty to her pen are given,
She draws their forms in colours dipt in heaven;
For Homer's leaf her hands the hues prepare,
And Helen shines as Titian's Venus fair.
She orient tints to Milton's page supplies,
And his sweet Eve with Raphael's Mary vies,
While deck'd in floating pomp the gorgeous angels rise.
Or, if, obedient to her potent sway,
Passions embodied move in long array;
If wild Revenge fierce bound into his car,
Wave the dark crest, and shake the lance of war;
If Love sit melting in the azure eye,
Dye the warm blush, and swell the tender sigh;
Glares conscious Guilt, or trembles hurried Fear,
Or if mild Pity drop the balmy tear,
Poetic Fancy o'er the shape and face
Breathes Michael's force, and Guido's flowing grace;
Nor to one image, nor one scene confin'd,
Successive pictures rise before the mind.

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Here Poesy o'er Painting proudly towers,
Nor boasts unjustly her superior powers;
Since, though to Painting's free and ardent hand,
Is given to wake each form of fair and grand;
To rival Nature with her vivid hues;
To speak the language of the loftiest muse;
Yet, to a point of time her force restrain'd,
One fixed effect can only be attain'd
By the slow labour of revolving days,
Though Art consummate on the canvas blaze.
Thus triumphs Poesy;—yet Painting knows
A power more precious; on affection's woes
To shed a softer, a more chearing ray,
Than beams from Mason's, or from Hayley's lay.

See lovely Susan on the sea-beach stands,
And stretches o'er the waves her trembling hands;
Upbraids the bounding ship, whose sails unfurl'd
Court the dread hazards of the wat'ry world;
While, ling'ring on the windy deck in vain,
William's dear form gleams dimly o'er the main;—
Now distance veils him on the misty deep,
And slow she turns, to wander, and to weep.
What, 'mid these sorrows, may her tears beguile,
And wake on her pale lip the pensive smile?
O Painting! great Magician! thine the power
That gilds unhappy Susan's gloomy hour;

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Warm in thy tints, in thy expression bright,
Still charming William lives before her sight;
Distinct his speaking eye, his graceful brows,
And all himself the idol portrait glows.
Say, Poesy, can thy rich stores impart
Such precious balsam to the wounded heart?
What equal medicine boast thy mighty Nine,
Though strains Orphean warble from their shrine?
Since if the fair ideal forms we trace,
Rivals of life in colour, strength, and grace,
Yet, when emerging Genius charms our sight,
Free as it soars Aonia's sacred height,
And our pleas'd thoughts the consciousness desire
Of features warm'd and beaming with its fire;
Features, which to our mortal eye unknown
Might to our mind by plastic art be shown,
'Tis then that Poesy, responseless found,
Frowns on her pen and throws it on the ground.

Though ne'er beheld the actual form he wears,
My spirit thus thy Hayley's fame reveres;
Marks his dear Muse her charming strains extend,
And boasts the privilege to call him Friend.
But when in vain my grateful wishes sought
His living image in the stores of thought,
Thy pencil, Romney, the desire supplies,
And bids me see the generous Bard I prize.

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O! while in each bold lineament we find
Some emanation of his ardent mind,
See worth benign, and copious knowledge throw
Their mingled grace upon his pensive brow,
Still, glowing Artist, shall thy gift impart
Unsated pleasure to my conscious heart.
Dear is that gift as the soft, silver rain,
And breath Favonian, to the April plain,
As Memory's voice recalling happy days,
As to my favour'd muse thy Hayley's praise.

The first of Mr Hayley's admirable Poems on the Sciences, is addressed to his friend Romney, and characterizes the great painters, ancient and modern, comparing them with the poets.