Poems upon several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

What Admiration must This Piece command!
A Form so Noble recommends Thy Hand.
With no such Pomp the Planets glitt'ring lie
Upon th' expanded Azure of the Sky;
Like Heav'n are all Thy artful Figures made,
Vary'd alternately with Light, and Shade.

The Sun does no such Colouring display,
When with his Beams he paints the purple Day.
See at each Touch the Features starting rise,
And new Life dawning sparkles from the Eyes.
The glowing Heat that on the Front aspires,
Equals his Flames, and rivals all his Fires.

Bold was the Hand that durst attempt to draw
Those more than Mortal Features, which cou'd awe
Synods, and give to Lawless Senates Law.
I saw Thee thrice essay,—the Pencil still
Stood disobedient to the Master's Will,
Eluded thrice His Art, and baffl'd thrice His Skill:
His Pow'rs against their Artist now rebel,
The Colours sunk, and faded as they fell.
So Julius hearing greater Tully plead,
No more, O Rome, wou'd own himself thy Head;
Such mighty Rhetorick flash'd upon the Sense,
The Nerves unstrung, His Papers fell from thence;
The Thunder with superior Force was thrown,
And as the Pleader's rose, the Hero dropt His own.

The fam'd Palladium, which the Trojans boast
Secur'd the City more than all their Host,

And that Ancile, the Defence of Rome,
Were Types of Him our better Shield to come:
For future Ages well ordain'd by Fate,
Nations to save, and raise a Sinking State:
The Church and Priesthood on His Cause rely;
So Atlas singly cou'd Support the Sky.
Since Thou wilt paint Him, draw Him as He stood
At the Tribunal, prodigal of Blood.
In Innocence secure, divinely brave,
Resolv'd to perish, or resolv'd to save:
When His Accusers trembl'd so, and fear'd,
That He the Judge, They Criminals appear'd.
Let them, Salmoneus-like, around Him stand,
With mimick Vengeance flaming in their Hand,
Along the tinkling Arches vainly pass,
And proudly rattle o're their Bridge of Brass;
While, like a Jove, He from His lofty Brow
Hurls real Thunder on His Foes below:

Swift Lightnings darted from that bright Abode
Disclose them Mortal, and confess the God.

O! were Thy Picture Vocal, like my Song,
And to the Features Thou could'st add His Tongue,
From thence such wond'rous Eloquence wou'd break,
The World wou'd silent wait to hear Him speak.
The Language flowing from the Muses Spring
Wou'd sweetly charm, as Syrens when they sing;
The Figures all in Titian's Colours wrought,
With pictur'd Words, and Imag'ry of Thought:
So when the Sun with an inspiring Ray,
Does upon Memnon's warbling Statue play,
We hear soft-breathing Symphonies rebound,
To Consorts rais'd, and kindl'd into Sound:
His Image thus wou'd more divinely charm,
Than Musick's God, and more than Phœbus warm.

Two Portraitures the Ancients Wonder move,
Apelles Venus, Phidias wrought a Jove:
His Form will more than Grecian Skill demand,
And where their Labours fail, Thy Work shall stand.