The Works of the Late Aaron Hill ... In Four Volumes. Consisting of Letters on Various Subjects, And of Original Poems, Moral and Facetious. With An Essay on the Art of Acting |
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The Art of Acting.
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 | The Works of the Late Aaron Hill |  |
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The Art of Acting.
Dedicated to the Earl of
Chesterfield.
Why sleep the silent pow'rs, that guard the stage,
While yawning opiates lull the tastless age?
Shall trite cold themes catch fire, from wit's essays,
Yet, hov'ring chillness damp theatric blaze?
While yawning opiates lull the tastless age?
Shall trite cold themes catch fire, from wit's essays,
Yet, hov'ring chillness damp theatric blaze?
Mourn it, ye sons of spleen, whose hands (mistaught)
Tore up this seed of sense, this plant of thought:
Whence reasoning shoots might bloom life's garden o'er,
And weedy wildness choak her walks no more.—
Horror (at alien woes) by genius, mov'd,
To sense of home-felt bliss, be, there, improv'd:
Wit's ent'ring hand dissect sedition's breast,
Shew the malignant springs, and call forth rest.
Tore up this seed of sense, this plant of thought:
Whence reasoning shoots might bloom life's garden o'er,
And weedy wildness choak her walks no more.—
Horror (at alien woes) by genius, mov'd,
To sense of home-felt bliss, be, there, improv'd:
Wit's ent'ring hand dissect sedition's breast,
Shew the malignant springs, and call forth rest.
There, the touch'd heart, in secret silence chid,
Might learn to hate the guilt, it, once, but hid:
There, scorn, from note of pity's praise—catch grace,
Start, and pause, conscious—in pride's slack'ning race.
There, heedless beauty, warn'd of man's false fire,
Might chain down wav'ring love, and edge desire:
Each maid's mild eye correct her heart's warm trust,
Dull perts grow pensive, and false thinkers just.
Might learn to hate the guilt, it, once, but hid:
388
Start, and pause, conscious—in pride's slack'ning race.
There, heedless beauty, warn'd of man's false fire,
Might chain down wav'ring love, and edge desire:
Each maid's mild eye correct her heart's warm trust,
Dull perts grow pensive, and false thinkers just.
There, (now) sits Mummery, thron'd on passion's Urn!
There, noisier fires, than Wit's (unbright'ning) burn:
There, vice, with laughter, shares divided rule,
And only serious purpose marks the fool!
There, noisier fires, than Wit's (unbright'ning) burn:
There, vice, with laughter, shares divided rule,
And only serious purpose marks the fool!
Vain the lost pray'r, that courts a Muse's aid,
By foes un-tasted, and by friends betray'd:
Patrons immers'd, 'twixt faction's rapid tides!
Poets, in flattery's—pow'r, absorb'd in pride's!
Gone is the learned leisure, once, rever'd,
And the still voice of genius sighs, unheard.
By foes un-tasted, and by friends betray'd:
Patrons immers'd, 'twixt faction's rapid tides!
Poets, in flattery's—pow'r, absorb'd in pride's!
Gone is the learned leisure, once, rever'd,
And the still voice of genius sighs, unheard.
389
Happier
Ierne! mourn our drains no more;
Richly reveng'd, thou drain'st a nobler store.
Poor, in our turn, see Wit's lost channel dry,
Robb'd of her Fountain—for thy full supply.
Richly reveng'd, thou drain'st a nobler store.
Poor, in our turn, see Wit's lost channel dry,
Robb'd of her Fountain—for thy full supply.
Yet, while home ruin wrings the heart distrest,
'Tis recompence, to fall, for others, blest:
Less thy doom'd distance (soul of absent joys!)
Pains the shook realm, whose hope it half destroys;
Conscious, thou goe'st, to warm one sister's fears
To transports—lasting as the other's tears.
'Tis recompence, to fall, for others, blest:
Less thy doom'd distance (soul of absent joys!)
Pains the shook realm, whose hope it half destroys;
Conscious, thou goe'st, to warm one sister's fears
To transports—lasting as the other's tears.
Long, in sad silence, on the willows hung,
Now! she resumes her Harp, for praise, new strung:
Tires her tun'd hand, to pour her grateful soul,
Wide, as her chief can charm, from pole to pole.
Genius, from ages, hers, 'midst want, and wrongs,
How will she, now, transcend past poets songs!
At once, of every nation's grace made free,
By every added muse, bestow'd with thee!
There, 'midst the toils of empire's manag'd weight,
Law's lights extended, and embellish'd state;
Find a calm hour, to lend the Stage thy care,
And times, unborn, shall feel a Stanhope, there.
Now! she resumes her Harp, for praise, new strung:
Tires her tun'd hand, to pour her grateful soul,
Wide, as her chief can charm, from pole to pole.
Genius, from ages, hers, 'midst want, and wrongs,
How will she, now, transcend past poets songs!
At once, of every nation's grace made free,
By every added muse, bestow'd with thee!
There, 'midst the toils of empire's manag'd weight,
Law's lights extended, and embellish'd state;
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And times, unborn, shall feel a Stanhope, there.
Dark'ning, mean while, our muse's lamps expire,
Blank is their prospect, and unfann'd their fire:
Friendless, neglected, laugh'd at, and unfelt,
No now-crown'd conq'ror cares, where Homer dwelt.
Banish'd from court, from senate, city, scene,
Wit's sons, all tongue-tied! mute, even Harlequin!
Blank is their prospect, and unfann'd their fire:
Friendless, neglected, laugh'd at, and unfelt,
No now-crown'd conq'ror cares, where Homer dwelt.
Banish'd from court, from senate, city, scene,
Wit's sons, all tongue-tied! mute, even Harlequin!
Yet, let the thinker scorn such dumb suspense,
Nor (flattering custom) sneak his aid from sense:
Wing'd for the future, o'er the present rise,
Spurn the time's cloud, and strike benigner skies.
Not always, shall ambition's muddied brain
Work to perswade—yet, hold example vain!
Bribe, to each further'd interest's venal cue,
Yet dream, Diversion, all the Stage's view.
The time shall come (indulge it soon slow fate!)
When power shall taste, that wit can think, with weight:
The time shall come—(nor far the destin'd day!)
When soul-touch'd actors shall do more, than play:
When passion, flaming, from th'asserted stage,
Shall, to taught greatness, fire a feeling age:
Tides of strong sentiment sublimely roll,
Deep'ning the dry disgraces of the soul:
Pity, fear, sorrow, wash'd from folly's foam,
Knock at man's breast, and find his heart at home.
Then, plaintful grief shall drop her whiney drawl,
And heart felt anger nerve th' insensate bawl.
Then, shall the moving art old powers possess;
Wake valour, call forth joys, and stamp distress.
Then, shall the player take pains, in pleasure's right,
Sweat, for his praise, and labour, to delight:
Then, shall he thank the hand, (in death, long cold)
That fir'd his languor, and his fame foretold.
Nor (flattering custom) sneak his aid from sense:
Wing'd for the future, o'er the present rise,
Spurn the time's cloud, and strike benigner skies.
Not always, shall ambition's muddied brain
Work to perswade—yet, hold example vain!
Bribe, to each further'd interest's venal cue,
Yet dream, Diversion, all the Stage's view.
The time shall come (indulge it soon slow fate!)
When power shall taste, that wit can think, with weight:
The time shall come—(nor far the destin'd day!)
When soul-touch'd actors shall do more, than play:
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Shall, to taught greatness, fire a feeling age:
Tides of strong sentiment sublimely roll,
Deep'ning the dry disgraces of the soul:
Pity, fear, sorrow, wash'd from folly's foam,
Knock at man's breast, and find his heart at home.
Then, plaintful grief shall drop her whiney drawl,
And heart felt anger nerve th' insensate bawl.
Then, shall the moving art old powers possess;
Wake valour, call forth joys, and stamp distress.
Then, shall the player take pains, in pleasure's right,
Sweat, for his praise, and labour, to delight:
Then, shall he thank the hand, (in death, long cold)
That fir'd his languor, and his fame foretold.
Tasteful, ev'n now, there want not some choice few,
Whose hope-warm'd hearts can hail the distant view:
Hearts, that the subject's lov'd importance know,
And feel the fire, they bear, with conscious glow.
Whose hope-warm'd hearts can hail the distant view:
Hearts, that the subject's lov'd importance know,
And feel the fire, they bear, with conscious glow.
392
Why was the actor stain'd, by law's decree?
Lost time's recov'rer! truth's awak'ner, he!
Passion's refiner! life's shoal coast survey'd—
The wise man's pleaser, and the good man's aid.
Precept, and practice, in one teacher, join'd,
Bodied resemblance of the copied mind:
Nature confirms, art dignifies his claim,
And only cant's low crawl defiles his name.
Lost time's recov'rer! truth's awak'ner, he!
Passion's refiner! life's shoal coast survey'd—
The wise man's pleaser, and the good man's aid.
Precept, and practice, in one teacher, join'd,
Bodied resemblance of the copied mind:
Nature confirms, art dignifies his claim,
And only cant's low crawl defiles his name.
If, but by comprehension, we possess,
And every greater circle holds the less;
No rank's high claim can make the player's small,
Since, acting each, he comprehends them, all.
And every greater circle holds the less;
No rank's high claim can make the player's small,
Since, acting each, he comprehends them, all.
Off, to due distance, half ye stalking train!
Blots of a title, your low tastes profane!
No dull, cold, mouther shares the actor's plea,
Rightly to seem, is transiently, to be.
Blots of a title, your low tastes profane!
No dull, cold, mouther shares the actor's plea,
Rightly to seem, is transiently, to be.
How shall this gole be reach'd, that, seen most nigh,
Still glides more distant, from th' advancing eye?
Like the sky's sea-dipt arch, heaven's fancied bound,
For ever sail'd to, and, yet, never found.
How shall trac'd practice hit th' untrodden way?
Where life is travell'd out, in arts to stray.
Still glides more distant, from th' advancing eye?
393
For ever sail'd to, and, yet, never found.
How shall trac'd practice hit th' untrodden way?
Where life is travell'd out, in arts to stray.
Arduous the task, and asks a climbing brain;
A head for judgment, and a heart for pain:
E'er sense, impress'd, reflects adopted forms,
And changeful nature shakes, with borrow'd storms:
E'er ductile genius turns, as passions wind,
And bends, to fancy's curve, the pliant mind.
A head for judgment, and a heart for pain:
E'er sense, impress'd, reflects adopted forms,
And changeful nature shakes, with borrow'd storms:
E'er ductile genius turns, as passions wind,
And bends, to fancy's curve, the pliant mind.
Mark, when th' expanding seed, from earth's moist bed,
Starting, at nature's call, prepares to spread;
First, the prone Root breaks downward—thence ascend
Shot stems—whose joints collateral boughs extend:
Twigs, from those boughs, lend leaves—each leaf contains
Side-less'ning stalks, transvers'd, by fibry veins.
So, from injected thought, shoots passion's growth;
No sprout spontaneous, no chance child, of sloth:
Idea lends it root— firm, on touch'd minds,
Fancy, (swift planter!) first, th' impression binds;
Shap'd in conception's mould, nature's prompt skill
Bids subject nerves obey th' inspiring Will:
Strung to obsequious bend, the musc'ly frame
Stamps the shown image.—Pleasure, pity, shame,
Anger, grief, terror, catch th' adaptive spring,
While the eye darts it! and the accents ring.
Starting, at nature's call, prepares to spread;
First, the prone Root breaks downward—thence ascend
Shot stems—whose joints collateral boughs extend:
Twigs, from those boughs, lend leaves—each leaf contains
Side-less'ning stalks, transvers'd, by fibry veins.
So, from injected thought, shoots passion's growth;
No sprout spontaneous, no chance child, of sloth:
394
Fancy, (swift planter!) first, th' impression binds;
Shap'd in conception's mould, nature's prompt skill
Bids subject nerves obey th' inspiring Will:
Strung to obsequious bend, the musc'ly frame
Stamps the shown image.—Pleasure, pity, shame,
Anger, grief, terror, catch th' adaptive spring,
While the eye darts it! and the accents ring.
See
art's short path!—'tis easy to be found,
Winding, delightful, thro' the mazy round!
Tempt the try'd skill, to no sole proof, confin'd;
Shift the short shadowings, o'er your figur'd mind:
Mournful, recal some friend's lamented fate,
Sad, on each feature, hangs the mind's felt weight.
Seek you strong sense of Joy? Looks, first, impart—
Then, the nerv'd stricture bounds it from the heart:
Does rage inflame? No visage can conceal,
What the mark'd muscle bids the spirit feel:
Still, as the nerves constrain, the looks obey,
And what the look enjoins, the nerves display:
Mutual their aid, reciprocal their strain,
Will but commanding, face, and nerves explain.
Light'ning, and thunder, so concurring, strike,
One their joint origin, tho' form'd unlike:
So, to the look, th' attentive nerves reply,
As, from the flash, succeeding thunders fly.
'Tis cause, and consequence; nor flows more grace
From beauty's smile, than the touch'd actor's face.
Poize the rule's practice; turn it o'er and o'er;
Nor think it tedious, tho' conceiv'd before:
'Tis but, to look, and will.—Th' imprinted eye
Moves the struck muscles, and the limbs comply:
Gesture is meaning's Ape—grave, furious, gay,
Changeful, as cloud-form'd shapes, when winds make way;
Imag'd conception, first, but face inflames;
Then, the mein paints it, and the tone proclaims.
Winding, delightful, thro' the mazy round!
Tempt the try'd skill, to no sole proof, confin'd;
Shift the short shadowings, o'er your figur'd mind:
Mournful, recal some friend's lamented fate,
Sad, on each feature, hangs the mind's felt weight.
Seek you strong sense of Joy? Looks, first, impart—
Then, the nerv'd stricture bounds it from the heart:
Does rage inflame? No visage can conceal,
What the mark'd muscle bids the spirit feel:
Still, as the nerves constrain, the looks obey,
And what the look enjoins, the nerves display:
395
Will but commanding, face, and nerves explain.
Light'ning, and thunder, so concurring, strike,
One their joint origin, tho' form'd unlike:
So, to the look, th' attentive nerves reply,
As, from the flash, succeeding thunders fly.
'Tis cause, and consequence; nor flows more grace
From beauty's smile, than the touch'd actor's face.
Poize the rule's practice; turn it o'er and o'er;
Nor think it tedious, tho' conceiv'd before:
'Tis but, to look, and will.—Th' imprinted eye
Moves the struck muscles, and the limbs comply:
Gesture is meaning's Ape—grave, furious, gay,
Changeful, as cloud-form'd shapes, when winds make way;
Imag'd conception, first, but face inflames;
Then, the mein paints it, and the tone proclaims.
Is there, who doubts an art, thus briefly shown?
Call out proof's pow'r, and make that art his own:
Bid him, with mournful brow, swell sounds of joy,
Half the mock'd sense th' unbracing nerves destroy:
Tun'd to the tearful eye's retentive woe,
Rapture's check'd phrase shall quench its fiery glow:
Painfully plaintful, each flat note shall die,
And his look's anguish, give his words the lie.
Next, while soft smiles restrain his voic'd essay,
Bid angry sounds give Rage its thund'ring way;
Vainly, mouth'd menace swells th' attempted storm,
Kind, as consent, th' unfright'ning accents form:
While his look frown'd not, sense cou'd sound but sweet;
No nerve, concurring, help'd th' unsinew'd heat.
But had his eyes th' impatient fire display'd,
Each note had snatch'd it, and each step convey'd:
Thus, one plain practice paints whole nature right,
And all her changeful pictures move delight.
Call out proof's pow'r, and make that art his own:
Bid him, with mournful brow, swell sounds of joy,
Half the mock'd sense th' unbracing nerves destroy:
Tun'd to the tearful eye's retentive woe,
Rapture's check'd phrase shall quench its fiery glow:
396
And his look's anguish, give his words the lie.
Next, while soft smiles restrain his voic'd essay,
Bid angry sounds give Rage its thund'ring way;
Vainly, mouth'd menace swells th' attempted storm,
Kind, as consent, th' unfright'ning accents form:
While his look frown'd not, sense cou'd sound but sweet;
No nerve, concurring, help'd th' unsinew'd heat.
But had his eyes th' impatient fire display'd,
Each note had snatch'd it, and each step convey'd:
Thus, one plain practice paints whole nature right,
And all her changeful pictures move delight.
Is there, who loves not Joy?—There, then, begin,
Search the soul-pleasing passion's power, within,
Find your Smile's force, before some faithful Glass,
Heedful, to let no faint impression pass:
There, to touch'd gladness, thought-form'd features train,
'Till each crisp'd fibre feels th' enrapt'ring strain:
Then, (stretch'd) behold your op'ning forehead rise,
Back'ning, in boastful sense of sparkling eyes.
Broadly majestical your breast expands,
Brac'd your press'd joints—neck, knee, feet, shoulders, hands,
Treading on air, each step new soul displays,
Your limbs all lighten, and your looks all blaze:
Then, speak,—joy answers; every sound its own:
Musick, and rapture, mix'd, in transport's tone!
Search the soul-pleasing passion's power, within,
Find your Smile's force, before some faithful Glass,
Heedful, to let no faint impression pass:
There, to touch'd gladness, thought-form'd features train,
'Till each crisp'd fibre feels th' enrapt'ring strain:
397
Back'ning, in boastful sense of sparkling eyes.
Broadly majestical your breast expands,
Brac'd your press'd joints—neck, knee, feet, shoulders, hands,
Treading on air, each step new soul displays,
Your limbs all lighten, and your looks all blaze:
Then, speak,—joy answers; every sound its own:
Musick, and rapture, mix'd, in transport's tone!
Fall, from this height (ah! 'tis but fortune's road!)
Down, to deep sense of sorrow's pungent goad;
Damp your loose feature's, into thought's distress,
Fade fancy's gloss, to dim-ey'd wretchedness:
The sad look sick'ning, strait the spirits break,
Unbending nerves grief's lax impression take:
Faint hangs the clouded eye—short steps drag slow,
And every heedless gesture bends with woe:
Now, to the heart-touch'd sense, the voice complains,
And sighing pityers catch th' infectious pains.
Down, to deep sense of sorrow's pungent goad;
Damp your loose feature's, into thought's distress,
Fade fancy's gloss, to dim-ey'd wretchedness:
The sad look sick'ning, strait the spirits break,
Unbending nerves grief's lax impression take:
Faint hangs the clouded eye—short steps drag slow,
And every heedless gesture bends with woe:
Now, to the heart-touch'd sense, the voice complains,
And sighing pityers catch th' infectious pains.
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Say, should some slack'ner of the passion's care,
Form'd for gay flights, and struggling from despair;
Bow'd, from his native bent, to doubt's new part,
Find Fear's cold cast assign'd a fearless heart?
What could he do? where house th' intrusive guest?
Let his Eye lodge him—'twill prepare his breast.
From the soul's optic, shoots th' admitted shape,
Nor lets one tim'rous wavering start escape.
Fear is elusive sorrow, shunning pain;
Active—yet, stop'd—it dims the doubtful brain;
Spirit snatch'd inward, stagnating, by dread,
Slow, thro' the limbs, crawls cold, the living lead:
Form'd to the look, that moulds th' assumer's face,
His joints catch tremblings—life's moist strings unbrace;
This road, and that, th' alarmful passion tries,
Halts, in the motion—flutters, in the eyes;
Checks the clipt accent's hesitative way,
And, on th' evasive muscles, hangs delay.
Form'd for gay flights, and struggling from despair;
Bow'd, from his native bent, to doubt's new part,
Find Fear's cold cast assign'd a fearless heart?
What could he do? where house th' intrusive guest?
Let his Eye lodge him—'twill prepare his breast.
From the soul's optic, shoots th' admitted shape,
Nor lets one tim'rous wavering start escape.
Fear is elusive sorrow, shunning pain;
Active—yet, stop'd—it dims the doubtful brain;
Spirit snatch'd inward, stagnating, by dread,
Slow, thro' the limbs, crawls cold, the living lead:
Form'd to the look, that moulds th' assumer's face,
His joints catch tremblings—life's moist strings unbrace;
This road, and that, th' alarmful passion tries,
Halts, in the motion—flutters, in the eyes;
Checks the clipt accent's hesitative way,
And, on th' evasive muscles, hangs delay.
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Anger is pride provok'd, (so felt, so known)
Strange! its stage influence is so faintly, shown!
Yet, with what absent sense of all its flame,
See we rage meek—fire cold—and fury tame!
Bid the face, red'ning, warm'd idea take,
Strait, the soul's wildfires all obstruction break:
Stung, by inflicted thought's imagin'd pain,
Hard heave the muscles, rolling eye-balls strain:
'Twixt the clos'd teeth, indignantly, supprest,
Or, storm-like, loud, out pours th' unguarded breast:
Slack'ning, exclaiming, swift, slow, restless change,
Wings the voic'd tempest, in its whirlwind range;
Quick turns, and startings, face, and air, deform;
And thick, short breathings paint the infelt storm.
Strange! its stage influence is so faintly, shown!
Yet, with what absent sense of all its flame,
See we rage meek—fire cold—and fury tame!
Bid the face, red'ning, warm'd idea take,
Strait, the soul's wildfires all obstruction break:
Stung, by inflicted thought's imagin'd pain,
Hard heave the muscles, rolling eye-balls strain:
'Twixt the clos'd teeth, indignantly, supprest,
Or, storm-like, loud, out pours th' unguarded breast:
Slack'ning, exclaiming, swift, slow, restless change,
Wings the voic'd tempest, in its whirlwind range;
Quick turns, and startings, face, and air, deform;
And thick, short breathings paint the infelt storm.
Nor
sea, nor life, eternal Tempest sweeps,
Hush'd calms succeed it, and the thunder sleeps:
Such, the soft, silent tide, that floods the mind,
To mov'd Compassion's pain-touch'd warmth, inclin'd:
Aidful idea springs to pitied woe,
Thence, every quiv'ring sinew learns to glow:
Back, from the panting bosom, to the eye,
Kind, sigh-wing'd dews, in soft sensation, fly:
So, from earth's op'ning breast, in flow'r-dress'd May,
Steams the sipt fragrance, to the sun's felt ray;
Lightly sustain'd, to morn's faint clasp it clings,
Yet, oft (let go) falls back—oft, upward, springs:
So learn,—to steal soft Pity's copied grace;
Languor's moist cloud marks, first, the mournful face;
Then, hope's kind tension warms the musc'ly mein,
Dragg'd diff'rent ways, contending contrasts lean;
Clash'd looks, 'gainst movements, paint internal fight,
'Twixt the heart's anguish, and the help's delight:
Then, touch'd attention's hark'ning hush creeps round,
And breathless mouths devour th' expected sound.
Hush'd calms succeed it, and the thunder sleeps:
Such, the soft, silent tide, that floods the mind,
To mov'd Compassion's pain-touch'd warmth, inclin'd:
Aidful idea springs to pitied woe,
Thence, every quiv'ring sinew learns to glow:
400
Kind, sigh-wing'd dews, in soft sensation, fly:
So, from earth's op'ning breast, in flow'r-dress'd May,
Steams the sipt fragrance, to the sun's felt ray;
Lightly sustain'd, to morn's faint clasp it clings,
Yet, oft (let go) falls back—oft, upward, springs:
So learn,—to steal soft Pity's copied grace;
Languor's moist cloud marks, first, the mournful face;
Then, hope's kind tension warms the musc'ly mein,
Dragg'd diff'rent ways, contending contrasts lean;
Clash'd looks, 'gainst movements, paint internal fight,
'Twixt the heart's anguish, and the help's delight:
Then, touch'd attention's hark'ning hush creeps round,
And breathless mouths devour th' expected sound.
Nature loves change—Cold night succeeds to morn:
And pity's dark'ning opposite is Scorn:
Far be this brow-stretch'd arrogance of air,
From misery's doomful claim, in sons of care.—
Ah! minds, (too apt) turn but the look within,
We find pride's image, there, as sure, as sin!
Yet, with such byas, rolls man's will from right,
That search, first, misses, what is most in sight:
Else, how unneedful, to describe a rage,
No player wants power to feel—but on the stage.
And pity's dark'ning opposite is Scorn:
Far be this brow-stretch'd arrogance of air,
From misery's doomful claim, in sons of care.—
401
We find pride's image, there, as sure, as sin!
Yet, with such byas, rolls man's will from right,
That search, first, misses, what is most in sight:
Else, how unneedful, to describe a rage,
No player wants power to feel—but on the stage.
Cautious, (life's speaking picture) wear that stain,
Rightly to show, be thine—but not retain!
Scorn is calm, careless, anger, flagg'd of wing,
Brush'd sense of harmless wrong, too weak to sting:
Safe in suspended power, eas'd warmth disclaims
Exertion—and, with slack remissness, flames:
Now smiles—now frowns—yet, both, with eye serene,
While half-strung nerves play springs of painless spleen.
Rightly to show, be thine—but not retain!
Scorn is calm, careless, anger, flagg'd of wing,
Brush'd sense of harmless wrong, too weak to sting:
Safe in suspended power, eas'd warmth disclaims
Exertion—and, with slack remissness, flames:
Now smiles—now frowns—yet, both, with eye serene,
While half-strung nerves play springs of painless spleen.
Close-following
scorn,—Amazement ought to rise;
Angels feel Wonder, men should dare despise!
Born to mistakes, and erring out life's span,
Man—as if heaven were his—looks down on Man.
Say, then, what wonder
is—trace its taught cause:
Mark its true features, and make known its laws:
Wonder is curious doubt,—Will's check'd retreat,
Shrinking from danger, it prepares to meet:
'Tis fear's half brother, of resembling face,
But fix'd, unwavering, and bound down to place:
Earnest, alarmful gaze, intently keen,
Notes the weigh'd object—yet, distrusts it, seen;
As in pale churchyards, gleam'd by silent night,
Shou'd some cross'd spectre shade the moon's dim light,
Shudd'ry, the back'ning blood, revolving swift,
Cloggs the press'd heart—stretch'd fibres fail to lift:
Lost, in doubt's hard'ning frost—stopt motion lies,
While sense climbs, gradual, to the straining eyes.
Angels feel Wonder, men should dare despise!
Born to mistakes, and erring out life's span,
Man—as if heaven were his—looks down on Man.
402
Mark its true features, and make known its laws:
Wonder is curious doubt,—Will's check'd retreat,
Shrinking from danger, it prepares to meet:
'Tis fear's half brother, of resembling face,
But fix'd, unwavering, and bound down to place:
Earnest, alarmful gaze, intently keen,
Notes the weigh'd object—yet, distrusts it, seen;
As in pale churchyards, gleam'd by silent night,
Shou'd some cross'd spectre shade the moon's dim light,
Shudd'ry, the back'ning blood, revolving swift,
Cloggs the press'd heart—stretch'd fibres fail to lift:
Lost, in doubt's hard'ning frost—stopt motion lies,
While sense climbs, gradual, to the straining eyes.
Hatred is sullen fury, long retain'd;
'Tis willing mischief; warily restrain'd:
'Tis thought's corrosion, acridly perplex'd,
'Tis self in pain, lest others live, unvex'd.
This to touch vivid—(pencil! pleas'd, and free,
Paint the quoil'd serpent, thou abhorr'st to see)
Veil the malignant leer, that burns with spite;
Bid the brow's lour o'erhang the sick'ning sight:
Swell the blown cheek—th' unopening lip restrain,
Stretch'd, the wide nostril marks th' impatient pain.
Ardent, yet, heedless—half th' averted eye
Skims the loath'd object, and disdains it nigh.
Hard, back-brac'd nerves, in fett'ry fervor, toil
And the curv'd system heaves, in check'd recoil.
Haste from taught pain—shun hatred's baneful shade,
And to love's sunshine, lend the muse's aid.
'Tis willing mischief; warily restrain'd:
'Tis thought's corrosion, acridly perplex'd,
'Tis self in pain, lest others live, unvex'd.
This to touch vivid—(pencil! pleas'd, and free,
Paint the quoil'd serpent, thou abhorr'st to see)
403
Bid the brow's lour o'erhang the sick'ning sight:
Swell the blown cheek—th' unopening lip restrain,
Stretch'd, the wide nostril marks th' impatient pain.
Ardent, yet, heedless—half th' averted eye
Skims the loath'd object, and disdains it nigh.
Hard, back-brac'd nerves, in fett'ry fervor, toil
And the curv'd system heaves, in check'd recoil.
Haste from taught pain—shun hatred's baneful shade,
And to love's sunshine, lend the muse's aid.
Love is intense Desire, by rev'rence, check'd;
'Tis hope's hot transport, streak'd with fear's respect:
'Tis passion's every soul-felt power, disjoin'd,
'Tis all th' assembled train's whole force, combin'd.
'Tis like soft air, through which admitted light
Peoples pleas'd fancy, and lends shape to sight:
Yet, like that air, disturb'd, man's quiet breaks,
Tempests his reason, and his triumph shakes.
'Tis hope's hot transport, streak'd with fear's respect:
'Tis passion's every soul-felt power, disjoin'd,
'Tis all th' assembled train's whole force, combin'd.
'Tis like soft air, through which admitted light
Peoples pleas'd fancy, and lends shape to sight:
Yet, like that air, disturb'd, man's quiet breaks,
Tempests his reason, and his triumph shakes.
You, who infuse this power, must, first, have felt:
No heart, unmov'd itself, bids others melt:
Yet, wou'd chalk'd outline sketch th' imagin'd grace?
Dumb earnest gaze, tongues o'er th' unvocal face:
Soft'ning, in apprehension's awe-check'd air,
Each limb beseeches; each slow step's a prayer:
While high-brac'd raptures imag'd pride confess,
Meekness sits guardian, o'er the mild address:
Doubt, dissipating hope, to blanche desire,
Hangs the mind's curb, upon the body's fire.
No heart, unmov'd itself, bids others melt:
404
Dumb earnest gaze, tongues o'er th' unvocal face:
Soft'ning, in apprehension's awe-check'd air,
Each limb beseeches; each slow step's a prayer:
While high-brac'd raptures imag'd pride confess,
Meekness sits guardian, o'er the mild address:
Doubt, dissipating hope, to blanche desire,
Hangs the mind's curb, upon the body's fire.
Snatch'd from the scene, claim this the Box's care:
It paints, and warns, for every beauty, there:
But, there, love's shafts, (of late) all pointless, lie,
Blunt, from bold meine and dead'ning in the eye:
Naked of heart, and hateful of Delay,
Erring time-short'ner! meeting wish half way!
Woman, outstradling art's old lureful skill,
Mann'd o'er with Invitation, drives back will:
Falls her past price, owns patient hope buys dear,
Hawks for quick market, and hawls chapmen near:
Talks loud, struts, elbows, calls a grace a Fool;
Dress'd, like a scarecrow, manner'd, like a mule:
Pall'd, the press'd cheap'ner dreads th' out-blustring air,
Eyes the braw'd swaggerer, and rejects her ware.
It paints, and warns, for every beauty, there:
But, there, love's shafts, (of late) all pointless, lie,
Blunt, from bold meine and dead'ning in the eye:
Naked of heart, and hateful of Delay,
Erring time-short'ner! meeting wish half way!
Woman, outstradling art's old lureful skill,
Mann'd o'er with Invitation, drives back will:
Falls her past price, owns patient hope buys dear,
Hawks for quick market, and hawls chapmen near:
Talks loud, struts, elbows, calls a grace a Fool;
Dress'd, like a scarecrow, manner'd, like a mule:
Pall'd, the press'd cheap'ner dreads th' out-blustring air,
Eyes the braw'd swaggerer, and rejects her ware.
405
Turn, coarse conceiver! all, unsex'd, by mode,
Maid, that trot'st, uglying, in the monster's road!
Proud, yet, immodest! light, rude, witless, pert,
Bold, jostling, hoid'ning, blushless, pow'rless flirt!
Emptier, than air, thy coloury gugaws play,
While every hour's new forms push old away:
Trifler! for cards, and contradictions, born!
Panting for conquest—yet compelling scorn!
Lab'ring from nature, to grow loath'd by art,
And, for man's manners, forfeiting his heart!
Maid, that trot'st, uglying, in the monster's road!
Proud, yet, immodest! light, rude, witless, pert,
Bold, jostling, hoid'ning, blushless, pow'rless flirt!
Emptier, than air, thy coloury gugaws play,
While every hour's new forms push old away:
Trifler! for cards, and contradictions, born!
Panting for conquest—yet compelling scorn!
Lab'ring from nature, to grow loath'd by art,
And, for man's manners, forfeiting his heart!
But hold—contempt, wrong plac'd, becomes unjust;
Perhaps, stage whiners gave love's friends disgust:
For, (goblin like) there, lovers walk, unshown,
Talk'd of, in every play—yet, seen, in none.
Lost, in unfeeling, cold, affected drawl,
They touch no tenderness, attempting all?
Lump'd, lazy, lifeless indolence—one cause—
And one, th' admiring fool's misjudg'd applause.
Why shou'd pain sweat for praise, proud ease can win,
By the rais'd footstep, and exalted chin?
By the heav'd halt, that swings its load along,
Clumsily solemn, and serenely wrong?
By the big, broad, round, mellow troundling troll,
That means no passion, and conveys no soul:
Half swells, then sinks, like sails of ships becalm'd,
A dry, dead, sweet—man's mummied voice embalm'd.
Shame on the whineling, sleep-inducive, tone!
Not, by such glow-worm glimpse, love's fires are shown:
Heart, voice, mein, visage, all, pay love their aid,
Cupid exacts more strict alliance made;
'Twixt the mind's states, than, once, 'twixt Europe's, he,
Who bound all princes—yet, left none unfree.
Not such loose treaties please th' all-buckling God,
Punctual, he yokes tun'd sounds, to meaning's nod:
Pardons no void, vain, voluble harangue,
And hates to hear the unaiming bowstring twang.
Perhaps, stage whiners gave love's friends disgust:
For, (goblin like) there, lovers walk, unshown,
Talk'd of, in every play—yet, seen, in none.
Lost, in unfeeling, cold, affected drawl,
They touch no tenderness, attempting all?
Lump'd, lazy, lifeless indolence—one cause—
And one, th' admiring fool's misjudg'd applause.
Why shou'd pain sweat for praise, proud ease can win,
By the rais'd footstep, and exalted chin?
By the heav'd halt, that swings its load along,
Clumsily solemn, and serenely wrong?
406
That means no passion, and conveys no soul:
Half swells, then sinks, like sails of ships becalm'd,
A dry, dead, sweet—man's mummied voice embalm'd.
Shame on the whineling, sleep-inducive, tone!
Not, by such glow-worm glimpse, love's fires are shown:
Heart, voice, mein, visage, all, pay love their aid,
Cupid exacts more strict alliance made;
'Twixt the mind's states, than, once, 'twixt Europe's, he,
Who bound all princes—yet, left none unfree.
Not such loose treaties please th' all-buckling God,
Punctual, he yokes tun'd sounds, to meaning's nod:
Pardons no void, vain, voluble harangue,
And hates to hear the unaiming bowstring twang.
Say, female shades of love, who haunt the stage,
What fiend, close-treading, tags desire with rage?
If in your hospitable bosoms bred,
Th' unresting fury thrives, by beauty fed,
Tell the dire name—But if you, silent, feel
Th' impressive tooth, and no gnaw'd thought reveal:
Speak, tell-tale muse.—Thou shar'st th' envenom'd bite,
For Jealousy ne'er sleeps, when poets write.
What fiend, close-treading, tags desire with rage?
If in your hospitable bosoms bred,
Th' unresting fury thrives, by beauty fed,
Tell the dire name—But if you, silent, feel
Th' impressive tooth, and no gnaw'd thought reveal:
407
For Jealousy ne'er sleeps, when poets write.
The
Janus
Jealousy two faces wears,
Each diff'ring, apt, as form'd, by diff'rent cares:
While infant-wing'd, the callow harpy lies,
Too dim for daylight; too unfledg'd, to rise:
'Tis doubt-mix'd anger, struggling to confide,
Floating, half sunk, on pity's pleading tide:
Here, hope-fed softness sooths the affiant heart,
There, rage, vindictive, bids the spirit smart:
'Twixt the two wav'ring scales, by turns, deprest;
The eye's short wand'rings mark the mind distrest:
Languidly strung, slow-nerv'd, half-sinewy strain,
Paints an unsettled, half-determin'd, pain:
Whence rous'd resentment, catching hasty flame,
Cool'd, by met pity, blushes into shame:
But, does weigh'd Proof confirm th' ideal wrong?
Then, the eye lightens—and the brace binds strong:
Not vengeance burns more turbulently stern,
Tho' (thro' it) pain'd affection sighs concern.
Each diff'ring, apt, as form'd, by diff'rent cares:
While infant-wing'd, the callow harpy lies,
Too dim for daylight; too unfledg'd, to rise:
'Tis doubt-mix'd anger, struggling to confide,
Floating, half sunk, on pity's pleading tide:
Here, hope-fed softness sooths the affiant heart,
There, rage, vindictive, bids the spirit smart:
'Twixt the two wav'ring scales, by turns, deprest;
The eye's short wand'rings mark the mind distrest:
Languidly strung, slow-nerv'd, half-sinewy strain,
Paints an unsettled, half-determin'd, pain:
Whence rous'd resentment, catching hasty flame,
Cool'd, by met pity, blushes into shame:
But, does weigh'd Proof confirm th' ideal wrong?
Then, the eye lightens—and the brace binds strong:
Not vengeance burns more turbulently stern,
Tho' (thro' it) pain'd affection sighs concern.
408
Thus, has the muse, in passion's changeful dress,
Led ent'ring art through nature's dark recess;
Fair, to her eye, one source of action shown,
Whence every branch'd meander flows her own:
Brief, let precision's scale contract the view;
Then, grasp it, mem'ry, and remit the clue.
Led ent'ring art through nature's dark recess;
Fair, to her eye, one source of action shown,
Whence every branch'd meander flows her own:
Brief, let precision's scale contract the view;
Then, grasp it, mem'ry, and remit the clue.
Previous to art's first act—(till then, all vain)
Print the ideal pathos, on the brain:
Feel the thought's image on the eyeball roll;
Behind that window, sits th' attentive Soul:
Wing'd, at her beck, th' obedient Muscles fly,
Bent, or relaxing, to the varied eye:
Press'd, moderate, lenient, Voice's organ'd sound,
To each felt impulse, tones the tuneful round:
Form'd to the nerves, concurring Mein partakes,
So, the mov'd actor moves—and passion shakes,
Print the ideal pathos, on the brain:
Feel the thought's image on the eyeball roll;
Behind that window, sits th' attentive Soul:
Wing'd, at her beck, th' obedient Muscles fly,
Bent, or relaxing, to the varied eye:
Press'd, moderate, lenient, Voice's organ'd sound,
To each felt impulse, tones the tuneful round:
Form'd to the nerves, concurring Mein partakes,
So, the mov'd actor moves—and passion shakes,
| The Works of the Late Aaron Hill | |