Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Whether, oh, Paine! thy thought pursue,
Some plan, more great than Jones e'er drew;
Or near, to order and advise,
You see the gradual fabric rise;
Yet let the muse attention claim,
And live immortal in your fame.
'Tis yours to bid the pile ascend,
The pillar rise, the arch to bend;
And rival all, supremely grac'd
With genius, judgment, fancy, taste:
But shou'd some critic's erring eyes
Presume your work to scrutinize;
And, where your art is most divine,
Condemn some elegant design;
To him th'ensuing tale present,
And blushing censure shall dissent;

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The moral truth his sight shall clear,
And all you meant at once appear;
False prejudice shall then decay;
Your merit blaze in open day.

A fam'd republic, fond of art,
And gen'rous to reward desert,
Decreed, that on a stately dome,
Whose architecture equal'd Rome,
Minerva's statue should aspire,
That who ador'd her might admire.
Two Phidias's, alike renown'd,
Whom merit's living laurels crown'd,
Resolv'd to make their genius known,
And court the goddess from the stone:
But only one the prize cou'd claim,
In art superior, as in fame.
Glory and rich reward inspire,
And emulation fans the fire;
Impow'rs the nerves, instructs the mind,
And renders fancy more refin'd,

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Now to the Temple, amply wrought,
Th'opposing images are brought;
Each rival master hopes the prize,
And crowds attend,—to criticise.
Hark!—admiration wakes at sight!
In This what charms of art unite!
The pleasing form, the graceful air,
The drap'ry here, the foliage there,
So sweet, so soft, the view attract,
That sculpture ne'er was so compact:
But t'other, rude, as misconceiv'd,
And rough as from the quarry cleav'd,
Indented here, and there rais'd high,
With out-lines harsh, that shock the eye,
Appear'd so artlessly express'd,
The master stood the public jest.

Impart the prize, the umpire cry'd;
The luckless artist thus reply'd.

When ignorance a judge is made,
Desert must fail, and genius fade.

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Was this design'd the porch to grace?
No;—view it in its destin'd place;
Aloft let either image rise;
And then approve, and then despise.
'Twas done:—but what an instant change!
'Twas wonderful! “'Twas passing strange.”
The statue thought so ill-design'd
By distance soften'd and refin'd;
The harshness mellow'd into grace,
And loud applause took censure's place:
While That at first so much admir'd,
Lost by the height what This acquir'd;
The polish'd folds, that pleas'd when near,
And softer touches disappear;
The form, the air, no art display;
The matchless beauty fades away;
And, thus exalted, look'd so small,
As Pallas were but pigmy tall.

Like life th'excelling statue stands,
The glory of the master's hands:

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And now the judges, just and wise,
Extol his merit to the skies;
The prize impart, his fame prolong,
And blush themselves were once so wrong.

The works of genius all require,
That critics feel th'inventor's fire;
And judge but in the light design'd;
The light that led the artist's mind.
One object charms by warmth and shade,
When near, and nearer still, survey'd;
Another claims a farther view,
Ere wisdom give the plaudit due.
The eye perhaps may faults detect,
But distance reconciles effect.

And who decides without this rule,
Is not a critic, but a fool.