The Works of Richard Savage :: :: University of Virginia Library

Forgive an artless, an officious friend,
Weak, when I judge, but willing to commend;
Fall'n as I am, by no kind fortune rais'd,
Depress'd, obscur'd, unpity'd, and unprais'd;
Yet, when these well-known features I peruse,
Some warmth awakes—some embers of a Muse.

Ye Muses, Graces, and ye Loves appear!
Your Queen, your Venus, and your Clio's here!
In such pure fires her rising thoughts refine!
Her eyes with such commanding sweetness shine:
Such vivid tinctures sure thro' ether glow,
Stain summer clouds, or gild the wat'ry bow:

148

If life Pygmalion's iv'ry fav'rite fir'd,
Sure some enamour'd God this draught inspir'd!
Or, if you rashly caught Promethean flame,
Shade the sweet theft, and mar the beauteous frame!
Yet if those cheering lights the prospect fly,
Ah!—let no pleasing view the loss supply.
Some dreary den, some desart waste prepare,
Wild as my thoughts, or dark as my despair.

But still, my friend, still the sweet object stays,
Still stream your colours rich with Clio's rays!
Sure at each kindling touch your canvass glows!
Sure the full form, instinct with spirit, grows!
Let the dull artist puzzling rules explore,
Dwell on the face, and gaze the features o'er;
You eye the soul—there genuine nature find,
You, thro' the meaning muscles, strike the mind.

Nor can one view such boundless pow'r confine,
All Nature opens to an art like thine!
Now rural scenes in simple grandeur rise!
Vales, hills, lawns, lakes, and vineyards feast our eyes,
Now halcyon Peace a smiling aspect wears!
Now the red scene with war and ruin glares!
Here Britain's fleets o'er Europe's seas preside!
There long-lost cities rear their ancient pride!
You from the grave can half redeem the slain,
And bid great Julius charm the world again:
Mark out Pharsalia's, mark out Munda's fray,
And image all the horrors of the day.

149

But if new glories most our warmth excite;
If toils untry'd to noblest aims invite;
Would you in envy'd pomp unrivall'd reign,
Oh, let Horatius grace the canvass plain!
His form might ev'n idolatry create,
In lineage, titles, wealth and worth elate!
Empires to him might virgin honours owe,
From him arts, arms, and laws new influence know.
For him kind suns on fruits and grains shall shine,
And future gold lie rip'ning in the mine:
For him fine marble in the quarry lies,
Which, in due statues, to his fame shall rise.
Thro' those bright features Cæsar's spirit trace,
Each conqu'ring sweetness, each imperial grace,
All that is soft or eminently great,
In love, in war, in knowledge, or in state.

Thus shall your colours, like his worth amaze!
Thus shall you charm, enrich'd with Clio's praise!
Clear, and more clear, your golden genius shines,
While my dim lamp of life obscure declines:
Dull'd in damp shades it wastes, unseen, away,
While yours, triumphant, glows one blaze of day.