Here the great master's genius still survives,
Breathes in the paint, and on the canvass lives.
Whate'er in Nature's forming power is plac'd,
Fair to the eye and luscious to the taste,
Is by our cheated sense with joy perceiv'd,
Nor but by touching are we undeceiv'd.
Pausing, and loth to be convinc'd, we stand,
Lest the fair fruit should suffer from our hand,
Lest the press'd plum our ruder touch should own,
Or swelling peach bewail its injur’d down:
Less dare we to the fish or fowl draw near,
Though tempting, strongly guarded they appear;
Frighted we scarce can brook the horrid looks
Of dogs, and snarling cats, and swearing cooks. 2% What strokes, what colors, Snyders could command! How great the power of Rubens' daring hand! Immortal Rubens! whose capacious mind,
Of the vast art to no one part confin'd,
Pierc'd, like the sun's quick beam, all nature through,
And whatsoe'er the goddess form'd he drew.
See! Mola next the Roman deeds displays,
That bids our hearts be patriot as we gaze.
Here Julio's wondrous buildings still appear,
And swelling domes still seem to rise in air.
Great shade of Poussin! from the Muse receive
All the renown a verse, like hers, can give.
Genius sublime! to reach thy soaring praise,
A Muse like Maro's should renew her lays;
Rival of Raphael! such thy wondrous line,
'Tis next to his; and only not divine.
Ye maids, employ'd in spotless Vesta's sight,
Lend me a beam of your eternal light;
Full on yon' picture throw the sacred ray,
And high imperial chastity display. 290
See! the great Roman, on his martial throne,
Outdo whate'er in war his arms had done!
See him rise far beyond a soldier's fame,
And Afric's victor but a second name!
Valiant and great he trod the field of blood,
But here is virtuous, bountiful, and good;
Resists the utmost power of female charms,
Feels all their force, yet gives them from his arms,
And, lord of all the passions of his breast,
Defeats ev'n Love, and makes his rival blest. 30
Wonderful strokes, that through the eye impart
Such various motions to the human heart!
Through it a thousand floating passions move,
We pity, wonder, weep, rejoice, and love.
The moral tale thus exquisitely told,
His colors now diviner truths unfold;
At Horeb's rock in sacred awe we stand,
And pencil'd miracles our faith command.
The mighty law-giver his rod displays,
And the tough flint his potent touch obeys; 3)
Quick into streams dissolves the solid stone,
.And floats the waste with waters not its own.
See there the shrivel'd cheek, or languid eye,
Swell into health, or lighten into joy;
As eager crowding in the draught they join, —
Reviving thousands bless the stroke divine.
But thou, fair damsel, with distinguish'd worth,
Emblem of filial piety, stand forth;
Forgot her own consuming inward fire,
She lifts untouch'd the vessel to her sire;
With the cool draught his heaving breast relieves,
And, as she sooths his pain, her own deceives.
With scenes too sad Salvator strives to please, Since what creates our wonder spoils our ease; We give the wretched prodigal a tear,
And wish his kind forgiving father near.
Ason Avernus' banks the hero stood, Scar'd at the dreary darkness of the wood,
Till through the leaves fair shot th' auspicious light,
And with the branching gold reliev'd his sight; 330
So rescued from the horrid scene we stand,
By the sweet effluence of Guido's hand.
Soft to the sight his every color flows,
As to the scent the fragrance of the rose.
Pure beams of light around the Virgin play,
Clad in the brightness of celestial day';
Be as they may the broils of fierce divines,
Pure and unspotted here at least she shines.
Thee too, Lorrain, the well-pleas'd Muse should
Nor e'er forget Domenichini's fame,
But sudden sorrow stops the flowing line,
And not one smile is found among the nine.
Behold where all the charms that Heaven could give,
Blended in one sweet form still seem to live;
Then sink to tears, nor stop the bursting groan,
When thou art told that all those charms are gone.
Relentless Death, still forcing to the grave
The good, the fair, the virtuous, and the brave,
Here the whole malice of his power put on,
And aim'd a dart that slew them all in one. 350
How fair, how good, how virtuous was the dame,
A thousand hearts in anguish still proclaim,
How brave her soul, against all fear how tried,
Sad, fatal, proof she gave us when she died.
Thou, then, my Friend, no farther verse demand, Full swells my breast, and trembling shakes my hand And these sad lines conclude my mournful lay, Since we too once must fall to Death a prey,
May we like Walpole meet the fatal day !
DESCRIBING A VOYAGE TO
TINTERN-ABBEY,
In Monmouthshire.
WHITMINSTER
In Gloucestershire.
FROM where the Stroud, smooth stream, serenely
We reach the peopled Severn's rapid tides;
Stop, ere we sail; and from this point survey
The hill-encompass'd, sea-resembling bay;
See the ridg'd tide with sober grandeur heave,]
And float in triumph o'er the river-wave.
Lo! where it comes, with what extensive sweep,
Like some whale sidelong rolling on the deep.
Wide and more wide, it joins the distant hills
By swift degrees, and the great bason fills.
We sail; now steadily; now gulphs inform The tumbling waves to imitate a storm.
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