Classic Poem

Painters to Poets, owe their noblest praise ;
Mute are their tints, 'till voic'd by living lays:
Passive, the semblant forms but seem to breath;
Delusive surface holds no depth beneath.

F AR other lines C LARISSA'S painter drew!
Far other force his pensive colours knew!
There , in round fulness, active pictures glow,
Turgid with speaking life, and thinking woe.
His, the soul's pencil, whose warm strokes impart
Mind , to the form, and passion to the heart.
A delegate Creator! calm, he lies,
And sees the worlds , he calls for, round him, rise .

O H ! might he live , till his C LARISSA'S death!
But life immortal suits not mortal breath.
Let him but live , 'till all, who read , are taught,
What aided influence, beauty draws from thought!
Then , would his length'ning years all bounds defy,
And nature , and her friend , together, die .
So, would he charm whole time — yet, vainly , too:
Reach every conscious heart — to change — how few!
Let him not hope too much — nor heaven , nor he ,
Sets human minds , from human frailties free:
Tho' each can own , where all the rest are hit ,
And every flaw , remote from self , admit:
Tho' marks, external catch the visual ray ,
All in-shut objects shun the search of day .
Each ugliest likeness , for another , shown,
Strikes all: but none find eyes , to note their own .
Yet his — whate'er stage, press, or pulpit can!
Whate'er the heart's touch'd feelings lend to Man:
All, that from all is learnt, one genius gives,
And, in collective right of virtue, lives.

WHENCE was his more than magic power supply'd,
So skill'd, to start life's game, on every side!
Where could his line th'unmeasur'd vastness find,
To fathom all the depths , of all mankind!
Piercing, as light , from heaven , to earth , he flows,
And every stain , and every beauty , shows!

T HE three great powers , that shake the human heart ,
Are musick, eloquence , and paintive art:
Picture and eloquence , already, charm,
In every tearful page, divinely warm!
Oh! let tun'd numbers fill th' illustrious trine:
In some new work, let added musick shine,
Let his next wreath , the Poet's Ivy claim:
And his own verse immortalize his name .
Verse , so inspir'd, inspiring, and combin'd,
Would pour th' enrapt'ring virtues, o'er the mind ;
Rouse, from their roots in earth , hearts, hard as steel ,
And teach , once more, the trees , and beasts , to feel!