Classic Poem

A PELLES , once the pride of Greece,
Who rivall'd Nature's liveliest piece,
Just ere he dy'd, with anxious care,
His choicest pencils, colours rare,
To great Apollo's shrine convey'd,
And on the sacred altar lay'd:
Then thus Latona's son address'd;

" Bright Pow'r, O! grant my last request;
" Let none but those whom Fancy charms,
" Or thy enliv'ning magic warms,
" Presume these hallow'd gifts to claim,
" None but the genuine sons of Fame. "

And now Apollo stingy grew,
These pencils grac'd the hands of few;
One in an age at most was known,
And very rare the colours grown;
Till late the God, in happy hour,
Bestow'd on R EYNOLDS all the four.