Classic Poem

Ah, cruel hand! that could such pow'r employ
To teach the pictur'd beauty to destroy!
Singly she charm'd before, but, by his skill,
The living beauty and her likeness kill!
Thus when in parts the broken mirrors fall,
A face in all is seen, and charms in all!
Think then, O fairest of the fairer race!
What fatal beauties arm thy heavenly face,
Whose very shadow can such flames inspire!
We see 'tis paint, and yet we feel 'tis fire.
See, with false life the lovely image glows,
And ev'ry wondrous grace transplanted shows;
Fatally fair the new creation reigns,
Charms in her shape, and multiplies our pains;
Hence the fond youth that ease by absence found,
Views the dear form, and bleeds at ev'ry wound.
Thus the bright Venus, tho' to heaven she soar'd,
Reign'd in her image, by the world ador'd.
O wondrous pow'r of mingled light and shades!
Where beauty with dumb eloquence persuades;
Where passions are beheld in picture wrought,
And animated colours look a thought!
Rare art! on whose command all nature waits!
It copies all Omnipotence creates!
Here crown'd with mountains earth expanded lies,
There the proud seas with all their billows rise.
If life be drawn, responsive to the thought,
The breathing figures live throughout the draught;
The mimic bird in skies fictitious moves,
Or fancy'd beasts in imitated groves:
E'en heaven it climbs; and from the forming hand
An angel here and there a Townshend stands!
Yet, painter! yet, tho' art with nature strive,
Tho' e'en the lovely phantom seem alive,
Submit thy vanquish'd art, and own the draught
Tho' fair, defective, and a beauteous fault!
Charms such as her's, inimitably great,
He only can express that can create.
Couldst thou extract the whiteness of the snow,
Or of its colours rob the heavenly bow,
Yet would her beauty triumph o'er thy skill,
Lovely in thee, herself more lovely still.
Thus in the limpid fountain we descry
The faint resemblance of the glitt'ring sky;
Another sun displays his lessen'd beams,
Another heaven adorns the enlighten'd streams;
But tho' the scene be fair, yet high above
Th' exalted skies in nobler beauties move;
There the true heaven's eternal lamps display
A deluge of inimitable day.