Classic Poem

Next, in the steddy Lines of Brunswick 's Face,
Majestick manly Honesty we trace;
Pleas'd, as on Sarum 's Plain with glad accord,
When willing Thousands hail'd their new-come Lord,
And (far beyond a Tyrant's baleful Glee)
The King rejoic'd to find his People free.
Good Prince, whose Age forsook thy native Land
To bless our Albion with thy mild Command,
Long may this sacred Form of Thee remain,
Here plac'd by him whose Counsels bless'd thy Reign,
And ever may his Sons with Joy relate,
That He as Faithful was as Thou wert Great.

But now, my Muse, to sob'rer Pomp descend,
And to the cool Arcade my Steps attend.
Here, when the Summer Sun spreads round his Ray,
Beneath the bending Arch young Zephyrs play,
And, when it farther from our Orb retires,
Old Vulcan smiling lights his chearful Fires.
Hither the jolly Hunter's Crew resort,
Talk o'er the Day, and re-enjoy their Sport.
Here too, with Brow unbent, and cheerful Air,
The mighty Statesman oft forgot his Care;
Knew Friendship's Joys, and still attentive hung,
On Pelham, Edgcumbe, Devonshire , or Young ,
In Senates form'd or private Life to please,
There shar'd his Toil, and here partook his Ease.

Here be thy stay, my Muse, tho' pleas'd, not long,
Thy Sister Painting claims again my Song,
Where thron'd in State the Goddess we descry
As the gay Gall'ry opens on our Eye.
Here in her utmost Pomp well-pleas'd she reigns,
Nor weeps her absent Rome or Lombard plains;
Here the great Masters Genius still survives
Breaths in the Paint, and on the Canvas lives.
What e'er in Nature's forming Pow'r 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 loath 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,
Tho' tempting, strongly guarded they appear,
Frighted we scarce can brook the horrid Looks
Of Dogs, and snarling Cats, and swearing Cooks.
What Strokes, what Colours Sneyders 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 thro';
And whatsoe'er the Goddess form'd he drew.
See! Mola next the Roman Deeds displays,
That bid our Hearts be Patriot as we gaze.
Here Julio 's wond'rous 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 wond'rous 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.
See! the great Roman on his martial Throne,
Outdo what e'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 Pow'r of Female Charms,
Feels all their Force, yet gives 'em from his Arms,
And Lord of all the Passions of his Breast,
Defeats e'en Love, and makes his Rival blest.
Wonderful Strokes, that thro' the Eye impart,
Such various Motions to the human Heart!
Thro' it a Thousand floating Passions move,
We pity, wonder, weep, rejoice and love.

The moral Tale thus exquisitely told,
His Colours now diviner Truths unfold;
At Hareb '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;
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, crouding 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.

As on Avernus ' Banks the Heroe stood,
Scar'd at the dreary Darkness of the Wood,
'Till thro' the Leaves fair shot th' auspicious Light,
And with the branching Gold reliev'd his Sight;
So rescu'd from the horrid Scene we stand,
By the sweet Effluence of Guido 's Hand.
Soft to the Sight his ev'ry Colour 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, Lorraine , the well pleas'd Muse shou'd name,
Nor e'er forget Domenichim's Fame,
But sudden Sorrow stops the flowing Line,
And not one Smile is found among the Nine.
Behold where all the Charms that Heav'n 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 Pow'r put on,
And aim'd a Dart that slew them all in one.
How Fair, how Good, how Virtuous was the Dame,
A thousand Hearts in Anguish still proclaim,
How brave her Soul, against all Fear how try'd,
Sad fatal Proof she gave us when she dy'd.

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.