TRUE Poetry the Painter's power displays;
True Painting emulates the Poet's lays;
The rival sisters, fond of equal fame,
Alternate change their office and their name;
Bid silent Poetry the canvass warm,
The tuneful page with speaking picture charm.
What to the ear sublimer rapture brings,
That strain alone the genuine Poet sings;
That form alone where glows peculiar grace,
The genuine Painter condescends to trace:
No sordid theme will verse or paint admit,
Unworthy colours, if unworthy wit.
From you, blest Pair! Religion deigns to claim
Her sacred honours; at her awful name
DE ARTE GRAPHICA.
Ur Pictura Poesis erit; similisque Poesi
Sit Pictura; refert par æmula quæque sororem,
Alternantque vices et nomina; muta Poesis
Dicitur hæc, Pictura loquens solet illa vocari.
Quod fuit auditu gratum cecinere Poetæ ;
Quod pulchrum aspectu Pictores pingere curant :
Quæque Poetarum numeris indigna fuêre,
Non eadem Pictorum operam studiumque merentur.
Ambæ quippe sacros ad religionis honores
Sidereos superant ignes, aulamque Tonantis
High o'er the stars you take your soaring flight,
And rove the regions of supernal light;
Attend to lays that flows from tongues divine,
Undazzled gaze where charms seraphic shine;
Trace beauty's beam to its eternal spring,
And pure to man the fire celestial bring.
Then round this globe on joint pursuit ye stray,
Time's ample annals studiously survey;
And from the eddies of Oblivion's stream
Propitious snatch each memorable theme.
Thus to each form, in heaven, and earth, and sea, 25 That wins with grace, or awes with dignity, To each exalted deed, which dares to claim The glorious meed of an immortal fame, That meed ye grant. Hence, to remotest age, The Hero's soul darts from the Poet's page, Hence, from the canvass still, with wonted state, He lives, he breathes, he braves the frown of Fate, Such powers, such praises, heaven-born Pair, belong To magic colouring, and creative song.
But here I pause, nor ask Pieria's train, Nor Phoebus' self to elevate the strain :
Ingressæ, Divûm aspectu, alloquioque fruuntur;
Oraque magna Deûm, et dicta observata reportant,
Cœlestemque suorum operum mortalibus ignem.
Inde per hunc Orbem studiis coëuntibus errant,
Carpentes quæ digna sui, revolutaque lustrant
Tempora, quærendis consortibus argumentis.
Denique quæcunque in cœlo, terrâque, marique
Longius in tempus durare, ut pulchra merentur,
Nobilitate suâ, claroque insignia casu,
Dives et ampla manet Pictores atque Poetas
Materies; inde alta sonant per sæcula mundo
Nomina, magnanimis Heroibus inde superstes
Gloria, perpetuoque operum miracula restant:
Tantus inest divis honor artibus atque potestas.
Non mihi Pieridum chorus hic, nec Apollo vocandus,
Majus ut eloquium numeris, aut gratia fandi
Vain is the flow'ry verse, when reasoning sage
And sober precept fill the studied page;
Enough if there the fluent numbers please,
With native clearness, and instructive ease.
Nor shall my rules the Artist's hand confine,
Whom practice gives to strike the free design;
Or banish Fancy from her fairy plains,
Or fetter Genius in didactic chains:
No, 't is their liberal purpose to convey
That scientific skill which wins its way
On docile nature, and transmits to youth,
Talents to reach, and taste to relish truth;
While inborn Genius from their aid receives
Each supplemental art that practice gives.
a 'Tis Painting's first chief business to explore What lovelier forms in Nature's boundless store Are best to art and antient taste allied,
For antient taste those forms has best applied.
Till this be learn'd, how all things disagree! 55
How all one wretched, blind barbarity!
Dogmaticis illustret opus rationibus horrens :
Cum nitidâ tantùm et facili digesta loquelâ,
Ornari præcepta negent, contenta doceri.
Nec mihi mens animusve fuit constringere nodos
Artificum manibus, quos tantùm dirigit usus;
Indolis ut vigor inde potens obstrictus hebescat,
Normarum numero immani, Geniumque moretur :
Sed rerum ut pollens ars cognitione, gradatim
Naturæ sese insinuet, verique capace
Transeat in Genium; Geniusque usu induat artem.
Præcipua imprimis artisque potissima pars est,
Nôsse quid in rebus natura creârit ad artem
Pulchrius, idque modum juxta, mentemque vetustam ;
Quâ sine barbaries cæca et temeraria pulchrum
The fool to native ignorance confined, No beauty beaming on his clouded mind: Untaught to relish, yet too proud to learn, He scorns the grace his dulness can't discern. Hence reason to caprice resigns the stage, And hence that maxim of the antient sage, "Of all vain fools with coxcomb talents curst, "Bad Painters and bad Poets are the worst." When first the orient rays of beauty move The conscious soul, they light the lamp of love; Love wakes those warm desires that prompt our chace, To follow and to fix each flying grace;
But earth-born graces sparingly impart
The symmetry supreme of perfect art:
For though our casual glance may sometimes meet With charms that strike the soul, and seem complete, Yet if those charms too closely we define,
Content to copy nature line for line,
Our end is lost. Not such the Master's care,
Curious he culls the perfect from the fair;
Judge of his art, through beauty's realm he flies,
Selects, combines, improves, diversifies;
With nimble step pursues the fleeting throng,
And clasps each Venus as she glides along.
Negligit, insultans ignotæ audacior arti,
Ut curare nequit, quæ non modo noverit esse;
Illud apud veteres fuit unde notabile dictum,
"Nil Pictore malo securius atque Poetâ."
Cognita amas, et amata cupis, sequerisque cupita;
Passibus assequeris tandem quæ fervidus urges :
Illa tamen quæ pulchra decent; non omnia casus
Qualiacunque dabunt, etiamve simillima veris ;
Nam quamcunque modo servili haud sufficit ipsam
Naturam exprimere ad vivum: sed ut arbiter artis,
Seliget ex illâ tantùm pulcherrima Pictor;
Quodque minus pulchrum, aut mendosum, corriget ipse
Marte suo, formæ Veneres captando fugaces.
Yet some there are who indiscreetly stray, Where purblind practice only points the way; Who every theoretic truth disdain,
And blunder on mechanically vain.
Some too there are, within whose languid breasts
A lifeless heap of embryo knowledge rests,
When nor the pencil feels their drowsy art,
Nor the skill'd hand explains the meaning heart.
In chains of sloth such talents droop confined:
'Twas not by words Apelles charm'd mankind.
Hear then the Muse: though perfect beauty towers Above the reach of her descriptive powers, Yet will she strive some leading rules to draw From sovereign Nature's universal law;
Stretch her wide view o'er antient Art's domain,
Again establish Reason's legal reign,
Genius again correct with science sage,
{ And curb luxuriant Fancy's headlong rage.
Right ever reigns its stated bounds between,
"And taste, like morals, loves the golden mean." 100
d Utque manus grandi nil nomine practica dignum
Assequitur, primum arcanæ quam deficit artis
Lumen, et in præceps abitura ut cæca vagatur;
Sic nihil ars operâ manuum privata supremum
Exequitur, sed languet iners uti vincta lacertos;
Dispositumque typum non linguâ pinxit Apelles.
Ergo licet totâ normam haud possimus in arte
Ponere, (cum nequeant quæ sunt pulcherrima dici,)
Nitimur hæc paucis, scrutati summa magistræ
Dogmata Naturæ, artisque exemplaria prima
Altius intuiti; sic mens habilisque facultas
Indolis excolitur, Geniumque Scientia complet;
Luxuriansque in monstra furor compescitur Arte.
"Est modus in rebus, sunt certi denique fines,
"Quos ultra citraque nequit consistere rectum."
d II. De Speculatione et Praxi.
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