Thine the dread Moral Scene, thy chief delight!
Where idle Fancy durft not mix her voice,
When Reason spoke auguft; the fervent heart
Or plain'd or storm'd, and in th' impaffion'd man,
Concealing art with art, the poet funk.
This potent school of manners, but when left
To loose neglect, a land-corrupting plague,
Was not unworthy deem'd of public care,
And boundless coft, by thee, whose every fon,
Even laft mechanic, the true taste possess'd
Of what had flavour to the nourish'd foul.
The sweet enforcer of the poet's strain,
Thine was the meaning Mufic of the heart;
Not the vain trill that, void of paffion, runs,
In giddy mazes, tickling idle ears,
But that deep-fearching voice, and artful hand,
To which refpondent shakes the varied foul.
Thy fair ideas, thy delightful forms,
By Love imagin'd, by the Graces touch'd,
The boast of well-pleas'd Nature! Sculpture feiz'd,
And bade them ever fmile in Parian ftone.
Selecting Beauty's choice, and that again
Exalting, blending in a perfect whole,
Thy workmen left even Nature's felf behind.
From those far different, whose prolific hand
Peoples a nation, they for years on years,
By the cool touches of judicious toil,
Their rapid genius curbing, pour'd it all
Thro' the live features of one breathing tone.
There, beaming full, it fhone, expreffing gods;
Jove's awful brow, Apollo's air divine,
The fierce atrocious frown of finewed Mars,
Or the fly graces of the Cyprian Queen.
Minutely perfect all! each dimple funk,
And every mufcle fwell'd, as Nature taught.
In treffes, braided gay, the marble wav'd,
Flow'd in loose robes, or thin tranfparent veils; 310
Sprung into motion, foftened into flesh,
Was fir'd to paffion, or refin'd to foul.
Nor less thy pencil, with creative touch, Shed mimic life, when all thy brightest dames Affembled, Zeuxis in his Helen mix'd. And when Apelles, who peculiar knew To give a grace that more than mortal fmil'd, The foul of Beauty! call'd the Queen of Love Fresh from the billows, blufhing orient charms. Even fuch enchantment then thy pencil pour'd, 320 That cruel-thoughted War th' impatient torch Dash'd to the ground, and, rather than deftroy The patriot picture*, let the city 'fcape. First elder Sculpture taught her sister Art Correct defign, where great ideas fhone, And in the fecret trace expreffion fpoke:
* When Demetrius befieged Rhodes, and could have reduced the city, by fetting fire to that quarter of it where ftood the houfe of the celebrated Protogenes, he chose rather to raise the fiege than hazard the burning of a famous picture called Jafylus, the mafter-piece of that painter.
Taught her the graceful attitude, the turn,
And beauteous airs of head; the native act,
Or bold or cafy; and, caft free behind,
The fwelling mantle's well-adjusted flow.
Then the bright Mufe, their eldeft Sifter, came,
And bade her follow where fhe led the way;
Bade earth, and fea, and air, in colours rife,
And copious action on the canvass glow;
Gave her gay Fable, fpread Invention's flore, 335
Enlarg'd her view, taught composition high,
And juft arrangement, circling round one point,
That ftarts to fight, binds and commands the whole.
Caught from the heavenly Muse a nobler aim,
And fcorning the foft trade of mere delight,
O'er all thy temples, porticoes, and schools,
Heroic deeds fhe trac'd, and warm difplay'd
Each mortal beauty to the ravish'd eye.
There, as th' imagin'd prefence of the God
Arous'd the mind, or vacant hours induc'd
Calm Contemplation, or assembled youth
Burn'd in ambitious circle round the fage,
The living leffon ftole into the heart
With more prevailing force than dwells in words.
Thefe rouze to glory, while to rural life
The fofter canvass oft' repos'd the soul.
There gaily broke the fun-illumin'd cloud,
The lefs'ning profpect, and the mountain blue,
Vanish'd in air; the precipice frown'd, die;
White down the rock the rufhing torrent dafh'd; 355
The fun fhone, trembling, o'er the distant main;
The tempeft foam'd, immenfe; the driving ftorm
Sadden'd the fkies, and from the doubling gloom,
On the fcath'd oak the ragged lightning fell;
In clofing fhades, and where the current ftrays, 360
With Peace, and Love, and Innocence, around,
Pip'd the lone fhepherd to his feeding flock;
Round happy parents smil'd their younger felves,
And friends convers'd, by death divided long.
To public virtues thus the fmiling Arts, 365
Unblemish'd handmaids! ferv'd: the Graces they
To drefs this faireft Venus. Thus rever'd,
And plac'd beyond the reach of fordid care,
The high awarders of immortal fame,
Alone for glory thy great masters ftrove;
Courted by kings, and by contending states
Affum'd the boafted honour of their birth.
In Architecture, too, thy rank fupreme !
That art where most magnificent appears
The little builder Man; by thee refin'd,
And, fmiling high, to full perfection brought.
Such thy fure rules, that Goths of every age,
Who fcorn'd their aid, have only loaded earth
With labour'd heavy monuments of shame:
Not thofe gay domes that o'er thy fplendid shore 380
Shot, all proportion, up. First unadorn'd,
And nobly plain, the manly Doric rofe;
Th' Ionic then, with decent matron grace,
Her airy pillar heav'd; luxuriant last,
The rich Corinthian spread her wanton wreath; 385
The whole fo measur'd true, fo leffen'd off
By fine proportion, that the marble pile,
Form'd to repel the ftill or ftormy waste
Of rolling ages, light as fabrics look'd
That from the magic wand aërial rise.
These were the wonders that illumin'd Greece
From end to end.-Here interrupting warm,
Where are they now? (I cry'd) fay, Goddess! where?
And what the land thy darling thus of old?
Sunk! fhe refum'd; deep in the kindred gloom 395
Of Superftition and of Slavery funk!
No glory now can touch their hearts, benumb'd
By loofe dejected floth and fervile fear;
No science pierce the darkness of their minds;
No nobler art the quick ambitious foul
Of imitation in their breast awake.
Even to supply the needful arts of life
Mechanic toil denies the hopeless hand:
Scarce any trace remaining, veftige gray,
Or nodding column, on the desert shore,
To point where Corinth or where Athens ftood.
A faithlefs land of violence and death!
Where Commerce parleys, dubious, on the fhore,
And his wild impulfe curious Search restrains,
Afraid to truft th' inhofpitable clime.
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