MR. JOHN DYER, THE PAINTER,
ADVISING HIM TO DRAW A CERTAIN NOBLE AND ILLUSTRIOUS PERSON; OCCASIONED BY SEEING HIS PICTURE OF THE CELEBRATED CLIO.*
FORGIVE an artless, an officious friend,
Weak, when I judge, but willing to commend;
Fall'n as I am, by no kind fortune rais'd,
Depress'd, obscur'd, unpitied, and unprais'd;
Yet, when these well-known features I peruse,
Some warmth awakes-some embers of a Muse.
Ye Muses, Graces, and ye Loves appear!
Your Queen, your Venus, and your Clio's here!
In such pure fires her rising thoughts refine!
Her eyes with such commanding sweetness shine;
Such vivid tinctures sure through ether glow,
Stain summer clouds, or gild the watery bow:
If life Pygmalion's ivory favourite fir'd,
Sure some enamour'd god this draught inspir'd;
Or, if you rashly caught Promethean flame,
Shade the sweet theft, and mar the beauteous frame!
Yet if those cheering lights the prospect fly,
Ah!-let no pleasing view the loss supply.
Some dreary den, some desert waste prepare,
Wild as my thoughts, or dark as my despair.
But still, my friend, still the sweet object stays,
Still stream your colours rich with Clio's rays!
Sure at each kindling touch your canvass glows!
Sure the full form, instinct with spirit, grows!
Let the dull artist puzzling rules explore,
Dwell on the face, and gaze the features o'er;
You eye the soul—there genuine nature find,
You, through the meaning muscles, strike the mind.
Nor can one view such boundless power confine,
All Nature opens to an art like thine!
Now rural scenes in simple grandeur rise! [eyes,
Vales, hills, lawns, lakes, and vineyards, feast our
Now haleyon Peace a smiling aspect wears!
Now the red scene with war and ruin glares!
Here Britain's fleets o'er Europe's seas preside!
There long-lost cities rear their ancient pride!
You from the grave can half redeem the slain,
And bid great Julius charm the world again :
Mark out Pharsalia's, mark out Munda's fray,
And image all the horrors of the day.
But if new glories most our warmth excite ;
If toils untried to noblest aims invite;
Would you in envied pomp unrivall❜d reign,
Oh, let Horatius grace the canvass plain!
His form might ev'n idolatry create,
In lineage, titles, wealth, and worth, elate!
Empires to him might virgin honours owe,
From him arts, arms, and laws, new influence know.
For him kind suns on fruits and grains shall shine,
And future gold lie ripening in the mine:
For him fine marble in the quarry lies,
Which, in due statues, to his fame shall rise.
Through those bright features Cæsar's spirit trace,
Each conquering sweetness, each imperial grace,
All that is soft, or eminently great,
In love, in war, in knowledge, or in state.
Thus shall your colours, like his worth, amaze ! Thus shall you charm, enrich'd with Clio's praise ! Clear, and more clear, your golden genius shines, While my dim lamp of life obscure declines: Dull'd in damp shades it wastes, unseen, away, While yours, triumphant, glows one blaze of day.
AUTHOR OF GRONGAR-HILL, IN ANSWER TO HIS FROM THE COUNTRY,
Now various birds in melting concert sing,
And hail the beauty of the opening spring;
Now to thy dreams the nightingale complains,
Till the lark wakes thee with her cheerful strains;
Wakes, in thy verse and friendship ever kind,
Melodious comfort to my jarring mind.
Oh, could my soul through depths of knowledge
Could I read nature and mankind like thee, [see,
I should o'ercome, or bear the rocks of fate,
And draw e'en envy to the humblest state.
Thou canst raise honour from each ill event,
From shocks gain vigour, and from want content.
Think not light poetry my life's chief care!
The Muse's mansion is, at best, but air;
But, if more solid works my meaning forms,
The' unfinish'd structures fall, by fortune's storms.
Oft have I said, we falsely those accuse, Whose godlike souls life's middle state refuse. Self-love, I cried, there seeks ignoble rest;
Care sleeps not calm, when millions wake unblest;
Mean let me shrink, or spread sweet shade o'er all,
Low as the shrub, or as the cedar tall!—
'Twas vain! 'twas wild!-I sought the middle state,
And found the good, and found the truly great.
Though verse can never give my soul her aim; Though action only claims substantial fame; Though fate denies what my proud wants require, Yet grant me, Heav'n, by knowledge to aspire: Thus to enquiry let me prompt the mind;
Thus clear dimm'd truth, and bid her bless mankind;
From the pierc'd orphan thus draw shafts of grief,
Arm want with patience, and teach wealth relief
To serve lov'd liberty inspire my breath!
Or, if my life be useless, grant me death;
For he, who useless is in life survey'd,
Burdens that world, his duty bids him aid.
Say, what have honours to allure the mind,
Which he gains most, who least has serv'd mankind?
Titles, when worn by fools, I dare despise ;
Yet they claim homage, when they crown the wise.
When high distinction marks deserving heirs,
Desert still dignifies the mark it wears.
But who to birth alone would honours owe?
Honours, if true, from seeds of merit grow.
Those trees, with sweetest charms, invite our eyes,
Which, from our own engraftment, fruitful rise.
Still we love best what we with labour gain,
As the child's dearer for the mother's pain.
The great I would nor envy nor deride;
Nor stoop to swell a vain superior's pride;
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Nor view an equal's hope with jealous eyes;
Nor crush the wretch beneath, who wailing lies.
My sympathizing breast his grief can teel,
And my eye weep the wound I cannot heal.
Ne'er among friendships let me sow debate,
Nor by another's fall advance my state;
Nor misuse wit against an absent friend :
Let me the virtues of a foe defend! [weight;
In wealth and want true minds preserve their
Meek, though exalted; though disgrac❜d, elate;
Generous and grateful, wrong'd or help'd, they live;
Grateful to serve, and generous to forgive.
This may they learn, who close thy life attend;
Which, dear in memory, still instructs thy friend.
Though cruel distance bars my grosser eye,
My soul, clear-sighted, draws thy virtue nigh;
Through her deep woe that quickening comfort
gleams,
And lights up fortitude with friendship's beams.
ON HER NOVEL, CALLED THE RASH RESOLVE.'
DOOM'D to a fate which damps the poet's flame,
A Muse, unfriended, greets thy rising name!
Unvers'd in envy's, or in flattery's phrase,
Greatness she flies, yet merit claims her praise;
Nor will she, at her withering wreath, repine,
But smile, if fame and fortune cherish thine.
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