A Recommendation Of The Study Of Ancient Greek And Roman Architecture, Sculpture, And Painting Poem by John Wilson

Though oft in Britain's Isle the breathing bust
To fame consign the patriot-hero's dust,
And conquerors waked to mimic life again
In imaged triumph thunder o'er the main;
Though speaks each mould by Flaxman's genius wrought,
The glow of fancy, or the stretch of thought;
And grace obeys fair Damer's soft control
Through many a varied lineament of soul;
Yet, oh! unlike each nobler Grecian form,
With strength majestic, or with beauty warm,
Where all her mingling charms Expression poured,
Admired by Valour, or by Love adored.
Lo! where retiring Venus shuns the eye,
And beauty vies with bashful majesty!
There mortal charms in loveliest union shine,
And all the Goddess crowns the bright design.
Thou, too, half hid beneath thy dripping veil
Of many a moistened tress, Urania, hail!
To thee that dubious mien the sculptor gave,
Fearing the shore, though shrinking from the wave.
Or see where, graceful bending o'er his bow,
The quivered God's exulting features glow,
As, trusting to his arm's unerring might,
His look pursues the distant arrow's flight.
But shut, oh! shut the eye, where mid yon fold
Of crested snakes Laocoon writhes enrolled,
And drinks with tortured ear his children's cries,
Embittering death's convulsive agonies!
Rise, slumbering Genius, and with throbbing heart
Adore these trophies of unrivalled art,
Till each fine grace that gifted Masters knew,
In fairy vision floating o'er thy view,
Perfection crown once more the living stone,
And Britain claim a Phidias of her own.
Not such the hopes that blessed the enthusiast's dream
While sad it wanders o'er each faded gleam,
That dimly shows to Painting's Muse was given
The sevenfold radiance of refulgent heaven,
When Genius stole the colours of the sun,
And poured them o'er the wreath that Valour won!
Then turn the eye, where, spurning time's control,
Art stamps on stone the triumphs of the soul;
With trembling awe survey each hallowed fane
Ennobling Greece 'mid Desolation's reign.
Each pillared portico and swelling dome,
Proud o'er the prostrate majesty of Rome!
While o'er the scene each mouldering temple throws,
Sacred to Genius, undisturbed repose;
Through twilight's doubtful gloom his eye shall trace
The column's height enwreathed with clustering grace;
The light-arched roof, the portal stretching wide,
Triumphal monuments in armèd pride;
Till bold conceptions bursting on his heart,
His skill shall grasp the inmost soul of art;
And Fame's green isle her cloud-capt towers display,
Where grace and grandeur rule with equal sway.