WRITTEN AFTER SEEING THE PICTURES IN THE
EARL OF WARWICK'S COLLECTION, WHILE
ON A VISIT AT THE CASTLE.
HAIL, PAINTING! hail thy wondrous lore
That thus can ages past restore,
Bid the triumphant canvass brave
The ravage of th' insatiate Grave,
And antient Time's dread wrecks repair;
Nor leave a crutch or wrinkle there!
Here, as I take a pleas'd survey
Of all that Genius can display
In TITIAN'S hues, and GUIDO's air,
Or REMBRANDT's colours, rich and fair;
Arrang'd in order due, appears
The Glory of a Thousand Years.
Enraptur'd at the glowing view,
I see, in tinting bright and true,
Illustrious Heroes, Dames, and Kings,
And all that Power or Beauty brings
The Painter's kindling touch to fire,
And all his ardent soul inspire.
The Warrior-chiefs and Patriot-band
Seem breathing still in arms to stand:
Awful they rise upon the sight,
And frown, as eager for the fight:
They seem to know Britannia's wound;
And list' to hear her Trumpet's sound;
Burn in her righteous cause to start,
And feel her mighty wrongs at heart.
See how the Martial Figures glow,
To rush indignant on the Foe;
In dauntless England's hours sublime,
To triumph over Death and Time;
Show the proud Menacer his boast,
And pant to shame his daring host;
While conquering Beauty, standing near,
Blends Glory's smile with Pity's tcar.
And yet to all these rooms of State,
To arts which rescue us from Fate;
That bid the pride of life rebloom,
And gain a victory o'er the Tomb....
Yes to all these, though dear to Fame,
Yon' private Scenes more homage claim:
The Castle's habitable part
Gives fairer pictures to the heart;
There Truth and Genius hold their reign,
And Beauty charms without her train:
There Virtue keeps her milder sway,
While painted Shadows melt away.
Whate'er was shown of good and great,
Conspicuous in those rooms of State,
In real life here bloom in shade,
What Painting's Magic never made :
The living hand there plies its art,
The living voice there moves the heart.
The noble Matron there we find
Yields all the treasures of her mind;
Calls forth the mental bud and flower,
Herself the animating Power:
Now see her every grace impart
That aids the form or decks the heart:
The pencil now, and now the lyre,
By turns the youthful breast inspire;
Now teach the energies of Soul
To shed their lustre o'er the whole,
While every beauteous Charge receives
The awful lessons which she gives,
Yet scarce forbear to mourn the wealth
Thus purchas'd by a Mother's health.
Not RAPHAEL'S hues, nor TITIAN's dye,
Can touching forms like these supply:
CORREGIO, ROSA, VERONESE,
With all their art ne'er tint like these.
Such groupes by Nature's GOD are giv'n,
And all the colours are from Heav'n;
They boast a soft retiring ray,
That yields through shades a lovelier day;
They seek the sweet domestic dome
Where the Mind feels itself at home;
The mild retreat which Virtue loves,
And modest Wisdom best approves.
Obvious to every honour'd guest,
The beauteous figures stand confess'd;
And generous Sons and Daughters fair
The Matron-Painter's power declare.
Here, her illustrious groupe around,
The graceful Artist will be found:
Fair WARWICK here her Wreath shall claim,
The Garland of Maternal Fame;
While filial hands shall deck the parent-shrine,
And for a Mother's heart the tender chaplet twine.
WHO CONVERTED A STRAW COTTAGE INTO À
OUR Cot-so elegantly neat
Might be Felicity's retreat;
And Lovers, such as we are told
Dwelt in the Cottages of old,
Where Shepherd-Swain and Shepherdess
Liv'd only to be bless'd and bless,
Might, just on such a spot, secure
A Paradise in Miniature.
There, little Man and little Wife
Might lead the true Arcadian life;
And could we, two of Elfin race
Establish in this charming place,
A tiny couple of that kind
Might there a fairy palace find.
And say, what prouder domes could match
Their small abode, tho' roof'd with thatch?
There's something in it so complete,
The blest Utopia smiles so sweet,
And looks-to Fancy's eye-so fair,
Would I were one of such a pair!
Such was the wish when first I saw
This beauteous Paradise of Straw;
But when the Furniture appear'd,
For which this Paradise was rear'd,
-A Magazine for Cards and Fishes,―
Swift as a thought I chid my wishes.
And, oh! I sigh'd,-and made wry faces,-
That I could pack off those four Aces;
That I might change those Knaves and Deuces
To things more fit for Cottage uses!
Then should the pompous Kings and Queens
Be all dismiss'd to prouder scenes;
Their Sceptres turn to CUPID's Darts,
And yet I'd hold the honest-Hearts.
But if a Diamond I should keep,
'Twould only be to purchase Sheep.
Perhaps I might the Spades retain,
As emblems of the happy Swain :
But if the Club staid in the Cot,
'Twould be as Guardian of the Spot,
Lest an INVADER dar'd to come
And violate the Peasant's Home.
A Cottage full of cards is strange!
In truth, fair Builder, you must change
-Which you can do with equal ease-
To sweet simplicities like these:
Your ready and creative hand
Will be obedient to command,
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