Classic Poem

When Nature, from her unexhausted Mine,
Resolves to make some mighty Science shine;
Her Embryo -Seeds inform the future Birth,
Improve the Soul, and animate the Earth;
From thence, an Homer , or Apelles , rise,
A Shakespeare , or a Saunders , strike our Eyes;
And, lo! the promis'd Wonder charms my View,
The old Apelles rivall'd in the New !
See! like the Sun, his Beams their Pow'r disclose,
Like him, he paints his Progress, as he goes;
Renews the opening Spring's enlivening Dye,
Or bids rich Autumn ripen to the Eye.

L ET some , elaborately vain, impart
The cold Effects of Industry, and Art,
Thy warmer Draughts deserve a nobler Name,
Nature 's thy Art , as Nature is thy Theme,
Taught by thy Touch, the Lilly fairer blows;
A softer Damask blushes in the Rose,
And a more gay Creation from thy Pencil flows.
Nor Flowers, nor Fruits alone, improv'd we see
But " Beauty owes her Empire half to Thee :
How bloom Belinda 's never-fading Charms!
How, in thy Paint, the fair Perfection warms!
What pure Vermillion tinctures ev'ry Grace!
How all the Goddess brightens in her Face!
The mimic-rolling Eye, now seems to move,
Dawns into Life, and kindles into Love;
Struck, at each Look, a Captive of thy Art,
I sigh! and fancy Arrows in my Heart:
Confounded at thy nice, creative Hand,
Think the Draught lives, and, like some Picture, stand.

W OULD thus each Nymph, with providential Care,
Ensure her Charms, and shine for ever fair,
How might she brave the dire, detested Rage,
Of Spleen, Small-Pox , or All -devouring Age !
Then, when old Time should bid the Roses die,
Pale the red pouting Lip, and dim the sparkling Eye,
Then might the Fair a bright Reversion save,
Bloom in her Death, and triumph in her Grave:
Then Celia , spight of that bewitching Frown,
Would see thy Paint more lasting than her own.

B UT lo! more glorious Aims thy Hand pursues,
More glorious Scenes attract the ravish'd Muse :
Silent I stand, and, lost in Wonder, see,
A Godhead shrouded in Mortality!
What Majesty eclips'd thy Shades display!
How thy Lights kindle with eternal Day!
What Beams of Love! what pitying Tears are seen!
Meltingly sad, yet solemnly serene!

O Happy Artist! Live, for ever blest!
Whence dawn'd this Heav'n-sprung Image in thy Breast?
Sure some kind Angel , studious in thy Art ,
Ting'd the bright Dyes, and quicken'd every Part;
Hence, like their Great Original , they shine,
Appear as human, but are all Divine!
What, may not now thy lively Touch command
What may not owe new Glories to thy Hand?
Thy wond'rous Hand not only Nature drew,
But copied ev'n the Lord of Nature too!