Classic Poem

Awake! ye forms of verse divine —
Painting! descend on canvass wing,
And hover ov'r my head, Design!
Your son, your glorious son, I sing!
At T's name I break my sloth,
To load him with poetic riches;
The Titian of a tablecloth!
The Guido of a pair of breeches!

Come star-eyed maid — Equality!
In thine adorers' praise I revel;
Who brings, so fierce, his love to thee —
All forms and faces to a level:
Old, young — great, small — the grave, the gay;
Each man might swear the next his brother;
And there they stand in dread array,
To fire their votes at one another.

How bright their buttons shine! how straight
Their coat-flaps fall in plaited grace;
How smooth the hair on every pate;
How vacant each immortal face!
And then thy tints — the shade — the flush —
(I wrong them with a strain too humble)
Not mighty Sd's strength of brush
Can match thy glowing hues, my T — l.

Go on, great painter! dare be dull;
No longer after nature dangle;
Call rectilinear beautiful;
Find grace and freedom in an angle:
Pour on the red — the green — the yellow —
Paint till a horse may mire upon it,
And while I've strength to write or bellow,
I'll sound your praises in a sonnet.