Classic Poem

Of old, when Merit might secure a Name,
When Princes deign'd to found on Arts their Fame;
When gen'rous Patrons, humble Genius rais'd,
Themselves the Rivals of the Skill they prais'd;
P YGMALION then the Tyrian Sceptre sway'd,
And genuine Worth, both cherish'd, and display'd:
To such fam'd Height the Sculptor's Art he brought,
That the shap'd Marble seem'd endu'd with Thought;
Each growing Effort so his Genius warm'd,
That, Nature past, the heav'nly Pow'rs he form'd:
O'er the carv'd Stone such awful Grace he threw,
So did he bring th' imagin'd God to View,
That thence Religion firmer Sanction drew.
Here Jupiter, with Frown terrific hurl'd,
His mimic Thunder, o'er a trembling World;
There, light-wing'd Mercury, prepar'd to fly,
Already seem'd to cleave the distant Sky;
In heav'nly Charms, here Venus stood confest,
Bright, as when newly by the Graces drest;
But so her Beauty beam'd celestial Fire,
That Adoration vanquish'd all Desire.
—No longer now, on Things sublime intent,
To more familiar Aims his Mind he bent:
He form'd a Nymph so exquisitely fair,
That all existing Beauty center'd there:
Each sep'rate Charm dispers'd through Womankind,
In this one Paragon were seen combin'd:
There, such soft Grace, such sweet Attraction shone,
That all his heav'nly Models seem'd outdone:
His lofty Hall the charming Object grac'd,
On circling Steps of polish'd Iv'ry plac'd:
How did the lovely Figure charm his Sight!
All Day his Wonder, and his Dream at Night!
Still as he gaz'd, his Admiration grew,
Still fresh Delight crown'd each repeated View,
Its matchless Excellence was all his Joy,
And conscious Fame did his full Soul employ.

The long-suspended Task he now resumes,
And to new Flights his eager Fancy plumes:
But ah! the Sketches all unfinish'd lie,
As oft he paus'd, and often turn'd his Eye;
No more the glowing Traits of Life appear,
His Galatea , now, absorb'd his Care:
(For so the Nymph he nam'd) his weary Toil
Still gazing there, P YGMALION would beguile:
And while his Galatea blest his Sight,
All other Studies were neglected quite.
At length, he hid the fascinating Charm,
Which thus cou'd all his boasted Pow'rs disarm;
An azure Curtain richly wrought with Gold,
Fell all around, in many a waving Fold:
He thought, unseen, 'twou'd be forgotten too,
And undisturb'd, his Art he might pursue:
How vain his Hope from thence to find Relief!
He feels an absent Lover's pining Grief:
Still on his Nymph, and her alone, intent,
He felt the Pang, but knew not what it meant:
Each new-attempted Model, mocks his Pains,
And still a rough, mishapen Mass, remains:
'Till, all discourag'd, with unsettled Look
He gaz'd around, and thus desponding spoke;

“Still, must I view those dull unmeaning Forms?
No Life, no Soul, the labour'd Marble warms - - -
Ah! whither is my wonted Genius flown,
Which, once, cou'd deify the breathing Stone?
Extinguish'd now, is all my former Fire,
And my chill Fancy dares no more aspire;
No more the speaking, living Grace, commands;
But the cold Image, lifeless, leaves my Hands.
P YGMALION ! shape no more the sacred Shrine;
Thy Skill is all too mean for Things divine!
And ye, base Implements! which damn my Fame,
Away, away, nor bring me further Shame!

Alas! what am I? what this sudden Change?
From what dark Cause, can spring Effects so strange?
Oh! Tyre! blest City, Seat of Pow'r and State!
In Wealth, in Elegance, supremely great!
Thy matchless Monuments of wond'rous Art,
No more, maintain their Empire e'er my Heart:
Lost, the Delight, which with congenial Glow,
Did still on Merit, worthy Praise bestow:
Irksome, to me, the skilful, and the wife;
Dull, the gay Tints of Nature's varying Dyes;
Harsh, the smooth Verse which shall for Ages roll;
Nor Praise, nor Glory, elevate my Soul.
The Elogies of those, who thence shall claim
The lasting Honours of immortal Fame;
No more affect me: Nought my Soul can warm,
E'en Friendship's self seems void of ev'ry Charm.

And you, ye youthful Objects! Nature's Pride!
Whose Graces did my daring Fancy guide;
Whom Pleasure fondly bade me still pursue,
And ev'ry Look, and ev'ry Motion view:
From whose dear Steps, I scarcely cou'd depart,
While Love, and Genius, both inflam'd my Heart:
My charming Models! since these Hands have made
A Form more perfect, - - - - all your Beauties fade.

Fix'd, rooted here, by some strange secret Pow'r,
In listless Toil I waste each languid Hour:
To ev'ry Group, to every Figure rove,
Tho' joyless here, unwilling hence to move:
No longer mine, the great the glorious Art,
Which cou'd to Stone, a seeming Life impart;
These timid Sketches, shapeless still, remain,
Which still I strive to form, and strive in vain.

'Tis o'er, 'tis o'er - - - extinct my Genius lies,
And e'en while Youth remains, my Talent flies: - - -
But what this Heat which thus my Soul devours,
And thro' my Frame it's burning Influence pours!
Just then, when drooping Genius faint expires,
Is't possible to feel such active Fires?
Such bursting Passions, as my Bosom tear,
Which baffle Reason, and invite Despair!

Left hap'ly, my own Work too much admir'd,
Has this distracted State of Mind inspir'd,
No longer, to my ravish'd View reveal'd,
Behind this friendly Veil it rests conceal'd.

These Hands have then with bold Presumption dar'd
To hide their brightest Glory, best Reward!
And yet, I find this forc'd Concealment vain,
No Aid to Genius, nor Relief from Pain.

This Work whose Praise to latest Time shall roll,
How dear, how precious to my wounded Soul!
When my worn Mind shall nothing great design,
Nought beauteous, graceful, worthy to be mine;
What once I form'd, shall be my constant Theme;
My Galatea shall my Fame redeem - - - -
—Of ev'ry other Blessing dispossest,
Dear Galatea ! thou shalt give me Rest.

But why conceal it from my longing Eyes?
What Hope of Comfort can from thence arise?
Unable now, my Talent to pursue,
Why hide it's noblest Effort from my View?
Some slight Defect, unnotic'd yet, may rest,
Some latent Grace may sue to be exprest,
Somewhat I still may add to her Attire,
Nought should be left for Fancy to desire.
Then let me trace it's Beauties o'er and o'er,
And ev'ry Charm and ev'ry Fault explore;
While such Perfections with my Genius strive,
The pleasing Contest may my Skill revive;
I must once more examine - - - - ah! retire,
As yet thou hast but ventur'd to admire.
What strage Emotion does my Bosom prove,
When I attempt this Curtain to remove!
A sudden Tremor seizes ev'ry Vein;
I seem to violate some sacred Fane - - -
P YGMALION ! - - - 'tis mere Marble - - - 'tis a Stone,
Beneath thy forming Hands, a Statue grown.
What then? - - - within our Temples are enshrin'd,
Gods which myself have form'd, of self same Kind.”

He, now, aside the azure Curtain drew - - -
The beauteous Image, stands reveal'd to View:
With sudden Impulse, on his Knees he falls,
And in soft Accents, on the Statue calls - - -
“Oh! Galatea ! let me then adore - - -
Meaning to make thee Nymph, I've made thee more:
That Face, that Form, the Goddess all declare;
Not Venus self, was ever half so fair.

O! Vanity! thou Weakness of Mankind!
Untir'd I gaze on what myself design'd;
'Tis mere Self-love does all my Soul invade,
I praise myself, in what myself have made:
- - - From Nature, nought so lovely cou'd proceed;
This does the Efforts of the Gods exceed.

And from these Hands, such Beauty? - - - 'tis too much!
Have then these Hands prosanely dar'd to touch?
And have these Lips with wanton Ardour prest,
The mimic Softness of that snowy Breast?
P YGMALION - - - - - ah! I now a Fault perceive,
Th' injurious Error let me quick retrieve;
Too much is by the flowing Robe conceal'd,
The Charms it covers should be more reveal'd.

What Fear, what Terror does my Mind appall!
And where then shall the dubious Weapon fall?
I cannot - - - dare not - - - oh! my trembling Soul!
One rash, one hasty Stroke, may spoil the whole!” - - -
At length resolv'd, one gentle Stroke he made;
Then starting back, affrighted, and dismay'd, - - -
“Ah! dire portent! methought the Bosom rose,
And trembling, panting, shunn'd my rigid Blows.

'Tis sure a Goddess! - - - me the Gods deter,
And their own Honours vindicate in her:
What wou'dst thou alter? what new Charms bestow?
Her only Faults from her Perfection flow:
Celestial Form! with less attractive Pow'r,
Nought had been wanting to endear thee more.

Yet more is wanting - - - - a pure vital Flame,
To warm, to animate thy lovely Frame: - - - -
How must that Soul in brightest Worth excel,
In such a beauteous Body doom'd to dwell! - - - -
What Wishes do I form! - - - what wild Desires!
Oh! Heav'n! - - - th' Illusion all at once retires - - -
Within my Heart, the gloomy Prospect lies,
Which to behold, I must myself despise, - - - -

To what a Passion is my Soul resign'd!
Here, by a lifeless Object, thus confin'd!
A Mass of Marble, an obdurate Stone,
Wrought, fashion'd, finish'd, by this Steel alone!
Ah! wretched Wand'rer! to thyself return;
Lament thy Folly, thy Distraction mourn!
But no - - - my perfect Sense I still retain;
Not yet has Madness shook my steady Brain:
No Self-reproach shall yet my Bosom wound,
Nor thoughtless Passion thus my Mind confound:
'Tis not that lifeless Marble which inspires,
My captive Soul with these inflam'd Desires:
It is some real Being, which I prize,
Like that, which now enchants my ravish'd Eyes:
'Tis but the Figure, which my Fancy warms;
Th' ideal Fabric of existing Charms:
And oh! where'er such Loveliness be plac'd,
Whatever Body with such Charms be grac'd,
By whatsoever Hand such Form be made,
To such Perfection still, my Heart's best Vows be paid - - -
If Folly this, those Beauties must reveal;
My only Crime, is all their Force to feel:
There's nought in this, that Reason's self can blame,
Nor aught, that Pride can apprehend from Shame.—

That Object, seems to dart a living Fire,
T' inflame my Sense, and kindle fierce Desire!
It's vivid Flashes round my Vitals play,
And thence returning, draw my Soul away - - - -
- - - Alas! it cold, and motionless, remains,
Deaf to my Vows, and reckless of my Pains;
While my swol'n Heart does in my Bosom heave,
And for that Breast, it's Mansion longs to leave - - -
What Rapture, cou'd my Spirit take it's Flight,
And fondly with that lovely Form unite!
Leave this cold Corse, at Galatea'S Feet,
And to her Charms impart it's vital Heat!
What do I say? Oh! Gods! if this cou'd be,
I should no more the heav'nly Beauty see - - -
I cou'd not wish her then, my vital Flame: - - -
Let me be still another, not the same - - -
Oh! let me ever, thus transported gaze,
Still wish, for her to yield my future Days;
Behold her still, and still enamour'd prove,
The visionary Blessing of her Love.

Oh! Torment! empty Wishes, vain Desires!
Rage, hopeless, dreadful Love, my Spirit fires;
By some infernal Pow'r I seem possest;
All Hell now burns within my tortur'd Breast - -
- - - - Ye Deities! who all our Passions know,
All gracious Gods! your Pity here bestow! - - -
Oft have ye deign'd reverse your mighty Laws,
And Miracles vouchsaf'd, on slightest Cause - - - -
View that bright Form!—my bleeding Heart survey—
Be just—and merit your acknowledg'd Sway!

And thou, sublimest Essence! still conceal'd
From Sense, and only to the Heart reveal'd;
Soul of the Universe, first Cause of all
That lives, and moves around this earthly Ball;
Who, by attractive Love, dost rule the Strife
Of jarring Elements, and fill with Life
Matter's dull Weight; who giv'st to Body, Mind;
And diff'rent Forms, to Beings of each Kind;
Celestial Venus! pure ethereal Fire!
Who, by thy genial Warmth, dost all inspire;
Dost bid the passing World, itself restore;
Where is thy equal, all-sustaining Pow'r?
Where thy expansive Force, thy steady Law,
To which all Nature yields implicit Awe?
Where thy creative Heat, in this Desire,
These barren Wishes, which my Soul inspire?
Thy Flames remain concenter'd in my Breast,
While Cold and Death, upon that Marble rest:
Thro' mere Excess of burning Life, I die,
Which, to that Form, might welcome Life supply:
I ask no Prodigy, to heal my Woe,
From real Prodigies my Sorrows flow:
Nature's establish'd Order is destroy'd,
And now, at first, she feels an hated Void:
Thine Empire, to its wonted Laws restore,
And, in due Course, thy genial Influence pour!
Thy mighty System still is incomplete:
In Life, and Love, two Beings long to meet:
Betwixt them, part this Flame, which one devours,
And wrongs the other of its noblest Pow'rs:
- - - 'Twas thou thyself, who didst those Charms design,
Thou, by my Hand, didst form that Shape divine:
How would such lovely Grace, thy Glory shew,
Wouldst thou but Life and Sentiment bestow!
Oh, give it Life! transfer the half of mine,
Transfer it all! my Soul, I here resign!
- - - Oh, thou! who to our Vows dost gracious bend,
To suppliant Mortals still a willing Friend,
Deign, with thy Works, thy Glory to increase,
And bid this deep Affront on Nature, cease:
Goddess of Beauty! thou her Wrongs redress,
Nor let a Statue brighter Charms express,
Than all her living Beauties can possess!

- - - What sudden Calm! - - - my Senses I resume - - -
A deadly Fever did my Frame consume - - -
Now, gentle Hope, in balmy Current flows
Throughout my Veins, and a new Life bestows.

Thus does the Thought of our dependent State,
Our Griefs assuage, and lessen Sorrow's Weight:
Tho' all around, unnumber'd Ills increase,
We but invoke the Gods, and taste of Peace - - -

But, e'en fond Hope, it's soothing Aid denies,
Where senseless Wishes from Presumption rise:
Alas! to Pray'rs so wild, so mad as mine,
No pitying Pow'r can e'er its Ear incline:
Such visionary Hopes, more Folly shew
Than those absurd Desires, from which they flow: - - -
- - - What airy Phantom does my Heart pursue!
My Soul recoiling, shuns the shameful View - - -
When tow'rds that fatal Form I strive to turn
My longing Eyes, I feel my Bosom burn
With a new Fire: I draw my Breath with Pain,
While boding Fears the rash Attempt restrain - - -
Nay, Wretch! let Courage firm thy Sinews brace,
And dauntless, dare a sculptur'd Stone to face! - - -

Ye Gods! what saw I? What did I perceive?
What heav'nly Vision did my Sense deceive?
The pallid Marble bright in Beauty's Bloom!
Those beauteous Eyes an humid Light assume!
Deep in my Heart, I felt the lambent Ray - - -
I saw those Limbs in gentle Motion play.

- - - 'Twas not enough, that flatt'ring Hope inspir'd
Too warm a Wish, for what I most desir'd - - -
To crown my Suff'rings, new Delusions rise,
And unsubstantial Visions mock my Eyes.

Unfortunate! no Comfort then remains;
Thy Madness now, it's full Ascendant gains!
Not only, is thy native Genius flown,
But e'en thy small Remains of Reason gone - - -
On this Account, I no Regret can feel,
The Loss of Reason will my Shame conceal - - -

- - - That, painted Dreams his Anguish should remove,
Who rashly dar'd a senseless Stone to love,
Is Bliss too great for such a Wretch to prove.”

P YGMALION , thus - - - - while his disorder'd Breast,
Love, Sorrow, Rage, and Shame, by Turns, possest:
His Spirit sinks beneath a Load of Grief,
He dares not ask, he dares not hope Relief.
Still, deep-imprinted on his Mind, remains,
The fatal Cause of all his bitter Pains.

- - - When Mariners, who Seas untry'd explore,
Some Island seen, row eager to the Shore;
There, the fresh Foliage cheers their gladden'd Sight;
Fruits, yet untasted, offer new Delight;
And, gliding down in many a gurgling Rill,
The crystal Springs their empty Vessels fill:
Sportive, along its Banks they pass the Day,
'Till ebbing Waves forbid their longer Stay.
- - - If, haply, one by warmer Fancy led,
Deep in the fragrant Wild his Way has sped;
Lur'd by the Scenes which greet his wond'ring Eyes,
Where nameless Flow'rs unfold their various Dyes,
And to the ambient Air their Sweets exhale,
Shedding soft Perfume on each passing Gale:
He penetrates the Grove's luxuriant Shade,
Which Sol's bright Beams cou'd never yet pervade;
Now, sees wide Lawns their ample Verdu