human
Can you continue this poem for me?
  With a preface by
and a biographical introduction by
H. RICHARD ARCHER, _Clark Memorial Library_
RICHARD C. BOYS, _University of Michigan_
RALPH COHEN, _University of California, Los Angeles_
VINTON A. DEARING, _University of California, Los Angeles_
W. EARL BRITTON, _University of Michigan_
EMMETT L. AVERY, _State College of Washington_
BENJAMIN BOYCE, _University of Nebraska_
LOUIS I. BREDVOLD, _University of Michigan_
JOHN BUTT, _King's College, University of Durham_
JAMES L. CLIFFORD, _Columbia University_
ARTHUR FRIEDMAN, _University of Chicago_
LOUIS A. LANDA, _Princeton University_
SAMUEL H. MONK, _University of Minnesota_
ERNEST MOSSNER, _University of Texas_
JAMES SUTHERLAND, _Queen Mary College, London_
H. T. SWEDENBERG, JR., _University of California, Los Angeles_
EDNA C. DAVIS, _Clark Memorial Library_
The poem here reprinted has remained unread and, with a single
_Michael Angelo_." This gentleman criticised a Vandyck because it
With my easy flowing line
To unite correctness of design.
In the long course of rolling years,
When all thy labour disappears,
Yet shall this verse descend from age to age,
And, breaking from oblivion's shade,
Go on, to flourish while thy paintings fade.
word-painting of the Vandevelde. Furthermore the description of a
Resistless on the rous'd imagination pour,
And paint themselves as lively as before;
admission as a full fellow followed in 1725. Having received his
finally, in 1758, after resigning Littleham in its turn, he was
These parishes all lie within six miles of Great Torrington where
Torrington is not known.
Since I had the honour of being with your Lordship in Exeter I
have with great pleasure read over the third part of the
acquaintance a little with the Classicks, I have endeavour'd to
express my Sentiments of your Lordship's learned and acute
performance in the following Ode, which if it should afford you a
me--that your Lordship may read it with the more Indulgence think
for above twenty years, and believe me to be with the Highest
Your Lordship's most oblig'd
and most obedient Humble Servant
My best Respects wait on your Lady and Miss Lavington.
Here follows the ode ("Reverendo admodum Episcopo Exoniensis in
Verende praesul, praesul amabilis,
Qui dulce rides, utiliter doces;
Jucunda permiscens severis,
Incolumi gravitate ludens,
Quia Methodistes scripta legens tui
Amoenitatem respuat ingeni,
Suumque vestro--vel reluctans--
Abstineat sociare risum?
and continues for a further sixteen stanzas.
Mr. Beard's attention to the Affairs of the Theatre having
entirely taken up his Time, during this Season, from which, as
yet, he is not releas'd, deprives him of the Pleasure of writing
to you, in Answer to the Letter you did him the Favour of
communicating from the Author of Otho; he, therefore, hopes you
will excuse his deputing me to convey to you the Opinion of his
Friends thereon; and if they differ in Sentiment with the Author,
not suit the Taste of an English Audience.
How well, and with what Propriety, a Dramatic Piece may be
conducted wherein are very few Characters, it is not now intended
Chief, if not the only Defect. The French, indeed, tho' a Nation
of great Levity, can attentively listen to long declamatory
Speeches, when an English Audience wou'd fall asleep; who love
Probability, and conduce to the Main Action of the Drama. It is
the Advice of a celebrated Author, _Habitum hujus Temporis habe_;
comply'd with; without which, to hope for Success, is striving
against the Stream, and however great the Merit of this Piece may
detailed criticism, at the end of which the writer continues:] It
much good Writing, which deserve their proper Encomiums; and the
Perusal may give much pleasure in the Closet, but does not bid
fair for equal Reception on the Stage.
I cannot dismiss this without clearing up a mistake which the
Author is run into; tho' urg'd with the utmost Tenderness and
Delicacy imaginable; I mean the Supposition that a Recommendation
is necessary for the having the Piece accepted. Be assur'd, Sir,
every Piece must be determin'd by its own intrinsic Worth; and by
raise the Expectation and, consequently, engage a more particular
I have the Honour, Sir, of sending Mr. Beard's Compliments to
yourself and the Author, with the Assurance that he wou'd with
leave, with great Deference, to subscribe myself,
Sir, Your's and the Author's
very obedient, humble Servant,
The greatest compliment I have ever yet receiv'd for any fancied
eminence in my profession has not been so flattering to my vanity
consideration that this compliment is made me by Mr. Morrison
affecting much modesty that I am not worthy of the attention you
please to honour me with.
As I have not had time yet to consider it as maturely as I intend
exceedingly.
Here there is a break in the letter.
I am quite ashamed to have kept this Letter so long, which
to accomplish.
The former part of this Letter was wrote a few days after I had
the pleasure of seeing your Son; you have surely the greatest
reason in the world to think me the most ill mannered as well as
the most ungrateful person breathing in not returning my thanks
sooner; and now that it is delay'd so long it has not answerd any
With great acknowledgment for the distinction you have been
pleased to honour me with,
I am with the greatest respect your
most obliged humble servant,
I beg my compliments to Miss and Mr. Morrison.
I am much obliged to you for the compliment you make me in
thinking my approbation of any value, to tell you the truth the
consciousness that I am unable to determine (as all excellence in
this judgement can be possess'd I think by those only who are
acquainted with what the world has produced of that kind.
I have lately had the pleasure of reading your Poem to several
publish'd these many years and will venture to lay a wager that
there is not a better publish'd this year or the next.
The Characters of the several Masters mention'd in the Poem are
truly drawn; and the descriptions of the several kinds of History
commendation with Imprimatur meo periculo which order if you have
I have scarce left room to subscribe myself
There is no record of any copy of the poem, either printed or
Nothing would give me greater uneasiness [than] if you should
suspect that my not answering your Letter proceeded from neglect,
experienced from you, the truth is Mr. Coleman [sic] as well as
as by this time you have probably receiv'd his Letter, you have
a more explicit account than any I can give. In regard to the
hundred Pounds for which I told him you would let him have the
Tragedy, he said he fear'd that you suspected that he wanted to
decline receiving it, which was not the case, that he wish'd to
receive it and certainly would when those alterations were made,
that if he gave this sum for the Tragedy, he should probably
receive more profit from it than he had any right to, that he
never would receive any profit but as Manager.
I beg my Compliments to Miss Morrison and am with the
greatest respect your most humble and obedient servant
rendered me wholly incapable of attending to every kind of
not without a real partiality to the Author, & the strongest
desire of encouraging the most favourable idea of it, I am with
much concern obliged to declare it unfit for representation.
The first act is very excellent, & with a few slight alterations,
interesting; but the other parts of the act have no dramatick
merit. The circumstance so much insisted on of Clytemnestra's
dressing (tho' I believe in Euripides) wd. appear ridiculous on
our stage: and the scenes of Memnon and Achilles are weak &
illwritten, tho' the entrance of Achilles at that juncture might
afford a spirited & interesting scene.
In these acts, as well as the two following, the conduct of the
Clytemnestra & Iphigenia, though defective, are indeed better
consequence at all.
The same remark may in general be applied to the fifth act as to
the foregoing. The management of the catastrophe might perhaps
Believe me, Sir, that in this as well as in all my other Letters
to you, I have delivered my real sentiments, tho' it is not
without reluctance & regret on the present occasion. I had at
first some objections to the subject. These vanished; & in the
first draught there were here & there some touches which inclined
success, and exult at the failure of a superior artist who has
only laboured particular parts.
I am, Sir, your most obedient humble servant,
married--daughter.
White's Club, London.
*       *       *       *       *
Printed for W. GRIFFIN, in Catharine-Street, Strand.
Sweet mimick art! Which to our ravish'd eyes,
From a few blended colours, and the aid
Of attemper'd light and shade,
Bid'st a new creation rise---
Oh! to this song of tributary praise,
Which Poetry thy sister art
Now with friendly homage pays,
Could I contrive thy beauties to impart!
With my easy flowing line
To unite correctness of design,
And make a TITIAN's colouring conspire
With RAPHAEL's grace, and BUANOROTI's fire---
And this moment I perceive
(Or does some illusion bless me,
Some sweet madness now possess me?)
My tumultuous bosom heave,
Like the rapt SIBYLL's when she feels the load,
The painful influence of th' in-rushing God---
Yes---once again with joy I find
(Nor think my friend th' assertion bold)
This languid age-enfeebled mind,
As in life's prime, it's powers unfold---
Again th' ideal scenes arise,
The visions stream before my eyes,
Resistless on the rous'd imagination pour,
And paint themselves as lively as before-----
But be this mental picture grac'd
With all th' adornings fancy can bestow,
How is it's beauty now effac'd,
How fast all it's splendor declines,
Out-dazzled by those brighter lines
Which on yonder canvas glow----
Where---by th' Historick pencil's aid
Whose ages are at once display'd---
Some great event of Rome or Greece
Fills perhaps each high wrought piece---
There---some triumphal pomp proceeds---
There---th' impetuous battle bleeds---
Mark! while they engage
What ardor what rage,
How shields are clash'd with shields---
And with what force up-rais'd in air,
Each warrior brawny arm stript bare,
Darts th' keen spear, or glittering faulchion wields,
And while it aims the stroke, or while repels,
How justly each inflated muscle swells----
With the same noble warmth imprest,
As with his Lord the gallant beast
Was eager to acquire a name,
And combated like him for fame,
See the generous steed
Fierce as CIRCE's high breed
Which she stole from her bright-flaming fire,
While he springs on the foe,
Like the shaft from the bow,
Scarce imprint the trod ground;
But curvet and bound
As if drawn by a pencil of fire----
But what endless length of verse
Can suffice me to rehearse
Th' enliven'd action of the whole?
Squadrons this way, that way bending,
The depicted forms contending
As instinct with real foul----
Nay---minutely to describe
The varied helm, peculiar shield,
The different aspect of each tribe
Which animates th' embattled field,
Would ask the compass of an age,
To mark the whole---must drawl along
The tedious circumstantial song,
And haply languish through the thousandth page---
But rapidly by Painting's aid
Is this intelligence convey'd;
E'en in a single moment's space
We see th' extensive plan unfold,
Omitted not one trifling grace,
In full the complex tale is told;
The grand exploits of half an Iliad rise,
And flash at once on our astonish'd eyes----
Nor serves this sweet instructive art
T' inform the intellect alone,
But often melts th' obdurate heart
And wakes it's pænitential groan---
For when in some great Master's draught,
With genius as with judgement fraught,
Nail'd haply to th' accursed tree,
On his tenter'd wounds suspended,
Every nerve with torture rended,
Th' agonizing GOD we see---
Supported by her weeping train
While the dolorous mother stands
With anguish'd features, writhen hands,
Expressing e'en superior pain;
Who but must mingle in this scene of woe,
What breast can cease to heave, what eye forbear to flow?
But sorrow now o'erpow'rd by fear,
Soon is check'd the starting tear,
While in yonder piece I view,
Which VANDERVELD's bold pencil drew
Through all it's gloom'd extent the ocean
Work'd into wild impetuous motion,
And with more dread t' impress the soul
Grimly frowns the lurid sky,
And the condensing vapours roll,
And the fork'd light'nings fly---
With shatter'd sails and low-bent mast
Drives before the whirling blast
The fondering vessel---Hark! I hear
(Or does the eye deceive the ear?)
The thunder's voice, the groaning air,
The billows loud roar
While they break on the shore,
The cries of the wreck'd, and their shrieks of despair.
With pleasure now I turn my sight
From horror and death to those scenes of delight,
Where CLAUDIO's pencil has essay'd
With every heighten'd touch to trace
The wide-stretch'd Landskip's varied face,
And all it's sweet delusive skill display'd---
How the genial colours warm us?
How the gay deceptions charm us?
The objects here advancing nigh
As with brighter tints they bloom---
There receding from the eye
As suffus'd with deeper gloom;
And, while here to bound the scene,
Their tops half-blended with the skies,
The misty mountains intervene,
Or rocks in dim confusion rise;
There the wild ocean terminates the view;
It's green waves mingling with th' æthereal blue---
And, lo! what numerous beauties grace
Th' enchanted intermediate space!
Rivers winding through the vales,
Here, full in view; there, faintly shewn,
Hillocks, inter-mix'd with dales,
Rural cotts at distance thrown---
There, some foaming cataract pours
From the steep cliff it's watery stores;
Here, spreads it's gloom some awful grove,
Through whose thick branches interwove,
While the sun darts his slanting beams,
Delightful to the eye the yellowish lustre streams---
Above the strong illumin'd skies,
The clouds in shining volumes, roll'd
Their fleecy skirts bedeckt with gold,
Half-dazzle the spectator's eyes---
And does the real solar light
Flash at present on the sight?
Or, does the pencil'd radiance only flow,
And flowing with such fervour beat
That e'en with all the dog-days heat
The sultry painting now appears to glow?
Beneath some oak's projecting shade,
Where the shot rays scarce passage find,
See many a rustick youth and maid
In languid attitudes reclin'd----
Mark! with features all relenting,
And with down-cast eyes consenting,
How each nymph listens to the amorous tale;
Her half-bar'd bosom, panting with desire,
Expos'd, as if to catch the cooling gale;
But more, perhaps, to fan the lover's fire.
Ye dear deceptions! how ye move
The breast to long forgotten love?
Luxurious scenes! how ye excite
The traces of distinct delight!
E'en now around this poor half-frozen heart
Agnizing it's accustom'd smart,
Like some mild lambent flame the passion plays;
And, vanquish'd by ideal charms,
I sink in the imagin'd arms
Of some sweet PHILLIS of my youthful days.
But, lo! the Portrait of yon hoary sage
From whose grave lore I learnt in youth
Many a rigid moral truth,
Frowns me again to cold unfeeling age---
How are the soft emotions checkt
assistant
Sure, a continuation for this poem could be:
  While tow'rd me he seems to direct,
As if alive, his conscious eye;
At whose austere reproving glance,
I wake reluctant from my trance,
And feel with pain each pleasing passion die!---
VENUS yokes her purple doves,
In an instant dispossest,
All the little sportive loves
Hurry---hurry from my breast---
And the whole charming vision flits away
Like the night's golden dream at break of envious day--
Poor human life! how short the date
Assign'd thee by relentless Fate!----
Poor transient Beauty! tender flower!
Still shorter thy allotted hour!----
Then stretch the canvass---quick, my Friend,
Thy pencil seize---thy work attend---
E'en exempt from deforming diseases,
How it fades by the torches of Time;
Every moment that flows
Steals the gloss from the rose;
Then catch the bright hue while it pleases,
And fix the fair face in it's prime.
Nay-- thus, great Artist, has thy hand
To half the high-born beauty of the land
A permanence ensur'd,
And from th' attacks of wrinkling age,
And from the pustule's venom'd rage
Th' untarnish'd form secur'd---
It's dear resemblance has at least
Been in thy faithful lines exprest;
In thy firm colours still persists to bloom;
Nor does it cease the heart t' alarm,
Nor does it cease the eye to charm,
E'en when the real Fair is mouldering in her tomb--
And eminent in beauty as in birth,
When the bright LENOX shall as well
In the same gloomy mansion dwell
And mingle with her kindred regal earth,
Still in thy tints shall she survive,
With sweet attraction still engage,
Still feed the flame as when alive,
And (e'en improv'd by mellowing age
Each charm of person and of face)
Still sacrifice to every grace---
For we not see the outward form alone
In thy judicious strokes defin'd,
But in them too---distinctly shewn---
The strong-mark'd features of the mind---
Each charmer's attitude and air
The internal character declare,
With ease the varied temper we descry,
The full-soul beaming from th' expressive eye---
Here---in the sweetly pensive mein
Is the soft gentle Nature seen,
And chaste reserve, and modest fear,
And artless innocence appear---
There---the little fly coquet
Aiming her insidious glances:
For trapping hearts each feature set,
From the canvass makes advances,
Nay---if we credit the delusive face,
She seems just springing to our fond embrace---
And if such meaning can be thrown
Into the single form alone---
With what fresh rapture should we gaze,
How would thy kindling genius blaze,
To what superior heights aspire,
If working on some grand design,
Where various characters combine
And that thy hand can equally excel
E'en in this noble part,
This shining branch of thy expressive art,
To it's own happy labour we appeal,
To that rich piece whose pleasing fiction
And splendid tints with full conviction
Strike the spectator, while he views
THALIA and the tragick muse,
Each eager on her side t' engage
Th' unrivall'd Roscius of the British stage---
Stern and erect the buskin'd dame
In high dramatick wrath appears,
With energy supports her claim
And seems to thunder in his ears;
While the inveigling comick Fair,
With aspect sly and artful air
To draw her favourite to her arms
Strains every nerve; but as she strives,
With the sweet attitude contrives
T' impart the stronger influence to her charms--
Betwixt them with distracted mein
The object of their strife is seen;
His eyes with wild confusion roll,
Mixt passions, with alternate sway,
In his ambiguous features play,
And speak as yet the undetermined soul;
But that half-assenting leer,
Obliquely on the little wheedler thrown,
Portends, though checkt with aukward fear,
That soon the apostate will be all her own--
Spare, Oh! Time, these colours; spare 'em,
Or with thy tend'rest touch impair 'em:
At least, for some few centuries space,
Shine they with unlessen'd grace!
They shall---yet, Oh! these noble works at last
Must, by the gathering mould o'ercast,
Or rotted by the damps, decay,
Or by the air's corrosive power,
Or e'en the slowly-fretting hour,
Must every trace of beauty melt away.
When er'st APELLE's friend enquir'd,
Why touch'd so oft in every part
With repeated strokes of art,
The picture which already they admir'd,
The Artist, with becoming pride,
"I'm Painting for Eternity," replied.
But vain, great Genius! was thy boast;
Long since th' eternal piece is lost----
Thy VENUS now no more expresses,
Rising from her watery bed,
The moisture from her twisted tresses
O'er her dazzling bosom spread---
No more thy colours bloom, effac'd by age,
But in the poet's or th' historian's page.
Oh then---reject not with disdain,
Great Artist, this unpolish'd strain----
Though happy while it may intend
Thy shining merits to display,
It may serve only in the end
My own weak genius to betray,
May shew with what presumption I aspire
To build the rhyme
And tow'er sublime
With PINDAR's vanity without his fire.
Yet----confide----(for every trifler's breast)
And by this influence I presage
In the long course of rolling years,
When all thy labour disappears,
Yet shall this verse descend from age to age,
And, breaking from oblivion's shade,
Go on, to flourish while thy paintings fade.
If so---at present though thy hand
May glory of itself command,
Nor can the muse's laurels now,
Though wove with nicer skill than mine,
Help to adorn it, while they twine
Round thy already loaden brow---
Yes---if my presage is not vain---
Yes---if this verse hereafter should remain---
(Though now indeed as needless quite
As at noon's blaze the taper's light)
It may then serve to aggrandize thy name,
And add some splendor to thy future fame.
*       *       *       *