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Wak'd at his Call I view, with glad Surprize,
Where'er we turn, by Fancy charm’d, we find Some sweet Illusion of the cheated Mind. Oft, wild of Wing, she calls the Soul to rove With humbler Nature, in the rural Grove; Where Swains contented own the quiet Scene, And twilight Fairies tread the circled Green: Drest by her Hand, the Woods and Vallies smile, And Spring diffusive decks th' enchanted Isle. O blest in all that Genius gives to charm, Whose Morals mend us, and whose Passions warm ! Oft let my Youth attend thy various Page, Where rich Invention rules th' unbounded Stage. There ev'ry Scene the Poet's Warmth may raise, And melting Music find the softest Lays. O might the Muse with equal Ease persuade, Expressive Picture, to adopt thine Aid ! Some pow'rful Raphael shou'd again appear, And Arts consenting fix their Empire here.
* Tempus erit Turno, magno cum optaverit emptum
Intactum Pallanta, &c.
Methinks ev'n now I view some fair Design, Where breathing Nature lives in ev'ry Line: Chaste, and subdu'd, the modest Colours lie, In fair Proportion to th' approving Eye“ And see, where * Antony lamenting stands In fixt Distress, and spreads his pleading Hands ! O'er the pale Corse the Warrior seems to bend, Deep sunk in Grief, and mourns his murther'd
Friend! Still as they press, he calls on all around, Lifts the torn Robe, and points the bleeding Wound.
But + who is he, whose Brows exalted bear A Rage impatient, and a fiercer Air? Ev'n now, his Thoughts with eager Vengeance doom The last sad Ruin of ungrateful Rome. Till, slow-advancing o'er the tented Plain, In sable Weeds, appear the Kindred-train : The frantic Mother leads their wild Despair, Beats her swoln Breast, and rends her silver Hair. And see he yields ! ... the Tears unbidden start, And conscious Nature claims th' unwilling Heart ! O'er all the Man conflicting Passions rise, Rage grasps the Sword, while Pity melts the Eyes.
Thus, gen’rous Critic, as thy Bard inspires,
* See the tragedy of Julius Caesar. + Coriolanus. See Mr. Spence's Dialogues on the Odyssey.
So spread o'er Greece, th' harmonious Whole un
known, Ev'n Homer's Numbers charmd by Parts alone. Their own Ulysses scarce had wander'd more, By Winds and Waters cast on ev'ry Shore: When, rais'd by Fate, some former Hanmer join'd Each beauteous image of the tuneful mind; And bad, like Thee, his Athens, ever claim, A fond Alliance, with the Poet's Name.
Oxford, Dec. 3,
DESCRIPTIVE and ALLEGORIC
By WILLIAM COLLINS.
Πινδαρ. Ολυμπ. Θ.
Printed for A. MILLAR, in the Strand.
(Price One Shilling.)