Read thefe inftructive leaves, in which confpire
Frefnay's clofe art, and Dryden's native fire:
And reading wish, like theirs, our fate and fame,
So mix'd our ftudies, and fo join'd our name,
Like them to fhine thro' long fucceeding age,
So just thy fkill, fo regular my rage.
Smit with the love of fifter-arts we came,
And met congenial, mingling flame with flame;
Like friendly colours found our hearts unite,
And each from each contract new ftrength and light.
How oft' in pleafing tasks we wear the day,
While fummer funs roll unperceiv'd away?
How oft' our flowly-growing works impart,
While images reflect from art to art?
How oft' review; each finding like a friend
Something to blame, and fomething to commend?
What flatt'ring fcenes our wand'ring fancy
wrought,
Rome's pompous glories rifing to our thought!
Together o'er the Alps methinks we fly,
Fir'd with ideas of fair Italy.
With thee, on Raphael's monument I mourn,
Or wait infpiring dreams at Maro's urn:
With thee repofe, where Tully once was laid,
Or feek fome ruin's formidable fhade;
While fancy brings the vanish'd piles to view,
And builds imaginary Rome a-new.
Here thy well-study'd marbles fix our eye;
A fading Frefco here demands a figh:
Each heav'nly peace unweary'd we compare,
Match Raphael's grace with thy lov'd Guido's air,
Carracci's ftrength, Correggio's fofter line,
Paulo's free stroke, and Titian's warmth divine.
How finish'd with illustrious toil appears
This fmall, well polish'd gem, the * work of years!
Yet ftill how faint by precept is expreft:
The living image in the painter's breaft?:
Thence endless streams of fair ideas flow,
Strike in the sketch, or in the picture glow;
Thence beauty, waking all her forms, fupplies
An angel's sweetness, or Bridgewater's eyes.
Mufe at that name thy facred forrows fhed,,
Thofe tears eternal, that embalm the dead:
Call round her tomb each object of defire,
Each purer frame inform'd with purer fire:
* Frefnoy employ'd above twenty years in finishing this poem.
Bid her be all that chears or softens life,
The tender fifter, daughter, friend and wife;
Bid her be all that makes mankind adore ;
Then view this marble, and be vain no more!
Yet ftill her charms in breathing paint engage;
Her modeft cheek fhall warm a future age.
Beauty, frail flow'r that ev'ry season fears,
Blooms in thy colours for a thousand years.
Thus Churchill's race fhall other hearts furprize,
And other Beauties envy Wortley's eyes,
Each pleafing Blount fhall endless fmiles beftow,
And foft Belinda's blufh for ever glow.
Oh lafting as thofe colours may they shine," Free as thy ftroke, yet faultlefs as thy line! New graces yearly, like thy works display; Soft without weakness, without glaring gay; Led by fome rule, that guides, but nor conftrains; And finish'd more thro' happiness than pains! The kindred arts fhall in their praise confpire, One dip the pencil, and one string the lyre. Yet fhould the graces all thy figures place, And breathe an air divine on, ev'ry face; Yet fhould the muses bid my numbers roll,. Strong as their charms, and gentle as their foul;
With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgwater vie,
And these be fung till Granville's Myra die;
Alas! how little from the grave we claim?
Thou but preferv'ft a form, and I a name.
N these gay thoughts the loves and graces shine,.
And all the writer lives in ev'ry line;
His eafy art may happy nature feem,
Trifles themfelves are elegant in him.
Sure to charm all was his peculiar fate,
Who without flatt'ry pleas'd the fair and great;:
Still with esteem no less convers'd than read;
With wit well-natur'd, and with books well-bred;
His heart, his mistress and his friend did fhare;
His time, the mufe, the witty, and the fair.
Thus wifely careless, innocently gay,
Chearful he play'd the trifle, life, away.
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