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ζωγραφίαν μὲν λέγεσιν εἶναι

Plutarch, de audiend. Poet.

--Poema

ARGUMENT.

A parallel between painting and poetry-Advice to a good painter; inftanced by TitianAn univerfal notion of beauty-That we must not defpair-A luxuriant fancy, or too much exactnefs often faulty-Decency ftill to be pre- ferved-Repofe and folitude-Nature to be imitated-in a fault whether to be corrected or not-The Je ne fçai quoi of beauty-Draperies-An encomium on painting-The epifode of Mimicina-Sculpture-Innovations faulty. -Sometimes to be admired-Invention-Union of colours-Immoderate ornament-The Landfcape-Defign-The principal figure of a picture-Modeity in a painter-Harmony of colours -The furprife-Optics-The obfcura camera defcribed; its ufe in painting-Difpofition of objects-Two equal lights to be avoided in the fame picture-Truth to be obferved-Travelling, its ufe-Another parallel between poetry and painting-Their distinct excellencies confidered-Painting far more lafting and univer. fal-Yet derived its light firft from poetry-Its rife and progress through all ages-An account of the most celebrated painters, with their feveral characters-Conclufion, with and addrefs to the Earl of Pembroke.

WHATEVER yet in poetry held true,
If duly weigh'd, holds juft in painting too:
Alike to profit, and delight they tend,
The means may vary, but the fame their end.
Alike from heav'n congenial first they came,
The fame their labours, and their praife the fame :
Alike by turns they touch the conscious heart,
And each on each reflects the lights of art.

You nobler youths who listen to my lays,
And fcorn by vulgar arts to merit praise :
Look cautious round, your genius nicely know,
And mark how far its utmolt ftretch will go;
Pride, envy, hatred, labour to conceal,
And fullen prejudice, and party-zeal;
Approve, examine, and then laft believe---
For friends milead, and critics ftill deceive.

Who takes his cenfure, or his praife on truß,
Is kind, 'tis true, but never can be just.
But where's the man with gen'rous zeal infpir,
Dear in each age, in ev'ry art admir'd?

Bleft with a genius ftrong, but unconfin'd, 7
A fprightly wit, with fober judgment join'd,
A love of learning, and a patient mind;
A vig'rous fancy, fuch as youth requires,
And health, and cafe, and undisturb'd defires.
Who fpares no pains his own defects to know,
Who not forgives, but ev'n admires a foe;
By manners fway'd, which ftealing on the hea
Charm more through eafe, and happiness, than ar
Such Titian was, by nature form'd to pleate,
Bleft in his fortunes, born to live at eale:
Who felt the poet's, or the painter's fire,
Now dipp'd the pencil, and now tun'd the lyre:
Of gentleft manners in a court refin'd,
A friend to ali, belov'd of all mankind;
The mufe's glory, as a monarch's care,
Dear to the gay, the witty, and the fair!

But ah! how long will nature afk to give
A foul like his, and bid a wonder live?
Rarely a Titian, or a Pope appears,
The forming glory of a thouland years!

A proper tafte we all derive from heaven,
Wou'd all but blefs, and manage what is giv'n
Some fecret impulfe meves in ev'ry heart,
And nature's pleas'd with gentle strokes of art;
Moft fouls, 'tis true, this blefling faintly charms;
A diftant flame, that rather thines, than warms:
Like rays, through wintery ftreams reflected, falls
Its dubious light, in glinum'ring intervals.

Like Maro first with trembling hand defign Some humble work, and ftudy line by line: A Roman urn, a grove encircled bow'r, The blufhing cherry, or the bending flow'r.

* Sit vir talis, qualis verè fapiens apellari poffit, nec moribus modo perfectus. fed etiam feien ta,& omni facultate dicendi, qualis fortage al buc nemo fuerit. Quintilian.

Titian was created Count Palatine ly Charles V. and most intimately acquainted w Arifto, Aretine, c.

Painful, and flow, to noble arts we rife,
And long long labours wait the glorious prize;
Yet by degrees your steadier hand fhall give
A bolder grace, and bid each object live.
So in the depths of fome fequefter'd vale,
The weary peafant's heart begins to fail:
Slowly he mounts the huge high cliff with pain,
And prays in thought he might return again:
"Till opening all at once beneath his eyes,
The verdant trees, and glittering turrets rife :
He fprings, he triumphs, and like light'ning flies..
Ev'n Raphael's felf from rude effays began,
And fhadow'd with a coal his fhapeless man.
Time was, when Pope for rhymes would knit his
brow,

And write as taftelefs lines---as I do now.
'Tis hard a fprightly fancy to command,
And give a refpite to the lab'ring hand;
Hard as our eager paffions to restrain,
When priests, and self-denial plead in vain :
When pleasures tempt, and inclinations draw,
When vice is nature, and our will the law.
As vain we strive each trivial fault to hide,
That shows but little judgment, and more pride.
Like fome nice prude, offenfive to the fight,

Exactnefs gives at beft a cold delight;
Each painful troke difgufts the lively mind;
For art is loft, when overmuch refin'd.
So nice reformers their own faith betray,
And fchool-divines diftinguith fenfe away.
To err is mortal, do whate'er we can,
Some faulty trifles will confefs the man.
Dim fpots fuffufe the lamp that gilds the sky,
If nicely trac'd through Galileo's eye.
Wifeft are they, who each mad whim reprefs,
And thun grofs errors, by committing leis.

Still let due decencies preferve your fame,
Nor must the pencil speak the master's thame.
Each nobler foul in every age was giv'n
To blefs mankind, for arts defcend from Heav'n.
Gods fhall we then their pious ufe profane,
T'oblige the young, the noble, or the vain!

Whoever meditates fome great defign,
Where strength and nature dawn at ev'ry line;
Where art and fancy full perfection give,
And each bold figure glows, and feems to live:
Where lights and fhades in sweet difunion play,
Rife by degrees, or by degrees decay;
Far let him fhun the bufy noise of life,
Untouch'd by cares, uncumber'd with a wife.
Bear him, ye mufes! to fequefter'd woods,
To bow'ry grottoes, and to filver floods!
Where peace and friendship hold their gentle
reign,

And love unarm'd fits fmiling on the plain.
Where nature's beauties variously unite,
And in a landscape open on the fight.
Where contemplution lifts her filent eye,
And loft in vifion travels o'er the sky.

Odiofa cura eft---Optima enim funt minime accerfita,& fimplicibus ab ipfa veritate proje&is fimilia. Quintil. Lib. S. Cap. 3. in Proem.

+ Aptiffima funt in hoc nemora, fylvaque; quod illa cali libertas, locorumq; amanitas fublimem animum, & beatiorem fpiritum parent. QuinLilian.

Soft as his eafe the whisp'ring zephyrs blow, Calm as his thoughts the gentle waters flow: Hufh'd are his cares, extinct are Cupid's fires, And restless hopes, and impotent defires.

* But Nature firft must be your darling care; Unerring Nature, without labour fair. Art from this fource derives her true defigns, And fober judgment cautiously retines. No look, no potture muft mithap'd appear: Bold be the work, but boldly regular. When mercy pleads, let foftness melt the eyes; When anger forms, the fwelling muscles rite. A foft emotion breathes in fimple love, The heart juft feems to beat, the eye to move. Gently, ah! gently, languor feems to die, Now drops a tear, and now steals out a figh. Let awful Jove his lifted thunders wield; Place azure Neptune in the watery field. Round fmiling Venus draw the faithless boy, Surmife, vain hopes, and thort-enduring joy. But fhould you drefs a nymph in montious ruff, Or faintly nun profane with modith snuff: Each fool will cry, O horribly amifs! The painter's mad, mend that, and alter this. From heav'n defcending, beauteous Nature

came,

One clear perfection, one eternal flame,
Whofe lovely lights on ev'ry object fall
By due degrees, yet still diftinguish all.
Yet as the beft of mortals are sometimes
Not quite exempt from folly or from crimes;
There are, who think that nature is not free
From fome few fymptoms of deformity.
Hence fprings a doubt, if painters may be thought
To err, who copy nature in a fault,
Led by fome fervile rule, whofe pow'r prevails
On imitation, when th' example fails.
Poets and painters, here employ your skill;
Be this the doctrine of your good and ill,
Enough to pofe the critics of a nation,
Nice as the rules of Puritan-falvation.

Yet if the feeds of art we nicely trace;
There dawns a heav'nly, all-inspiring grace,
No tongue exprefies it, no rule contains;
(The glorious cause unseen) th' effect remains:
Fram'd in the brain, it flows with eafy art,
Steals on the fenfe, and wins the yielding heart.
A pleafing vigour mixt with boldness charms,
And happineis completes what paffion warms,

Nor is it thought a trifle, to exprefs The various fhapes, and foldings of the drefs, With graceful ease the pencil to command, And copy nature with a hafty hand. Through the clear robe the fwelling mufcles rife Or heaving breasts, that decently surprise;

* Videantur omnia ex Natura rerum, hominumque fluere-Hoc opus, hic labor eft; fine quo, cætera nuda, jejuna, infirma, ingrata. Quintil. Lib. 6. cap. 2.

t Tradi omnia, que ars efficit, non poffunt. Quintil. Lib. 8. cap. 10.

Vide etiam que fequuntur de Pictore. Non refert quid facias, fed quo loco. Nam ornatus omnis non tam fua, quam rei cui adhibetur, conditione conflat.

Quintil. Lib. 11. cap. 1.

1

As fome coy virgin with dejected mien
Conceals her charms, yet hopes they may be seen.
Be ev'ry perfon's proper habit known,
Peculiar to his age, or fex alone.

In flowing robes the monarch fweeps along,
Large are the foldings, natural, and ftrong:
Wide ample lights in fpreading glories play,
And here contrafted, deeper thades decay.
The virgin-pow'rs who haunt the filver floods,
And hoary hills, and confecrated woods,
Soft strokes, and graceful negligence demand,
The nice refultance of an easy hand;
Loose to the winds their airy garments fly
Like filmy dews, too tender for the eye.

But ere thefe charms are to perfection wrought,
Adapted manuals must be nicely fought.
Gay vivid colours must the draught infpire,
Now melt with sweetness, and now burn with
fire.

A northern sky muft aid the fteady fight,
Elfe the fhades alter with the tranfient light.
Methinks the loaded table ftands display'd,
Each nicer vafe" in myftic order laid.
Here ocean's mistress heaps around her shells
Beauteous, and recent from the fea-green cells;
The taper pencils here are rang'd apart,
There chalk, lead, vials, and loofe fchemes of art.
So when bold Churchill with a gen'ral's care,
Eyes his brave Britons crowding to the war;
Watchful, and filent move the duteous bands,
One look excites them, and one breath com-

mands.

Hail happy Painting! to confirm thy sway, Ocean and air their various tributes pay. The purple infect fpreads her wings to thee, Wafts o'er the breeze, or glitters on the tree. Earth's winding veins unnumber'd treasures hold, And the warm champian ripens into gold. A clearer blue the lazuli bestows, Here umber deepens, there vermilion glows. For thee, her tender greens and flow'rets rife, Whofe colours change in ever-mingling dyes; Ev'n thofe fair groves (for Eden first defign'd) Weep in foft fragrance through their balmy rind: Transparent tears! that glitter as they run, Warm'd with the bluflies of the rifing fun.

Here ceafe my fong--a gentler theme infpires Each tender thought, and wakes the lover's fires. Once more your aid celeftial mufes bring; Sacred the lays! nor to the deaf we fing.

In ancient Greece there liv'd, unknown to
fame,

A nymph, and Mimicina was her name.
Smit by a neighb'ring youth betimes the fell
Victim to love, and bade the world farewell.
Thoughtful and dull the pin'd her bloom away
In lonely groves, nor faw the cheerful day.

This might be borne---but lo! her lovely fwain
Muft part, ah, never to return again!
One mutual kifs muft mutual paffion fever,
One look divide 'em, and divide for ever!
See, now the lies abandon'd to despair,
And to rude winds unbinds her flowing hair:
Beauteous neglect! when melting to her woes,
A fylvan maid from her dark grotto role:
(Long had the view'd the folitary fair,
Her bleeding bosom heav'd with equal care)
A heav'nly picture in her hand the bore,
She fmir'd, the gave it, and was feen no more.→
Pleas'd Mimicina, fpeechlefs with furprise,
Ey'd the fair form, and lightning of the eyes:
She knew--and fighing gave a tender kils;
Her noble paffion was content with this:
No more his abfence, or her woes deplor'd,
And as the living, the the dead ador'd.

Thus Painting rofe, to nourish soft defire,
And gentle hopes, and friendship's purer is:
Thus ftill the lover must his nymph adore,
And figh to charms, that ought to charm ot
Thus when these eyes, with kind illufions biet,
Survey cach grace Pathenia once poffeft:
Her winning fweetness, and attractive eafe,
And gentle fmiles that never fail'd to please;
Heav'ns! how my fancy kindles at the view,
And my fond heart relents, and bleeds anew!
Fair faithlefs virgin! with conftraint unkind,
Milled by duty, and through custom blind:
Perhaps ev'n now, from pride and int'reft free,
Thou thar'ft each pang of all I felt for thee;
Ah, no--my pray'rs, my tears, my vows rega,
Alas, 'tis now a came to call me thine,
To act the tender, or the friendly part;
No---hate, forget me, tear me from thy heart.

Yet ftill thy fmiles in breathing paint infpirt, Still thy kind glances fet my foul on fire. Thither each hour I lift my thoughtful eye, Now drop a tear, now foftly breathe a figh; Sacred 'till death my gentlest vows shall be, And the laft gafp of life be breath'd for thee!

You too, O Sculpture, fhall exalt my lays,
Pictura's fifter-candidate for praise!
Soft Raphael's air divine, Antonio shows;
And all Le Brun in mimic Picart glows.
Hither ye nations, now direct your eyes,
Rife crown'd with luftre, gentle Albion rife!
Now thy foft Hollar, now thy Smith appears,
A faultless pattern to fucceeding years;
There † facred domes in length'ning Viŝi
charm,

And British beauties here for ever warm.
Moft painters of lefs judgment, than caprice,
Are like old maidens intamoufly nice:
It matters nought if rules be falfe or true,
All fhould be modifh, whimsical and new;
Fond of each change, the prefent ftill they pra
So women love---and actors purchase plays
As if felf-love, or popular offence,
Receiv'd a fanction to mislead our fenfe;

** Two engravers, famous for their prist: <> pied from Raphael and Le Brus +Alluding to Hollar's etchings in the Mnaflicon.

Or party-notions, vapours, faith, and zeal
Were all, at proper times, infallible.
True wit, and true religion are but one,
Though fome pervert 'em, and ev'n most have

none.

Who thinks what others never thought before,
Acts but just that his fons will act no more.
Yet on a time, when vig'rous thoughts demand,
Indulge a warmth, and prompt the daring hand:
On purpose deviate from the laws of art,
And boldly dare to captivate the heart;
Breasts warm'd to rapture shall applaud your
fire,

May difapprove you, but shall still admire.
The Grecian artist, at one dash, supply'd
What patient touches and flow art deny'd.
So when pale Florio in the gloomy grove
Sits fadly mufing on the plagues of love,
When hopes and fears diftract his tim'rous mind,
And fancy only makes the nymph unkind:
Defp'rate at laft he rushes from the fhade,
=By force and warm addrefs to win the maid:
His brifk attack the melting nymph receives
With equal warmth, he preffes, the forgives;
One moment crowns whole tedious years of pain,
And endless griefs, and health confum'd in vain.
Of ev'ry beauty that confpires to charm
Man's nicer judgment, and his genius warm,
To just invention be the glory giv'n,
A particle of light deriv'd from heav'n.
Unnumber'd rules t'improve the gift are shown
By ev'ry critic, to procure it, none.

Some colours often to the reft impart
New graces, more through happiness, than art.
This nicely ftudy'd, will your fame advance,
The greatest beauties feldom come by chance.
Some gaze at ornament alone, and then
So value paint, as women value men.
It matters nought to talk of truth, or grace,
Religion, genius, cuftoms, time, and place.
So judge the vain, and young; nor envy we:
They cannot think indeed.--but they may fee.
Exceffive beauty, like a flash of light,
Seems more to weaken, than to please the fight.
In one gay thought luxuriant Ovid writ,
And Voiture tires us, but with too much wit.

Some all their value for Grotefque exprefs,
Beauty they prize, but beauty in excefs:
Where each gay figure feems to glare apart,
Without due grace, proportion, fhades, or art.
(The fad remains of Goths in ancient times,
And rev'rend dulinefs, and religious rhymes)
So youthful poets ring their mufic round
On one eternal harmony of found.
"The lines are gay," and whofoe'er pretends
To fearch for more, mistakes the writer's ends.

Colours, like words, with equal care are fought, Thete please the fight, and thofe express the thought,

But most of all, the landscape seems to please
With calm repofe, and rural images.
See, in due lights th' obedient objects stand,
As happy eafe exalts the master's hand.
See, abfent rocks hang trembling in the sky,
See, diftant mountains vanifh from the eye;
A darker verdure ftains the dusky woods:
Floats the green fhadow in the filver floods;

Fair vifionary worlds furprise the view,
And fancy forms the golden age a-new.

True juft defigns will merit honour still; Who begins well, can fcarcely finish ill. Unerring truth muft guide your hand aright, Art without this is violence to fight.

The first due poftures of each figure trace
In fwelling out-lines with an eafy grace.
But the prime perfon moftly will demand
Th' unweary'd touches of thy patient hand:
There thought, and boldness, ftrength, and art
confpire,

The critic's judgment, and the painter's fire;
It lives, it moves, it fwells to meet the eye:
Behind the mingling groups in fofter fhadows die.
Never with felf-defign your merits raife,
Nor let your tongue be echo to your praife.
To wifer heads commit fuch points as thefe,
A modeft blush will tell how much they pleafe.
In days of yore, a prating lad, they fay,
Met glorious Reubens journeying on the way:
Sneering, and arch, he thakes his empty head,
(For half-learn'd boys will talk a Solon dead)
Your fervant, good Sir Paul, why, what, the devil,
The world to you is more than fairly civil;
No life, no gufto in your pieces shine,
Without decorum, as without defign.

Sedate to this the heav'n-born artist fmil'd, "Nor thine nor mine to speak our praife, my

"child!

"Each fhall expofe his best to curious eyes, "And let th' impartial world adjust the prize. Let the foft colours fweeten and unite To one juft form, as all were shade, or light. Nothing fo frequent charms th' admiring eyes As well-tim'd fancy, and a fweet furprife.

So when the Grecian labour'd to difclofe His nicest art, a mimic lark arofe: The fellow-birds in circles round it play'd, Knew their own kind, and warbled to a fhade. So Vandervaart in later times excell'd. And nature liv'd in what our eyes beheld. He too can eft, (in optics deeply read) A noon-day darkness o'er his chamber spread. The tranfient objects fudden as they pais O'er the small convex of the vifual glass, Transferr'd from thence by magic's powerful call, Shine in quick glories on the gloomy wall: Groves, mountains, rivers, men furprise the fight, Trembles the dancing world, and swims the wavy light.

Each varying figure in due place dispose, Thefe boldly heighten, touch but faintly thofe Contiguous objects place with judgment nigh, Each due proportion fwelling on the eye.

Remoter views infenfibly decay,
And lights, and fhadows fweetly drop away.
In bluish white the fartheft mounts arise,
Steal from the eye, and melt into the skies.
Hence facred domes in length'ning ifles extend,
Round columns fwell, and rifing arches bend:
Obliquer views in fide-long Vifta's glance,
And bending groves in fancy feem to dance.
Two equal lights defcending from the sky,
O'erpow'r each other, and confuse the eye.

The greatest pleasures tire the most, and fuch
Still end in vices if enjoy'd too much.
Though painters often to the fhades retire,
Yet too long eafe but ferves to quench the fire.
Wing'd with new praife, methinks they boldly fly
O'er airy Alps, and feem to touch the sky.
Still true to fame, here well-wrought buits decay,
High turrets nod, and arches fink away.
Ev'n the bare walls, whole breathing figures
glow'd

With each warm firoke that living art bestow'd,
Or flow decay, or hoftile time invades,
And all in filence the fair fresco fades.
Each image yet in fancy'd thoughts we view,
And strong idea forms the scene a-new :
Delufive, the, Paulo's free ftroke fupplies,
Revives the face, and points th' enlight'ning

eyes.

'Tis thought each fcience, but in part, can boast A length of toils for human life at most : (So vaft is art!) if this remark prove true, 'Tis dang'rous fure to think at once of two, And hard to judge if greater praife there be To please in painting, or in poetry; Yet painting lives lefs injur'd, or confin'd, True to th' idea of the mafter's mind: In ev'ry nation are her beauties known, In ev'ry age the language is her own: Nor time, nor change diminish from her fame; Her charms are univerfal, and the fame. O, could fuch bleflings wait the poet's lays, New beauties ftill, and ftill eternal praise ! Ev'n though the mufes ev'ry ftrain infpire, Exalt his voice, and animate his lyre: Ev'n though their art each image thou'd combine In one clear light, one harmony divine; Yet ah, how foon the cafual blifs decays, How great the pains, how tranfient is the praise! Language, frail flow'r, is in a moment loft, (That only product human wit can boast) Now gay in youth, its early honours rife, Now hated, curft, it fades away, and dies.

Yet verse first rose to foften human kind,
To mend their manners, and exalt their mind.
See, favage beafts ftand lift'ning to the lay,
And men more furious, and more wild than they;
Ev'n fhapeless trees a fecond birth receive,
Rocks move to form, and ftatues feem to live.
Immortal Homer felt the facred rage,
And pious Orpheus taught a barb'rous age;
Succeeding painters thence deriv'd their light,
And durit no more than thofe vouchfaf'd to
write.

At last t' adorn the gentler arts, appears
Illuftrious Xeuxis from a length of years.
Parrhafius' hand with foft'ning ftrokes exprest
The nervous motions, and the folded veft:

Pregnant of life his rounded figures rée,
With strong relievo fwelling on the eyes.
Evenor bold, with fair Apelles came,
And happy Nicias crown'd with deathless fame,

At length from Greece, of impious arms 24,
Painting withdrew, and fought th' Italian shade,
What time each fcience met its due regard,
And patrons took a pleasure to reward.
But ah, how foon muft glorious times decay,
One tranfient joy, just known, and instch's away
By the fame foes, which painting fhuun'de,
Ev'n here the bleeds, and arts expire once re
Eafe, luft, and pleasures thake a feeble stair,
Gothic invafions, and domestic hate;
Time's flow decays, what these ev'n ipate,
fume,

And Rome lies bury'd in the depths of Rome:

Long flumber'd Painting in a ftupid traz Of heavy zeal, and Monkih ignorance: (When faith itfelf for mere dilpute was p Subtile was wife, and wranglers went to E/L) Till glorious Cimabue reftor'd her crown, And dipp'd the pencil, ftudious of renowe. Mafaccio taught the finish'd piece to live, And added ev'ry grace of perfpective. Exact correctnefs Titian's hand bestow'd, And Vinci's ftroke with living labour glow'd. Next Julio rote, who ev'ry language knew, Liv'd o'er each age, and look'd all nature through. In happy Paulo ftrength and art confpire, The graces pleafe us, and the muses fire.

Each nobler fecret others boaft alone, By curious toil Caracci made his own: Raphael's nice judgment, Angelo's defign, Correggio's warmth, and Guido's pleafing line. Thrice glorious times, when ev'ry fcience charms When rapture lifts us, and religion warms! Vocal to heav'n the fwelling organs blow, A thriller confort aids the notes below; Above, around the pictur'd faints appear, And lift'ning feraphs fmile and bend to hear.

Thence Painting, by fome happy genius led, O'er the cold north in flow approaches spread. Ev'n Britain's ifle that blufh'd with hostile gore, Receiv'd her laws, unknown to yield before; Relenting now, her favage heroes ftand, And melt at ev'ry ftroke from Reuben's hand. Still in his right the graceful Jervas (ways, Sacred to beauty, and the fair one's praite, Whose breathing paint another life fupplies, And calls new wonders forth from Mordaunt's eyes And Thornhill, gen'rous as his art, defign'd At once to profit and to pleafe mankin!. Thy dome, O Paul's, which heav'nly view adorn,

Shall guide the hands of painters yet undern;
Each melting stroke shall foreign eyes engage
And shine unrivall'd through a future age.

Hail, happy artifts! in eternal lays
The kindred-mufes thall record your praise;
Whofe heav'nly aid infpir'd you firft to le,
And fix'd your fame immortal in the ikies;

Giovanni Cimabue, born at Florence in the year 1240; he was the first perfon s painting after its unfortunate extirpation