EPISTLE THE FIFTH. (Excelling Artist! whose exalted mind)

Excelling Artist! whose exalted mind Feels for the highest welfare of mankind, And values genius, rightly understood, But as it ministers to moral good! Yet, ere I close this tributary lay, This homage to thy art that love would pay,

Let us with free and fond research explore Her Ethic energies in days of yore; Mark how she rose of polish'd Arts the first, What joys she waken'd, and what virtues nurs'd, When on her growing beauties Glory smil'd, When Time caress'd her as his perfect child; And, in the splendor of acknowledg'd worth, She reign'd the darling of the Pagan earth! Sculpture! thy influence to heights sublime Inflam'd th' heroic zeal of elder time; That zeal which steer'd, with every sail unfurl'd, Th' advent'rous spirit of the ancient world: The martial chief, enamour'd of thy charms, Felt and ador'd thee in his field of arms; Conscious thy care would make his merit known, He died, exulting, to revive in stone. Let those who doubt if thou could'st e'er inspire Ambition's bosom with so strong a fire, Mark Caesar, ere his own exploits begun, Sigh at the sculptur'd form of Ammon's son.

If, in thy ruder days, thy potent aid To dark Idolatry the world betray'd, That fascinating power, with thee combin'd, Felt, as thy beauty grew, her savage soul refin'd.

Hence, where thy hand, with love of Nature warm, Wrought mild divinities of graceful form, Calmly that scene misfortune's victim trod, Safe in the dome of thy protecting god. Such awful reverence that asylum bred, Where sacred Sculpture screen'd Affliction's head, Weakness might there revengeful power defy, While Mercy bless'd thee as her dear ally: Yet in one scene, whence thy soft charms might chase All barbarous fury from the Pagan race, E'en at the time when, to their zenith rais'd, The Arts and Genius in perfection blaz'd, One ruthless wretch, (and be his deed accurs'd!) Raging for blood, thy sanctuary burst.

See, on Calauria's shore, to Neptune's shrine Flies the fam'd Greek, of eloquence divine; He, whose strong sense, adorn'd with Freedom's charms, Made Philip tremble for his silver arms, Ere that insidious king, false friend of peace, Sapp'd, by corruption, the high soul of Greece: Her fame-crown'd orator, his triumph past, Driv'n by Adversity's o'erwhelming blast, In Neptune's temple deems he yet may meet An heavenly guardian and a calm retreat. Delusive hope! for e'en those sacred shades The blood-hound of Antipater invades. Yet freedom's champion, in his mental force, Still finds the suffering Pagan's brave resource, By friendly poison well prepar'd, to foil The mercenary villain's murd'rous toil. Shock'd to behold the wretch of blood profane The hallow'd precincts of a peaceful fane, He views this outrage with indignant eyes, And at the base of Neptune's statue dies; Blest to resign his glory-giving breath In the mild arms of voluntary death!

If Sculpture fail'd, in her unequal strife With base Barbarity, to shield his life, Fondly she made immortal as his name The stern attractions of his manly frame. Wrought with her kindest care, his image rose In endless triumph o'er his abject foes; And Athens gloried with delight to gaze, Age after age in her declining days, On him, her fav'rite son, whose fiery breath, Dispelling dread of danger and of death, Made, by the thunder of his warning voice, The path of honour be his country's choice. True to his word, as quicken'd by a spell, She march'd in that precarious path, and fell; Yet in her fall the noblest tribute paid To that bright mind, by whose bold counsel sway'd, She gain'd, uncheck'd by imminent distress, Virtue's prime purpose, to deserve success.

Justly, O Sculpture! would thy fondest skill The wish for glory of that friend fulfil, Whose fervid soul, with bright ambition fraught, By matchless Eloquence sublimely taught The land, that gloried in his birth, to claim Pre-eminence in all the paths of fame. His heart, for ever in a patriot glow, Exulted, in its civic zeal, to show How from thy honour'd hand his native state Receiv'd a gift magnificently great: From him we learn that the Bosphoric shore Of signal Art this bright memorial bore. Athens, a female of colossal height, In sculptur'd beauty charm'd the public sight: Of equal stature, and benignly grand, Two social cities stood on either hand— Byzantium and Perinthus, each display'd A sister's heart by grateful pleasure sway'd; As each was seen a friendly arm to bend, Fondly to crown their tutelary friend. Such honours, Athens, were assign'd to thee, Aid of the weak, and guardian of the free! While thy Demosthenes could rule the tide Of civic fortune and of public pride. Beneath his auspices so Sculpture rose, The sweet remembrancer of baffled foes, Call'd by confederated states to shew From lib'ral union what fair blessings flow; The brilliant lesson her bold work display'd, And Gratitude and Glory bless'd her aid.

Nor was it thine, enchanting Art! alone With public virtue to inspirit stone, Diffusing, by the praise thy forms express'd, Heroic ardour through a people's breast: 'Twas thine, for loftier minds above the croud, With gifts of rare pre-eminence endow'd, To counteract the ills that base mankind To envied Genius have too oft assign'd. When Thebes (induc'd her Pindar to condemn By abject anger and malignant phlegm) Fin'd her free bard for daring to rehearse The praise of Athens in his lib'ral verse, Kind Sculpture then, his Attic friend, arose, And well aveng'd him of ungen'rous foes. Pleas'd her just tribute to the bard to give, She taught his figure, like his verse, to live: Athens, of finer Arts the bounteous queen, Display'd his statue in her public scene. Seated in regal state, the crown, the lyre, Announc'd the sov'reign of the lyric quire: Greece, who, with all a mother's transport, found Envy's base cry in Honour's plaudit drown'd, Smil'd on the splendid palm the poet won, And fondly hail'd her glory-giving son, Whose Muse rich nectar to the mind conveys, Poignant and sweet!—Morality and Praise! Fair and benignant as his fervid Muse, Sculpture, like her, a radiant path pursues; Pleas'd to enlarge the province of renown, And add new lustre to th' Olympic crown. To him, whom Pisa's public voice proclaims As thrice a victor in her hallow'd games, The statue, rais'd beneath the guard of Jove, Shines a bright inmate of the sacred grove.

Thou fascinating scene of Arts combin'd, Where fost'ring Glory rear'd the Grecian mind! Oft, as to thee the glance of Memory turns, The spirit kindles, and the bosom burns.

Enchanting Altis! whose domain to fill Elaborate Sculpture lavish'd all her skill! Pure was the pleasure thou wert form'd to raise, Where emulation grew by honour's blaze. While triumph flush'd the happy victor's cheek, Each heart exulted in the name of Greek: Intestine feuds by Glory taught to cease, One soul inspir'd the mingled states of Greece; And public virtue felt her ardour rise From the sweet impulse of fraternal ties. Olympia! hadst thou well that spirit nurs'd Which made thee long of splendid scenes the first; Had it been thine to cherish and impart Vigour of form, and dignity of heart, Pure and unmix'd, like true heroic worth, With all the abject vice of meaner earth, No barb'rous foes had made thy triumph cease, No savage Roman had disfigur'd Greece; Nor Ammon said, (deriding, when he found Thy sculptur'd victors in Miletus crown'd,) "Where were these bodies of gigantic powers, "When the barbarian force o'erthrew your towers?

But games of honour, in effect benign, With morals flourish, and with them decline. Through hallow'd walls, where Excellence is nurs'd, Intruding Envy rarely fails to burst— Envy, whose touch corrodes, as rust on steel, Both private happiness and public weal. Envy was early an Olympian pest; Thy mangled image may this truth attest, Thiagenes! enrich'd with rare renown For many a contest, and each varied crown; Some abject rival, with resentment base, In secret dar'd thy statue to deface: The sculptur'd form, as conscious of the blow, Fell with avenging weight, and crush'd thy foe. Of Envy's sordid race, so perish'd one, Her single, nameless, despicable son. But Envy, apt for ever to increase, Prov'd most prolific in the realms of Greece; Hence her free states, by jealous jars destroy'd, Left in the polish'd world a mournful void. Corporeal strength, and intellectual power, Shone, lovely Greece! supremely as thy dower: But cordial union, the best fruit of sense, The life, the soul of national defence— Spirit, that leads the weak to foil the strong, When every bosom burns for public wrong— This spirit, thy vain sons no more the same, Fail'd to preserve, as they advanc'd in fame: Her snares around them thus Oppression threw, Taught by their feuds to sep'rate and subdue. If Greece herself her real strength had known, Greece might have foil'd the hostile world alone; In war's wild tempest an unshaken tower, Peerless in arts, and paramount in power.

Too late to save, yet potent to suspend The storm of ruin, hastening to descend, Sicyon! thy free, conciliating chief, Thy firm Aratus, planning wise relief, Reclaim'd the bickering Greeks by union's charm, Bade jarring states with social prowess arm; And, ere she sunk Oppression's helpless thrall, Of Greece protracted and adorn'd the fall. Just to his merit, Sculpture's grateful hand With grace heroic gave his form to stand: In lib'ral Corinth she the statue rear'd, And as a guardian power this patriot chief rever'd.

If e'er Greek Art, with Glory for her guide, The high-soul'd portrait form'd with fonder pride, Perchance 'twas when, a studious scene to grace, Her skill, employ'd on Plato's pensive face, Labour'd to memorize from age to age The speaking features of that fav'rite sage, Who toil'd to fix, in honour of mankind, Sublime ideas in the public mind. Enlighten'd Pagan! whose bright works display A cheering dawn before the Christian day! Where the calm grove of Academus grew Thy sculptur'd form a signal lustre threw; Rais'd by a foreign prince, whose lib'ral heart To Grecian intellect and Grecian art Paid this pure tribute, proud in thee to own The friend who taught him virtue's noblest tone. Ye sages who, aloof from martial strife, Pursu'd the purer charms of pensive life! How oft has Sculpture joy'd, with moral aim, To multiply your forms, and spread your name!

By Aesop's statue, Greece this lesson gave, Fame's path is open even to a slave; And Socrates, ordain'd in bronze to stand The honour'd labour of Lysippus' hand, Inform'd the world, although an injur'd sage Had perish'd in a storm of envious rage, Repentant Athens, sighing o'er his dust, Rever'd his glory as a public trust. How oft, before the gospel's rising ray Darted through earthly clouds celestial day, In scenes where Meditation lov'd to dwell, The public portico or private cell, Has many a pensive, philosophic bust, Repress'd the giddy, or confirm'd the just, And kept frail Virtue on her mental throne By the mild lesson of the speaking stone!

Nor breath'd Instruction in her marble scene Confin'd to stronger Man's expressive mein: The female statue gloried to inspire Maternal dignity and patriot fire. The rigid Cato, with a censor's frown, Strove from the sphere of sculptural renown Austerely to exclude the worthier frame, And rail'd at statues rais'd in woman's name, Still the stern Romans, though they ne'er possess'd That zeal for art which fill'd the Grecian breast, Gaz'd, with a generous admiration warm, On female virtue in its sculptur'd form: Witness th' equestrian image that arose To tell how Clelia, foiling potent foes By patriot spirit, in Rome's early days E'en from a hostile king extorted praise— Witness maturer form, of matron grace, Worthy, in Honour's fane, the purest place. Thou Roman statue! whose plain title shone With lustre to enrich the meanest stone, "Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi!"—Time! Could'st thou, from every art-ennobled clime Where buried Sculpture undiscover'd lies, Bid, for my choice, her latent treasures rise, Cornelia would I choose, if happy Art Show'd, in her rescu'd form, a mother's heart; Work wrought by Nature, on Perfection's plan, To claim the boundless gratitude of man; The finest work to which his thoughts can climb— Consummate beauty and the true sublime!

Sculpture! sweet power, whose moral care express'd The dearest feelings of the human breast! In early days, before the martial throng Of Grecian heroes, arm'd for Helen's wrong! 'Twas thine to shew, in Beauty's shape enshrin'd, The prime perfection of the female mind.

When young Ulysses won, in gallant strife, The child of fond Icarius for his wife, The good old man desir'd the graceful pair To live content in his paternal care; Loth to resign the darling of his sight, A peerless daughter, and his heart's delight: Heroic duties bade the prudent chief Decline the favour, to the father's grief, Who, justly feeling what forbade their stay Led his lov'd children on their distant way. 'Tis time to part—but the too tender sire Summons, in vain, his courage to retire: Nature subdues him, and the lovely bride Clings, in mute anguish, to her father's side. The noble Ithacus, of manly soul, Viewing, with pity, Nature's strong control, Says, "Sweet Penelope! thy steps are free "To guide thy father, or to follow me." The sire, with Question's agitated air, Looks up for the decision of the fair: She could not speak, but, still to Nature true, O'er her flush'd cheek her decent veil she drew. The husband and the sire, who heard her sigh, Both understood her exquisite reply; And the proud father felt his pangs beguil'd By the sweet graces of his modest child. He bless'd and bade her go: but on the spot, Often revisited, and ne'er forgot. His fondness rais'd, with a regret serene, A fair memorial of that tender scene— A graceful statue of a female frame, Sacred to love, and Modesty its name; In which kind Sculpture, by her speaking power, Express'd the feelings of that parting hour.

Enchanting Art! such ever be thy tone As graceful Nature may be proud to own! No forms of elegance Fame ranks above Thy groups of filial and parental love: Witness ye brothers of Sicilian name, Who pass'd through Aetna's desolating flame, Each, nobly loaded with a parent's weight, Spar'd by receding fire, rever'd by Fate! The brass has perish'd, whose expressive charm Display'd your virtues in the dread alarm; Yet in a Roman poet's faithful lines The perish'd brass with new existence shines— In Claudian's verse I see your bosoms thrill, And with a graceful terror tremble still!

O lovely Sculpture! when, to thee unjust, Ravage condemns thy offspring to the dust, Though form'd with power and merit to endure Through many a peaceful age of praise secure, May Muses, conscious of thy gen'rous aim, Still of thy ruin'd works the worth proclaim; And to a new and firmer life restore Thy moulder'd marble, or thy vanish'd ore! Sculpture! to Heav'n-taught Poesy allied By dignity of soul and decent pride, By talents true to Glory's guiding fires, That scorn to minister to mean desires! Dear Arts! to whom in high degrees belong Sisterly charms, by sweet alliance strong! May I aspire, of each devoutly fond, Of that alliance to confirm the bond, While both I honour in my studious hour, As Friendship dictates the presiding power, Who, when I incense on your altars throw, Guides my just hand, and gives my heart to glow!

Ingenuous Sculpture! in thy long career Of various fortune in thy Pagan sphere, Thou art intitled to the noblest praise, For adding force to worth's reflected rays! 'Twas thine to give, in that dark world of strife, Ardour to virtue, elegance to life! If Fortune, to thy purest purpose blind, Lavish'd thy honours on the worthless mind, Indignant Freedom, in some distant day, Would rise to vindicate thy moral sway. When her Timoleon with a guardian sword To injur'd Sicily her rights restor'd, Statues were tried, and all of public note Or fell or flourish'd by the people's vote. Alas! how few in regal rank are found Endear'd to Nature, as by Merit crown'd! That polish'd isle her Gelon deem'd alone Worthy to live in monumental stone. There is no art to man by Heaven convey'd Which man's rash folly dares not to degrade; And thou canst reckon, in thy numerous race, Sculptors whom skill serv'd only to disgrace: Pygmalion, burning with a vain desire, The dupe of Vanity's delirious fire! The base Perillus, Cruelty's high-priest, Condemn'd to bellow in his brazen beast; And a coarse artist from the Roman school, Of vile obscenity the venal tool! But should assembled Arts their sons produce, And all be tried for Talent's moral use, Perchance, the foremost tribe in Honour's crowd, The sons of Sculpture might be justly proud That, mark'd collectively in Fame's review, Their merit's infinite, their faults are few.

O that, redeem'd from dark Oblivion's spoils, That rich memorial of their noblest toils Which just Pasiteles, of gen'rous heart, Fram'd on the higher works of happiest Art, Might to our distant eyes, with lustre new, Of ancient genius give a wider view. Vain wish, in Lethe's gulf, by Taste abhorr'd, The literary sculptor's kind record Of works his judgment knew so well to prize, Untimely sunk, and never more to rise. But here let gratitude your merit speak, Thou learned Roman, and thou faithful Greek! Who 'mid the wrecks of time conspicuous stand, Still holding light with a benignant hand, To guide those fond advent'rers on their way Who would the wasted scenes of ancient art survey.

Pliny! whose active, comprehensive mind The richest map of Nature's realms design'd, Well hast thou mingled in thy mighty plan Sketches of arts that soften savage man! Thy studies on thy country's rugged breast Enlighten'd passion for those arts impress'd. Though modern arrogance, with envious aim, Has toil'd to undermine thy solid fame, Nature and Truth may yet, in thee, commend Their lively eulogist, their liberal friend; And Taste with grateful joy thy page explore For rich Antiquity's recover'd store. There her lost wonders seem again to live, There fresh delight to Fancy's eye they give; Like phantoms, rais'd in magic's ample bower, With all the splendor of departed power.

To one, less apt with warm applause to speak, Minutely faithful, though a rambling Greek, To thee, Pausanias! let me justly raise A column, deck'd with plenitude of praise Proportion'd to inestimable aid, And copious light with modest care display'd! Taste, by thy guidance, still has power to rove Through ancient Sculpture's consecrated grove. Delightful traveller through Talent's clime! 'Twas not thy lot to view its graceful prime: Yet, nobly careful of its glories past, 'Twas thy brave aim to make its glories last; And Time shall honour, as his years increase, Thy Panorama of enchanting Greece.

And you, ye moderns! whose fond toils display Art's ancient powers in Learning's bright array— You, whose enlighten'd minds assist my lays, Friends of my verse! accept its friendly praise! Sage Palatine! whose soul of temp'rate fire No toils could daunt, and no researches tire: Accomplish'd Junius! who, in Britain's isle, Wer't pleas'd to bask in bright Protection's smile; And noble Arundel's regard to share With those fine Arts that boast his lib'ral care. With Erudition's ample aid, 'twas thine To form a portrait of antique design, Bright as the image of elaborate skill, Where blended stones the fine mosaic fill; Where richest marbles all their tints unite, And varied splendor fascinates the sight. In thy vast work rare proof of patient toil, That glean'd from every age its spotless spoil, There breathes a warm benignity of soul, And moral beauty decorates the whole.

Of kindred spirit, in a later age, See gentle Guasco, in a friendly page, To touch a brother's heart with tender joy, On Sculpture's powers his pensive mind employ! As April drops soon thicken to a shower, The sprightly comment of a vacant hour Grew a rich work, where truth and taste have shown How life deriv'd from Art a nobler tone; Where lovely Sculpture shines benignly bright In mild Philosophy's endearing light. Alas! while Fame expects the volume penn'd By high-soul'd Montesquieu's attractive friend, Calamity, that strikes Ambition mute, Obstructs the writer in his dear pursuit! His injur'd eyes in cruel quiet close, And sink from glorious toil to dark repose.

While Art deplor'd her suffering friend's retreat, Griev'd to resign an eulogist so sweet, Her loss see Learning hasten to repay With richer floods of intellectual day!

She, potent guide of each aspiring mind That aims to please and benefit mankind— She, in a petty cell of German dust, Taught youthful Genius in her aid to trust; Break his just way through Poverty's base bar, And vault victorious into Glory's car. Yes, fervid Winkelman! this praise is thine, Thou bold enthusiast of a heart benign! Nature exults to mark thy happier course, And the fair triumph of thy mental force; Though Fortune blended thy rare lot to fill, As for the Grecian bard, extremes of good and ill. But though thy life became a ruffian's prey, Nobly secur'd from peril and decay Thy well-earn'd fame shall Time's respect command, Thy merits live, engrav'd by friendship's hand; And grateful Art, where'er her powers may rise, That fond historian of her charms shall prize Who, with enlighten'd love, describ'd the whole, Each changeful feature, and her inmost soul.

If Art exults in his aspiring flight Who as her champion rose, in penury's despite, While gratitude her graceful bosom sways, She owns a debt of no inferior praise Due to her different friend, of Gallic name, Who, high in rank, in fortune, and in fame, To her dear service his rich purse assign'd, With all the radiance of his richer mind, Shining through clouds that thicken'd to o'erwhelm His lov'd Antiquity's embellish'd realm; Whose treasures, bright'ning at his touch, commend The piercing genius of their studious friend: Thou, to whom idle nobles are a foil! Thou model of munificence and toil! Accomplish'd Caylus! if thy zeal sublime Lavish'd on Art thy treasure and thy time, Thine idol, blameless as the peaceful dove, Paid thee with pleasure equal to thy love. She sooth'd thee in thy gasp of parting breath, And charm'd thy spirit through the shades of death. Mild, lib'ral spirit! take (to thee not new!) Tribute from English truth to merit due! For once a Briton, who enjoy'd, with wealth, Conceal'd munificence to charm by stealth, Surpris'd thee with a splendid gift, design'd A nameless homage to thy letter'd mind, To both an honour!—O, instructive Time, Ripen the nations to that sense sublime, To own the folly of contention's rage, That makes the globe a gladiator's stage; Till blood-stain'd rivals boast no other strife But which may best befriend art, science, truth, and life.