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230  ANNUAL REGISTER

His sweet cantatas and melodious song
Shall ever warble on the tuneful tongue:
When nobler themes a loftier strain require
His bosom glows with more than mortal fire:
Not Orpheus' self could in sublimer lays
Have sung th' omnipotent Creator's praise;
With fall'n Damascus' fate display'd to view
From ev'ry eye the ready tribute drew.
  High on the radiant lift, see POPE appears,
With all the fire of youth, and strength of years:
Where'er, supreme, he points the nervous line,
Nature and art in bright conjunction shine:
How just the turns! how regular the draught!
How smooth the language! how refin'd the thought!
Secure beneath the shade of early bays,
He dar'd the thunder of great Homer's lays:
A sacred heat inform'd his daring breast,
And Homer in his genius stands confest.
To heights sublime he rais'd the pond'rous lyre,
And our cold isle grew warm with Grecian fire.
  Fain would I now th' excelling bard reveal,
And paint the feat where all the muses dwell,
Where Phoebus has his warmest smiles bestow'd,
And who most labours with th' inspiring god!
But while I strive to fix the ray divine,
And round that head the laurel'd triumph twine,
Unnumber'd bards distract my dazzled fight,
And my first choice grows faint with rival light:
So the white road that streaks the cloudless skies,
When silver Cynthia's temp'rate beams arife,
Thick set with stars o'er our admiring heads,
One undistinguish'd streaming twilight spreads;
Pleas'd we behold, from heaven's unbounded height,
A thousand orbs pour forth promiscuous light,
While all around the spangl'd lustre flows,
In vain we strive to mark which brightest glows;
From each the same enliv'ning splendors fly,
And the diffusive glory charms the eye.

FOR the YEAR 1772.     231

On seeing Mr. BARRY's Picture of VENUS rising out of the Sea, at the Exhibition of the Royal Academy in Pall-Mall. May the 8th 1772.

SUCH was the Goddess of the Cyprian Grove,
Such Homer thought her, when he dream'd of love;
The heaven-wrapt bard, has but in vision shewn,
What Barry's genius into life has thrown.
O! had he seen that breathing canvas glow,
With tints that dropp'd from off the living bow;
Beheld the goddess rising into view,
In all the charms his ravish'd fancy drew,
When quick'ning nature felt the genial fire,
And men and gods were waken'd to desire;
Rash painter, he'd have cry'd the form you've stole;
Yet dread Prometheus' fate-beware the soul.

Q4      Account

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-05-12 15:02:49