Like friendly colours found them both unite,
And each from each contract new ftrength and light.
How oft in pleasing tasks we wear the day,
While summer-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-ftudied marbles fix our eye;
A fading Fresco here demands a figh :
Each heav'nly piece unwearied we compare,
Match Raphael's grace with thy lov'd Guido's air,
Carracci's ftrength, Correggio's fofter line,
Paulo's free ftroke, and Titian's warmth divine.
How finifh'd with illuftrious toil appears
This fmall, well polifh'd Gem, the work of years! 40
Yet ftill how faint by precept is express'd
The living image in the painter's breast ?
Thence endless ftreams of fair Ideas flow,
Strike in the sketch, or in the picture glow;
Thence Beauty, waking all her forms, fupplies
An Angel's fweetnefs, 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 employed above twenty years in finishing his poem.
Bid her be all that chears or foftens 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 Worfley's cyes;
Each pleafing Blount shall endless smiles bestow,
And foft Belinda's blush for ever glow.
Oh lafting as thofe Colours may they shine,
Free as thy ftroke, yet faultless as thy line;
New graces yearly like thy works display,
Soft without weakness, without glaring gay;
Led by fome rule, that guides, but not conftrains;
And finifh'd more thro' happiness than pains.
The kindred Arts fhall in their praise confpire,
One dip the pencil, and one ftring the lyre.
Yet fhould the Graces all thy figures place,
And breathe an air divine on ev'ry face;
Yet should the Mufes bid my numbers roll
Strong as their charms, and gentle as their foul;
With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgewater vie,
And these be sung 'till Granville's Myra die :
Alas! how little from the grave we claim !
Thou but preferv'ft a Face, and I a Name,
With the WORKS of VOITURE.
N thefe gay thoughts the Loves and Graces fhine,
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 eftcem no lefs 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 carelefs, innocently gay,
Chearful he play'd the trifle, Life, away;
'Till fate scarce felt his gentle breath fuppreft,
As finiling Infants sport themselves to reft.
Ev'n rival Wits did Voiture's death deplore,
And the gay mourn'd who never mourn'd before;
The trueft hearts for Voiture heav'd with fighs,
Voiture was wept by all the brighteft Eyes:
The Smiles and Loves had dy'd in Voiture's death,
But that for ever in his lines they breathe.
Let the ftri&t life of graver mortals be
A long, exact, and ferious Comedy;
In ev'ry fcene fome Moral let it teach,
And, if it can, at once both please and preach.
Let mine, an innocent gay farce appear,
And more diverting ftill than regular,
Have Humour, Wit, a native Eafe and Grace,
Tho' not too ftrictly bound to Time and Place:
Critics in Wit, or Life, are hard to please,
Few write to those, and none can live to these.
Too much your Sex is by their forms confin'd,
Severe to all, but moft to Womankind;
Cuftom, grown blind with Age, must be your guide;
Your pleafure is a vice, but not your pride;
By Nature yielding, ftubborn but for fame;
Made Slaves by honour, and made fools by Shame.
Marriage may all those petty Tyrants chafe,
But fets up one, a greater in their place:
Well might you wish for change by thofe accurft,
But the laft Tyrant ever proves the worst.
Still in constraint your fuff'ring Sex remains,
Or bound in formal, or in real chains:
Whole years neglected, for fome months ador'd,
The fawning Servant turns a haughty Lord.
Ah quit not the free innocence of life,
For the dull glory of a virtuous Wife;
Nor let falfe Shews, nor empty Titles please:
Aim not at Joy, but reft content with ease.
The Gods, to curfe Pamela with her pray❜rs,
Gave the gilt Coach and dappled Flanders Mares,
The fhining robes, rich jewels, beds of ftate,
And, to complete her blifs, a Fool for Mate.
She glares in Balls, front Boxes, and the Ring,
A vain, unquiet, glitt'ring, wretched Thing!
Pride, Pomp, and State but reach her outward part; 55 She fighs, and is no Duchess at her heart.
But, Madam, if the fates withftand, and you
Are deftin'd Hymen's willing Victim too;
Truft not too much your now refiftless charms,
Thofe, Age or Sickness, foon or late difarms :
Good humour only teaches charms to laft,
Still makes new conquefts, and maintains the paft;
Love, rais'd on Beauty, will like that decay,
Our hearts may bear its flender chain a day;
As flow'ry bands in wantonnefs are worn,
A morning's pleasure, and at ev'ning torn;
This binds in ties more eafy, yet more strong,
The willing heart, and only holds it long.
Thus Voiture's early care ftill fhone the fame,
And Monthaufier was only chang'd in name :
By this, ev'n now they live, ev'n now they charm,
Their Wit ftill fparkling, and their flames ftill warm.
Now crown'd with Myrtle, on th' Elyfian coaft,
Amid those Lovers, joys his gentle Ghost :
Pleas'd, while with fmiles his happy lines you view, 75
And finds a fairer Rambouillet in you.
The brightest eyes in France infpir'd his Mufe ;
The brighteft eyes of Britain now peruse;
And dead, as living, 'tis our Author's pride
Still to charm those who charm the world befide.
|