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And in a turret place the bell
That from the dark and dreary cell,
At midnight hour, breaks off the sleep
Of those who only wake to weep.
Beneath the wall's dark umbrage place,
Repentance mark'd upon her face,
Some aged and repentant Dame,
That doth the heav'nly mercies claim.
Let her before His Image bend,
Who died to be the Sinner's Friend;
And hang the cross adown her side,
Emblem of that whereon He died.
Make her eyes shed the dropping tear,
As tho' she urg'd a doubtful prayer;
And give to the repentant Nun,
The wrinkled form of H ** TON.

Thus, thus, my Friend, exert your art, And please the eye, and mend the heart ! Uncrimson A ** R's gawdy face, But leave her all her share of Grace. To M* LB ** give her Father's spirit, And D** R all her Mother's merit. Make C** N sober, P* refin'd, And B** gen'rous, brave and kind. Let them their better Natures see, And paint them what they ought to be.

Already youthful BEDFORD'S Sword, Urg'd by the valor of its Lord,

Gives, to a dragon's form, the wound
That lays the monster on the ground.

-So may he in his future Age Quell Passion's unrelenting rage; Or, by his sweetness, soothe to rest The Tyrants of the human breast.

Then be yourself! nor blend your With Artists of inferior name.


Do not your moral works expose

At Royal-Academic shows;

But thus hold forth, to mend the Town, An exhibition all your own !

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FAIR Artist! well thy pencil has essay'd
To lend a poet's fame thy friendly aid;
Great DANTE's image in thy lines we trace ;
And, while the Muses' train thy colors grace,
The Muse propitious on the draught shall smile,
Nor, envious, leave unsung the generous toil.

Picture and Poetry just kindred claim,
Their birth, their genius, and pursuits the same;
Daughters of Phoebus and Minerva, they
From the same sources draw the heavenly ray.
Whatever earth, or air, or ocean breeds,
Whatever luxury or weakness needs;
All forms of beauty Nature's scenes disclose,
All images inventive arts compose;

What ruder passions tear the troubled breast,
What mild affections sooth the soul to rest,
Each thought to fancy magic numbers raise,
Expressive picture to the sense conveys.
Hence in all times with social zeal conspire
Who blend the tints, and who attune the lyre.
See in reviving Learning's infant dawn,
Ere yet its precepts from old ruins drawn,
Sham'd the mock ornaments of Gothic taste,
New Artists form'd, each Grecian bust replac'd;
Ere Leo's voice awak'd the barbarous age,
Oppress'd by monkish law and Vandal rage:
See! Dante, Petrarch, through the darkness strive,
And Giotto's pencil bid their forms survive!
When now maturer growth fair Science knew,
Titian her favor'd sons ambitious drew;
Not half so proud with princes to adorn
His tablets, as with wits less nobly born,
Ariosto, Aretine, yet better skill'd
On Letters and on Virtue Fame to build:
These in their turn instruct the willing song,
The painter's fading glories to prolong.
In later times, hear Waller's polish'd verse
The various beauties of Vandyck rehearse;
And Dryden in sublimer strains impart
To Kneller praise more lasting than his art.

Friendships like these from time receive no law, Contracted oft with those we never saw;

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In every art who court an endless fame
Through distant ages catch the sacred flame.
See Zeuxis, warm'd by Homer's rage divine,
With rapture read, and what he reads, design!
See Julio, bred on the Parnassian soil,
With Virgil's grandeur dignify his toil!
Clovio, perhaps, like aid to Dante ow'd;
Instant his figure on the canvass glow'd:
To Dante's fame the graceful colors flow,
And wreaths of laurel bind his honor'd brow.

Thou too, whom Nature and the Muse inspire,
Listening the poet's lore hast caught his fire;
With so much spirit every feature fraught,
Clovio might own this imitated draught;
And Dante, were he conscious of the praise,
Would sing thy labors in immortal lays ;
His melancholy air to gladness turn'd,

Nor longer his unthankful Florence mourn'd:
Fair Beatrice's charms would lose their force,
No more her steps o'er Heaven direct his course;
To thee the Bard would grant the nobler place,
And ask thy guidance through the paths of peace.
Oh! could my eloquence, like his, persuade
To leave the bounded walks by others made,
Through Nature's wilds bid thy free genius rove,
Copy the living race, or waving grove ;
Or boldly rising with superior skill,
The work with Heroes or with Poets fill;

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