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Plac'd on an eminence, she sat alone,
Below her vot’ries press’d around her throne.
Great Vinci first, with greater Angelo,
Sublime expression frowning on his brow,

30
Led on the daring Tuscan band severe :
Next Raphael with calm dignity drew near,
Who join'd to grand conception just design,
Conducting the majestic Roman line;
Then Titian with a gay and brilliant throng, 35
Sprung from the sea-born city, mov'd along;
Corregio in succession next pass’d by,
Leading the graceful School of Lombardy.
A genius vast, original, and bold,
The numerous band of Holland's sons controllid; 40
And with his Flemish train, of pomp profuse,
The gorgeous Rubens dazzled e'en the Muse.
In order due arranged on either hand,
Beside the silent Queen they take their stand ;
Before whose throne Helvetia stood, to claim 45
For an aspiring votary of Fame
Admittance to these realms:-“O Muse," she cried,
“ The Master's works contemplate, and decide.”
While speaking thus, her wand on high she rear'd,
And lo! a train of pictur'd groups appear'd ; 50
Heroic phantoms seem'd to start from night,
And forms of beauty floated 'fore my sight;
From ages past reflected scenes arose,
Of human passions, and eternal woes.
There I beheld pourtray'd the lofty story

55 Of Man's first fall, and Satan's tarnish'd glory. There rose the spectre Prophet from the tomb, To Saul announcing his impending doom.

Of Ilion's tale a vision seem'd to speak,
And the long wand'rings of the prudent Greek. 60
There Eriphyle bleeds upon the ground,
While Furies fly t’ avenge the impious wound.
In horror plunged, deplor'd Jocasta's son
The fated crimes he strove in vain to shun.
Here stalk'd the shadow of the murder'd Dane; 65
Appall’d, methought I saw th' astonish'd Thane
Hail'd by each wither'd hag ;- From Helle's tide
Th' enamour’d youth rush'd to his Sestian bride.
There, lost to hope, the lovers mourn for ever!
Whom not th’infernal whirlwind's rage can sever. 70
The traitor Guelph, too, ʼmidst his famish'd brood,
Expects in Death th' eternal feast of blood.
In knightly guise th’ heroic Virgin's arm
Redeems fair Amoret from magic charm:
And Arthur slept; who woke but to deplore 75
The Beauty lov’d for ever, seen no more.
On the aërial portraiture, amaz’d,
In pleasing wonder lost, intent I gaz’d;
As Sorrow, Guilt, Despair, the scenes express’d,
Awe, Terror, Pity, sway'd by turns my breast; 80
When, suddenly, I saw the heaven-born Maid
Of sacred numbers, from a neighbouring glade,
'Midst the great masters of immortal song,
Toward the throne of Painting move along.
Now blind no more Mæonides, and he,

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The daring Bard of Man's apostasy,
With buskind Sophocles, and lofty Gray,
Spenser, sweet master of the moral lay;
Severely grand, the Florentine sublime,
And Avon's Bard, unmatch'd by age or clime,

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All crowd the visionary scenes t’ admire,
Pleas'd that such scenes their genius could inspire.
While onward the poetic Virgin press’d,
And her who reign'd o’er Painting, thus address'd :-
“O Muse! who charmest silently, attend

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To Poesy, thy Sister, and thy friend.
No vot’ry of that art o'er which you reign,
The nobler walks could ever yet attain,
Unless I urged him proudly to aspire,
And kindled in his breast poetic fire.

100 Belgia, without my aid, may tint the scene With golden hues, and mimic Nature's green; Immortalize the Peasant and his can, Without selection, imitating Man; Or through transparent veins life's tide may gush, 105 Tinging Venetian canvass with the blush Of glowing Nature; uninspir'd by me, The Rose of Merian may deceive the bee ; At Rembrandt's touch the shining robe may flow, The diamond sparkle, or the ruby glow;

110 But he whom I inspire disdains such praise ; The soul's emotions, ardent, he displays; Fearless he wields Invention's magic wand, Sprites, fays, and spectres rise at his command; Unveil'd, the Passions at his will appear,

115 E'en Heavenly essences he dares t’unsphere; As, from Promethean touch each image glows, And what the Poet thought the Painter shews. While 'midst Helvetia's native hills, before This foster-son of Britain sought her shore,

120 I mark'd the future promise in the child; The fire of genius, vigorous, and wild,

Sparkled in infancy, in manhood blaz’d;
You won his youthful fancy, as he gaz'd,
Th' enthusiast strove your favour to attain, 125
And I propitious, smild, and pointed to your Fane.
On Leban's brow the cedar tow'ring high
Boasts not the lowly flow'ret's gaudy dye;
Others may in the humbler parts excel,
But, Queen, did ever artist think so well ? 130
Is not the highest merit of your art,
T'exalt the fancy, and to touch the heart ?
Then welcome the poetic Painter, Muse,
Nor to my fav'rite deathless fame refuse!"
She ceased ; nor vainly pled the Heavenly fair; 135
Th' assenting Muse approv'd her sister's prayer:
“Enter these realms," she cried; "th' award be thine,
Amidst the sons of Genius here to shine,
Where Envy's tongue no longer shall prevail :
Hail Fuseli! Immortal artist, hail !”

140 Resounding acclamations, as she spoke, Burst on my ear, I started, and awoke.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

LONDON: PHINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,

Dorset Street, Fleet Street.

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