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EPISTLE VI.

ARTS were an early gift of heavenly grace,
To chear and strengthen man's afflicted race;
And now, dear Flaxman ! in thy art I find
A lenient med'cine for a tortur'd mind:
Elfe, in this season of paternal grief,
When, from dark fickness that eludes relief,

Thy dear difciple's pangs my fpirit pierce,
Could I refume this long-suspended verse!

Years have elaps'd, and years that have imprefs'd
Deepest affliction on my wounded breast,

IO

Since, at the fight of malady unknown

That prey'd on health far dearer than my own,

The lyre, whofe chords should with thy glory fwell, fond hand, by forrow palfied, fell;

From my

And all my faculties of heart and foul

Had but one aim —to make the fickly whole.
But Heaven still tries the never-failing truth
Of patient virtue in this fuff'ring youth.
Sunk as he is, and doom'd in pain to gasp,
(A young Prometheus in a vulture's clafp!)
His purer fpirit does not Heaven arraign,
Or breathe a murmur on his galling chain :
But on the master, to his heart endear'd,
Whose powers he idoliz'd, whofe worth rever'd,
His generous thoughts with juft attachment turn,
And for thy honour boast a brave concern.

Fondly he bids his father's falt'ring hand

Resume th' unfinish'd work by Friendship plann'd.
Forgive the filial love that deems thy friend,

Weak as he is, may yet thy fame extend!

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The wish of filial excellence diftrefs'd

To me is facred as a God's beheft:
Hence I with fond precipitancy frame
The verse devoted to thy honour'd name.
Pardon, if trouble can but ill achieve

What joy should execute, with leisure's leave!

Here, if these sketches of thy art fucceed, Her ancient reign the fair and young may read ; Her modern empire, and her future power, May form my subject in a happier hour,

If happier hours may to that heart be given

Which leans, with unexhaufted hope, on Heaven.

Whatever lot, excelling friend! is mine,

I bend, with gratitude, to power divine
That thou, whose progress in thy noble aim

I deem a portion of my country's fame—
That thou enjoy'ft the spirit's genuine wealth,
Unfetter'd genius, and unfading health !

The bards of Greece have twin'd thy laurel crown,

And form'd the prelude of thy rich renown:

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Homer and Æfchylus thy mind inspire
With all their varied grace, and vivid fire:
Deck'd by thy pencil, they with joy affign
To thee the focial palm of pure defign;

And Britain, while her naval triumphs blaze
Above the boast of Græcia's brightest days,
Looks to thy talent with a parent's pride,
Pleas'd to thy skill her glory to confide,
Fit to record, with monumental art,

The fimple grandeur of her feaman's heart *.

O, while with joy to Honour's nobleft height

I view, in fancy, thy Dadalean flight!

Thy little Icarus I yet must mourn,

Soon, from thy fide, by cruel fickness torn,
(Not rafhly drown'd in fond Ambition's sea,)
Still breathing, ftill in heart attach'd to thee!
I know he ftill, though diftant from thy care,
Lives in thy love, and profpers in thy prayer;

*

See NOTE I.

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For I beheld in thy parental eyes

The tear of tender admiration rise,..

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When noble labours of his crippled hand,

Achiev'd by courage, by affection plann'd,

Drew from thy judgment that sweet praise fincere
Which even Agony has smil'd to hear *.

That crippled hand, so skill'd, in early youth,
To feize the graceful line of fimple Truth,
More by increafing malady opprefs'd,
Sinks, in its fetters, to reluctant reft ;
And thy dark veil, Futurity! enshrouds
Its diftant fortune in no common clouds.
Magnanimous and grateful to the last,

The fuff'rer bleffes Heaven for bounties paft:
Pleas'd under Flaxman to have ftudied Art,

(Child of thy choice, and pupil of thy heart !)
His spirit trusts that, where thy talents reign,

His virtuous wish may yet be known, though vain;

See NOTE II.

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