Yet here all eyes, the skilful and unskill'd,

Imprefs'd with awe, and with amazement fill'd,

From the blest features of the god imbibe

Such thoughts as meliorate his mortal tribe.
Phidias! all' vouch thy fame, though not in speech-
Thine, the prime glory pagan minds could reach-
Thine, to have form'd, in fuperftition's hour,

The noblest semblance of celestial power!

Illuftrious artist! in thy fignal lot

What stains the glory of thy country blot!
Genius of Athens! forrow feals thy lips,
And all thy fplendour finks in dark eclipse,
When history shews with a regret benign,

The fins of base ingratitude were thine

I 20

Ingratitude to men, whose skill fublime

Gave thee to triumph o'er the rage of time!

How, Phidias was thy heart with anguish stung,

When public malice, by thy pupil's tongue,

Charg'd thee, whofe mind was caft in honor's mould,

With the mean facrilege of pilfer'd gold !

But thee thy Pericles, that noble name

Who rear'd thy talents, and who shares thy fame,

By generous Friendship's providential care

Refcu'd from Slander's execrable snare

Vengeance was thine, that vengeance just and grand,
Which fires wrong'd genius with an eager hand

Of national iniquity to foil

Th' oppreffive aim, by new and nobler toil,

Till Envy's felf with wonder stand aghast,
Seeing the works that wak'd her rage furpass'd.
So with himself this injur'd artist ftrove,
His far-fam'd Pallas yielded to his Jove;
And grateful Elis, proud new palms to gain,
Boasted, with truth, of Phidias justly vain,
That Athens was eclips'd by her Olympian fane *.

Still dear to fame, though fickleness, thy joy,
Urg'd thee, by turns, to cherish and destroy
The very excellence thy breast supplied,
Child of thy love, and nurfling of thy pride,

• See NOTE III.

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140

Even thy foes, O Athens! mourn'd thy fate,

When fierce Lyfander thunder'd at thy gate,

And all thy wounded Arts felt War's o'erwhelming

weight

War, whence the worst of human mifery springs;

The people's folly, and the guilt of kings.
Thy Pericles, whose talents feem'd to claim

A monarch's empire, with a patriot's name—
He, thy untitled king, whofe liberal mind
Genius enrich'd, and discipline refin'd;
Whose potent voice control'd a people free,
As Heaven's prefiding breath commands the sea-

He, who delighted on fine Art to raise

The deathless fabric of his country's praise;

Taught public wealth to rear ingenious worth,
Exalted Nature, and embellish'd earth-
He, by mild virtues to the world endear'd,
Whose dying boaft Humanity rever'd—

E'en he, by fits of martial frenzy sway'd,

To blood's dire demons a rash offering made;

I

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160

And, blind to ill his nature must abhor,
Hurried his nation to that fatal war

Whose lengthen'd horrors on his Athens threw

Difgrace that Death hid kindly from his view,
When at the favage Spartan's foot she lay;
Her fhame his pride, her ornaments his

prey *.
Wherever Liberty, when doom'd to weep

In tranfient pangs, or fink in death-like fleep,
Loft her quick fpirit, wounded or betray'd,
Her fofter'd Arts with filial grief decay'd.

But fhort, in Athens, was the baleful course

Of envious Tyranny and Spartan force.
Her thirty tyrants, with a robber's dread,
From the just arm of Trafybulus fled:

His patriot virtue burst the servile yoke,

170

And, bright from brief eclipfe, effulgent Freedom

broke;

Attendant Arts her fatellites appear,

And shed new luftre round her Attic sphere.

* See NOTE IV.

180

When happy Genius, by a daring flight,

Has seem'd to perch on proud Perfection's height,
Afraid on difproportion'd wings to rise,

Aw'd and abash'd, weak Emulation dies.

Such fate had Poefy for Homer's Muse,

No Greek with profperous rivalship pursues.
Sculpture, more fruitful, though she joy'd to claim

For her dear Phidias pure Homeric fame,

Not to one darling felt her pride confin'd,

But to new fons new excellence affign'd*.

Scopas! in wond'rous harmony 'twas thine The charms of paffion and of grace to join ; Thy skill exprefs'd new fhades of foft defire,

Each varying character of Cupid's fire.

In thy gay figure Bacchus fmil'd to fee

His gambols of tumultuary glee.

Thy genius wrought, by different powers infpir'd,

As fondness wifh'd, or dignity requir'd!

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200

* See NOTE V.