[ 580 ] [JUNE, 



AD SCULPTOREM OELIAM EXPRIMERE CONANTEM. 



FORBEAR, forbear! 'tis idly done; 



Why task in vain thy baffled art 

 Why madly dream to chiselled stone 



The charms of Celia to impart ? 



Can bright expression's kindling strife 

 Sentient of love, and hope, and joy 



Warm the damp clay with trembling life, 

 Or fill the marble's rayless eye ? 



On man thy art be freely shewn ; 

 Bid his stern brow, without control, 



Reveal, with thought's severer frown, 

 The awful secrets of his soul. 



There strive to print the lofty look, 

 The freeborn glance of eagle pride j 



The deep resolve when Brutus strook, 

 The patriot frown when Cato died. 



Or bid, in mute and fixed distres?, 

 The princely mourner weep for aye j 



Or, stretched in infant loveliness, 

 The storm-struck lily droop and die. 



But let soft tints each grace disclose, 

 That kindly melts, or fondly warms 



When bright the blushing canvass glows 

 With Woman's ripe and perfect charm?. 



O'er bust, or block, or statued stone, 

 What lover's heart e'er fondly burned ? 



Clasped the cold bosom to his own, 

 And seemed to feel its throb returned ? 



But mark the youth with gaze intent, 

 As o'er his pictured fair he bends, 



And to that brow so sweetly brent 

 A thousand showering kisses lends ! 



Go view the quivering listlessness, 



The feebly-wandering, heart-sick eyes 



The fading flush which all express 

 A Dido's parting agonies J 



Or turn to Milan's matchless prize, 



Where pity, pride, and love contend ! 

 Lo ! where the wretched Hagar flies, 



Without a home without a friend ! 

 In silence heard the wife's command 



Though her flushed cheeks the taunt confess 

 She clasps her Ishmael's gentle hand, 



And seeks the kinder wilderness ! 

 Betrayed, heart-broken, lost, and scorned, 



With lowliest mien she wends her way ; 

 Her streaming eyes on Abraham turned, 



Yet weep their fond reproach away. 



To scenes like these, thy happiest art, 



Unequal found, must stoop its pride f 

 Struck by the bold attempt we start, 



But gaze unmoved, and turn aside. II. 



