P ODT Y. 
REYNOLDS, AS AN ARTIST. 
From Mr. Shee’s Commemoration of Reynolds. 
Tuo’ Reynolds,{long superior and alone, 
Possessed in Art an undisputed throne, 
Yet hardly conscious what his powers achieved, 
A cold, reluctant homage he received. 
By some few minds of sounder judgment awed, 
The mob of taste affected to applaud. 
But far beyond his age his heart aspired, 
And few cou’d tell his worth, though all admired: 
Mistaken praise still mortified his aim— 
Th’ applause of Ignorance polluting fame ; 
With humbled hope he:bowed to Fashion’s reign, 
And saw with sorrow he exéelled in vain. 
For e’en of those who felt his merits most,— 
On whom his labours were not wholly lost, 
How few cou’d judge the skill his works impart, 
Or take his towering altitude of art! 
But now with purer eye prepared to gaze, 
By Taste as well as Fashion taught to praise, 
We do him tardy justice, and explore 
With pride those beauties unobserved before ; 
Collect the wonders of his hand with care, 
And estimate as jewels rich and rare ; 
As brilliant gems of art as ever graced 
The Muse of painting from the mine of taste. 
No longer echoing envy’s idle cry, 
Let fools exclaim, «*« How Reynolds’ colours fiy !’” 
Behold in hues that rival Nature’s glow, 
Bright as the sunbeam or celestial bow ; 
By Time untarnished, and by Genius crowned, 
Our British Titian sheds his glory round. 
While minor stars their weaker rays combine, 
And former lights with feeble radiance shine ; 
His single beam illumes the graphic skies, 
And pours a summer’s lustre on our eyes. 
In all his works astonished Nature views 
Her silvery splendors and her golden hues ; 
Sublime in motion, or at rest serene, 
Her charms of air and action, all are seen. 
There Grace appears in ever-varied forms, 
There Vigor animates and Beauty warms ; 
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