POETRY. 696 
Of all who late adorned the public stage, _, 
The Wit—the Worth—the Fashion—of their age. 
As fixed to view by some Enchanter’s power, 
In better aspect caught, and happier hour, 
Heroes and Statesmen—Bards and Beauties here, 
In living lustre mock the world’s career : 
And seem assembled to receive with grace, 
Their rival visitants—the present race. 
But who shall gaze upon the gorgeous train ? 
And think how few around him now remain, 
Reflect—of all, that here in triumph placed, 
Partake the immortality of taste, 
How few survive to shew the picture’s truth, 
And prove in age the identity of youth, 
What fires of Genius—fallen in Time’s decay ! 
The Painter—and his Subjects—passed away ! 
What eye by Art’s allurements so engrossed ?— 
Encircled thus by such a radiant host, 
Can view unmoved those forms of life and bloom, 
Those Lights so late extinguished—in the tomb ? 
LINES ON THE DEATH OF OPIE. 
(From the same.) 
How oft, of late, o’er worth departed shed, 
The tears of Britain have embalmed the dead, 
Bewailed the Hero’s fall—the Sage’s fate, 
While public virtue sorrowed through the state ; 
Yet still unsated with the noblest prey, 
Ungorged, tho’ meaner multitudes decay ; 
’Gainst Wit and Genius, Death directs his dart, 
And strikes thro’ Opie’s side to Painting’s heart. 
Fallen from the zenith of his proud career ! 
Full in his fame, and sparkling in his sphere ! 
While o’er his Art he shed his brightest rays, 
And warmed the world of letters into praise. 
No feeble follower of a style or school ; 
No slave of system, in the chains of rule : 
His Genius kindling from within was fired, 
And first in Nature’s rudest wild aspired. 
At her pure shrine his youthful vows he paid, 
Secured her smile, and sought no other aid ; 
Enraptured still her charms alone explored, 
And to the last, with lover’s faith adored ; 
Vor, LVII. 258 
