UT PICTURA POESIS.

By Mr. NOURSE, late of All Souls College Oxon, 1741.

AS once the Muse, reclining on her lyre,
Observ'd her fav'rite bards, a num'rous choir;
The conscious pleasure swell'd her silent breast,
Her secret pride exulting smiles confest.

When thus her sister spoke, whose care presides
O'er the mixt pallat, and the pencil guides,
Just, Goddess, is thy joy, thy train, we own,
Approaches nearest to Apollo's throne.
Foremost in Learning's ranks they sit sublime,
Honour'd and lov'd thro' every age of time:
Yet let me say, some fav'rite son of mine
Has more than follow'd every son of thine.
Thy Homer needs not grieve to hear his fame
Exceeds not Raphael's widely honour'd name:
Raphael like him 'midst ages wrapt in night,
Rose father of his science to the light;
With matchless grace, and majesty divine,
Bade Painting breathe, and live the bold design;
To the clay-man the heavenly fire apply'd,
And gave it charms to Nature's self deny'd.

With judgment, genius, industry and art,
Does Virgil captivate his reader's heart?
With rival talents my Caracci blest
Fires with like transport the spectator's breast.
The youthful Lucan, who with rapid force
Urg'd by Pharsalia's field the Muse's horse,
An equal fire, an equal strength of mind,
In Angelo's congenial soul will find:
Whose wild imagination could display
Fierce giants whirl'd from heaven — the world's last day.

With more success does tender Ovid move
The melting soul to softness and to love;
Than wanton Titian, whose warm colours shew
That gods themselves the amorous riot know?
Thy grandeur, Paulo, and thy happy stroke,
I proudly own my emulation spoke,
For I bestow'd them, that the world might see,
A Horace too of mine arise in thee.

Lo! where Poussin his magic colours spreads,
Rise tower'd towns, rough rocks, and flow'ry meads:
What leagues between those azure mountains lie,
(Whose less'ning tops invade the purple sky)
And this old oak, that shades this hollow way,
Amidst whose windings sheep and oxen stray!
'Tis thus Theocritus his landskip gives,
'Tis thus the speaking picture moves and lives.

Alike in Terence and in Guido's air,
Our praise the height of art and nature share.
In broader mirth if Plautus tread the stage,
With equal humour Hemskirk's boors engage.

She spoke, with friendly emulation stirr'd,
And Phoebus from his throne with pleasure heard.