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The Ode performed at the new Exhibition Room of the
Royal Incorporated Society of Artists of Great Britain, written by E. Lloyd.
............ Ingenuas didicisse fideliter Artes
"Twas where grim Mars with ruin strew'd the
Death revel 'midst her progeny:
Ye powers ! sooth a mother's care;
Her pray'r prevail'dfrom Heav'n the muse
descends, And in her train each liberal art attends.
In softer murmurs let the hills
The choir of Phoebus sings !
And tame the hearts of Kings !
The sister of the pencil came
Hail! wond'rous art! whose pow'r is such
With mightiest magic fraught, It gives with a promethean touch
To colour, life, and thought!
Not Egypt's skill so well can save,
Each moral quality, no more
Abstracted notions, as before, A person'd shape assumes.
Each passion by the pencil dress'd
Than in the writer's page;
In cherub forms engage.
Less is the ardour cold narration gives
Or fame historic kindles in the breast, Than when the war in glowing colours lives,
And heroes on the canvas field contest; And less energic holy prelates call To penitence than Raphael's pictur'd Paul. What were life without the muse? Toil that wisdom would refuse; Nought of living but the breath; Days of blood, and nights of death. Genius of arts ! here turn thine eyes, Behold to thee this temple rise ! Lo! thy priests, a sacred band, Round thy altar musing stand; The sweet enthusiasts deign to inspire, And fill their breasts with thoughts of fire! When living tables they design, Stamp thou thyself on every line; Teach the passions how to glow, And virtue's comely semblance shew: Bid her every charm untold, And men reform as they behold. Let vice with gorgon terrors scare, And bid her votaries beware Open Clio's brightest page Where honour's noblest deeds engage!
To make her charms still more inflame,
Albion, thus thy gifts possessing,
And with the love of freedom burn.
Behold! the arts around us bloom,