Now full the out-line draw, and fair, A rain-bow draw; and arch it now, Now orb the sweetly-circling cheek, Now let the dancing tresses play, Like the sweet leaves that fan the May: And as in frolic sport they flow, To shade the ivory neck below, Let Zephyr kiss the locks aside, That brighten beauties they would hide. No:-he's too fond: his touch is rude, Nor let th' officious boy intrude. Now, Painter, all thy genius try: Thy boldest pencil I defy. The Bosom :-draw it, if thou dare: The Cretan's fortune thou shalt prove, Then to the mien, the form, the face, * Grace is perhaps inexplicable. Erasmus thought so. "Decorum quoddam arcanum, atque felicitas; cujus effectum in multis videmus, causam vero reddere nemo potest." (Philodox.) Horace, the most graceful of all the Roman Poets, despaired of finding it : "Quid habes illius, illius, Quæ spirabat amores, Quæ me surpuerat mihi? (Lib. 4. Od. 13.) The spirabat amores of the bard seems to have been an imitation of Anacreon, the most graceful also of all the Greek Poets, Пaida Xung TVETA, the Girlbreathing Venus. In like manner, although I do not find any of the Commentators I have opened making the remark, the Afflárat Honores of the accomplished Virgil, undoubtedly means that heaven-born Grace, which no less a personage than the Goddess of Beauty herself bestows on her son: the description of whose person (for he is now to subdue the heart of Dido) the Poet concludes by telling us, that she breathed her Graces into his eyes, lætos oculis afflárat honores: as if he had said, Euphrosyne, the fairest of the Graces, the Joy, Lætitia, (for so the word imports) the Delight of all that is excellent, had breathed her very soul into his looks; and given him that expressive beauty, that finished lustre, which divinity alone can impart, but for which no one word hath yet been invented except Grace. This word seems to imply in its primitive meaning nothing more than pleasingness, or the quality of giving delight. Yet, though we cannot define what Grace is, we can define its opposite, and say what it is not: for where decorum is absent, ungracefulness, or that which is not seemly, is sure to be found. And may be That charm unnamed, as undefined, observed, that most languages (perhaps all) possess more comprehensive terms to express the attributes of ugliness than of beauty; and this probably, because adjectives and adjectivial substantives denoting Privation, are generally derived from the Agreeable; thus defining the presence of Vice by the absence of Virtue.-Horace very properly calls the Graces decentes, decent, and becoming. It is all that mortal language by one word allowed him to say. From its intellectual import, to which at first it was limited, the word has been transferred to human performances, or the works of Genius and Art. The Пgerov and xanov of the Greeks, which the Romans borrowed, and expressed by decorum and pulchrum, have been invariably used in an ethical sense, to denote moral fitness, and the beauty of truth; or that mental perfection and excellence, which is better conceived than expressed; the same that Poets, Orators, and Painters endeavour to imitate. These remarks might be considerably extended were this the proper place to enlarge them. ADDRESS, SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, SHEFFIELD, On occasion of the Tragedy of "Edward the Black Prince," being performed for the Benefit of the Volunteer Fund. THE CHARACTERS CHIEFLY BY VOLUNTEERS. WRITTEN BY MR. E. RHODES. WHEN mad Ambition, waging impious war, Havock in front, and Famine in his rear: To Glory blind, and deaf to Nature's call, Yes, Britain's sons! still true to Honour's claim, Domestic joys, those blandishments, that give And live it shell! the vengeance of the brave Bid round our coasts death's arrowy lightnings play, SPIRIT OF UNION! thou whose influence binds, In dearest amity, consenting minds; Strength of the few! thine energies impart, This night, our Drama's scene triumphant shews A few, united, crush an host of foes; From Gallia's plains our choicest laurel bring, FROM THE FRENCH OF MLLE DE SCUDERY. THIRSIS learns you, they tell me, my fair, Fly the pleasure his lessons impart, And the heart is the road to the rest. R. A. D. |