The Pencil’s glowing Lines and vast Command,
And Mankind rising from the Painter’s Hand,
The awful Judge array’d in beamy Light,
And Spectres trembling at the dreadful Sight,
To sing, O Muse, the pious Bard inspire,
And waken in his Breast the sacred Fire.
The hallow’d Field, a bare white Wall of late,
Now cloath’d in gaudy Colours, shines in State;
And lest some little Interval confess
Its antient simple Form and homely Dress,
The skilful Artist laid o’er every Part
The first Foundation of his future Art:
O’er the wide Frame his ductile Colours led,
And with strong Primings all the Wall o’erspread.
As e’er yon’ spangling Orbs were hung on high,
Lest one great Blank should yawn thro’ boundless Sky,
Thro’ the wide heavenly Arch and trackless Road
In Azure Volumes the pure
(Nicholas Amhurst)
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Based on Topics: Light Poems, Sense & Perception Poems, Fire Poems, Art Poems, Drawing & Painting Poems, Inspirational PoemsBased on Keywords: spangling