Blest in the period of your glory’s birth,
When Art can bid it live to decorate the Earth!
Alas! what deeds, where virtue reign’d,
Have in oblivion’s darkness died,
When Painting, by the Goths enchain’d,
No life-securing tints supplied!
Of all thy powers, enchanting Art,
Thou deemest this the dearest part,
To guard the rights of valour, and afford
Surviving lustre to the Hero’s sword: