The National Paintings
by Joseph Rodman Drake (1795�1820) |
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AWAKE, ye forms of verse divine!
Painting! descend on
canvas wing,�
And hover o'er my head, Design!
Your
son, your glorious son, I sing;
At Trumbull's name I
break my sloth,
To load him with poetic riches:
The
Titian of a table-cloth!
The Guido of a pair of breeches!
Come, star-eyed maid, Equality!
In thine adorer's
praise I revel;
Who brings, so fierce his love to thee,
All forms and faces to a level:
Old, young, great, small,
the grave, the gay,
Each man might swear the next his
brother,
And there they stand in dread array,
To fire
their votes at one another.
How bright their buttons
shine! how straight
Their coat-flaps fall in plaited
grace!
How smooth the hair on every pate!
How vacant
each immortal face!
And then the tints, the shade, the
flush,
(I wrong them with a strain too humble),
Not
mighty Sherred's strength of brush
Can match thy glowing
hues, my Trumbull!
Go on, great painter! dare be
dull�
No longer after Nature dangle;
Call rectilinear
beautiful;
Find grace and freedom in an angle;
Pour on
the red, the green, the yellow,
"Paint till a horse may
mire upon it,"
And, while I 've strength to write or
bellow,
I 'll sound your praises in a sonnet. |
By Joseph Rodman Drake (1795�1820)
Listed June 11, 2013This poem honors John Trumbull's
masterpiece,
"Declaration of Independence, July 4,
1776".
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