Fuseli's letter, however, made so deep an impression, that the Academy were about to reject the book altogether, as unworthy a place in their library; but after some debate, they came to the resolution to allow the first volume to remain there, but to withdraw the subscription for the second. And on the 20th of February, 1794, at a general meeting of Academicians, they came to this resolution, "That Mr. Fuseli has conducted himself properly in his remarks on Mr. Bromley's book." In consequence of the opposition of Fuseli, the second volume was never published. In 1794, Fuseli painted for Mr. Seward "The Conspiracy of Catiline." This gentleman was so much pleased with the picture, that he wrote the following verses, which were published in the "Whitehall Evening Post," in the December that year, and copied into the "European Magazine, for January 1795." TO HENRY FUSELI, ESQ. R.A. ON HIS LATE PICTURE OF THE CONSPIRACY OF CATILINE. Artist sublime! with every talent blest, That Buonarroti's great and awful mind confest; Whose magic colours, and whose varying line Embody things, or human or divine; Behold the effort of thy mastering hand, See Catilina's parricidal band, By the lamp's tremulous, sepulchral light, Profane the sacred silence of the night; To Hell's stern King their curs'd libations pour, While the rich goblet foams with human gore. See how, in full and terrible array, Their fatal poignards they at once display, Direly resolving, at their Chief's behest, To sheath them only in their Country's breast. Too well pourtray'd, the scene affects our sight With indignation, horror, and affright. Then quit these orgies, and with ardent view Fam'd Angelo's advent'rous track pursue; Let him extend thy[44] terrible career Beyond the visible diurnal sphere, Burst Earth's strong barrier, seek th' abyss of Hell, Where sad Despair and Anguish ever dwell; In glowing colours to our eyes disclose The monster Sin, the cause of all our woes; To our appall'd and tortur'd senses bring Death's horrid image, Terror's baneful King; And at the last, the solemn, dreadful hour, We all may bless thy pencil's saving power; Our danger from thy pious colours see, And owe eternity of bliss to thee. Then to the Heaven of heavens ascend, pourtray The wonders of th' effulgent realms of day; Around thy pallet glorious tints diffuse, Mix'd from th' ethereal arch's vivid hues; With every grace of beauty and of form, Inspire thy mind, and thy rich fancy warm. Cherub and seraph, now, in "burning row," Before the throne of Heaven's high Monarch bow, And, tun'd to golden wires, their voices raise In everlasting strains of rapt'rous praise.