And mark yon group, transfix’d with many a throe, Seal’d with the image of eternal woe: With fearful truth, terrific power, exprest, Thy pangs, Laocoon, agonise the breast, And the stern combat picture to mankind Of suffering nature and enduring mind. Oh, mighty conflict! though his pains intense Distend each nerve, and dart through every sense; Though fix’d on him, his children’s suppliant eyes Implore the aid avenging fate denies; Though with the giant-snake in fruitless strife, Heaves every muscle with convulsive life, And in each limb existence writhes, enroll’d Midst the dread circles of the venom’d fold; Yet the strong spirit lives--and not a cry Shall own the might of Nature’s agony! That furrow’d brow unconquer’d soul reveals, That patient eye to angry Heaven appeals, That struggling bosom concentrates its breath, Nor yields one moan to torture or to death![9] Sublimest triumph of intrepid Art! With speechless horror to congeal the heart, To freeze each pulse, and dart through every vein Cold thrills of fear, keen sympathies of pain; Yet teach the spirit how its lofty power May brave the pangs of fate’s severest hour. Turn from such conflicts, and enraptured gaze On scenes where painting all her skill displays: Landscapes, by colouring dress’d in richer dyes, More mellow’d sunshine, more unclouded skies, Or dreams of bliss to dying martyrs given, Descending seraphs robed in beams of heaven. Oh! sovereign Masters of the Pencil’s might, Its depths of shadow and its blaze of light; Ye, whose bold thought, disdaining every bound, Explored the worlds above, below, around, Children of Italy! who stand alone And unapproach’d, midst regions all your own; What scenes, what beings bless’d your favour’d sight, Severely grand, unutterably bright! Triumphant spirits! your exulting eye Could meet the noontide of eternity, And gaze untired, undaunted, uncontroll’d, On all that Fancy trembles to behold.