Page:The Poems of John Dyer (1903).djvu/97

 Like those that canopy the bow'rs of Stowe After soft rains, when birds their notes attune, Ere the melodious nightingale begins. From yon broad vase behold the saffron woofs Beauteous emerge ; from these the azure rise ; This glows with crimson ; that the auburn holds ; These shall the prince with purple robes adorn, And those the warrior mark, and those the priest. Few are the primal colours of the art ; Five only ; black, and yellow, blue, brown, red ; Yet hence innumerable hues arise. That stain alone is good which bears unchang'd Dissolving waters, and calcining suns, And thieving air's attacks. How great the need With utmost caution to prepare the woof, To seek the best-adapted dyes, and salts, And purest gums ! since your whole skill consists In opening well the fibres of the woof For the reception of the beauteous dye, And wedging every grain in every pore, Firm as a diamond in rich gold enchas'd. But what the pow'rs which lock them in the web ; Whether incrusting salts, or weight of air, Or fountain-water's cold contracting wave, Or all combin'd, it well befits to know. Ah ! wherefore have we lost our old repute ? And who inquires the cause why Gallia's sons In depth and brilliancy of hues excel ? Yet yield not, Britons ! grasp in every art The foremost name. Let others tamely view, On crowded Smyrna's and Byzantium's strand, The haughty Turk despise their proffer'd bales. Now see, o'er vales and peopled mountain-tops The welcome traders gathering every web, Industrious, every web too few. Alas !