Fables in Song :: :: University of Virginia Library

When Light first dawn'd, to Chaos came repose:
Shapes, from te sheeted shapelessness unfurl'd,
Took rank in order ranged: the Mountains rose,
And found themselves the monarchs of the world.

The sunrise, bearing tribute, all night long
Travell'd the globe, and brought them eastern gold
Daily at earliest dawn. Bright breastplates strong
The skill's frost forged them of white-colour'd cold.
Round their firm thrones sharp lightnings flash'd like swords,
And guarding thunders girt teir crowns. The plain
Bore, in fond homage to his highborn lords,
The floating purple of their princely train.
Forest, to deck their pomp, with forest vied,
Mantled, and clasp'd them round with emerald zones;

Whilst dainty lawns spread broider'd carpets wide
O'er all the soft approaches to their thrones,
For easy kneeling. Clouds, like stately cares
That haunt the sombre foreheads of the great,
Burthen'd their browns. But eagles, too, were theirs,
That eyed the sun undazzled, and elate
As bold ambitions in imperial minds.
To earth'd far frontiers, bearing banner'd shower
And blowing solemn trump, the winged winds,
Their wandering heralds, did proclaim their power.
The fertile rivers, and fresh streams, were fed
On the rich bounty of their royal grace.
Each rebel billow at their feet fell dead.
They were creation's cronw'd and sceptred race.

But, scorn'd, obscure, down trampled in the dirt
And miry drench of their dark hollows, lay
Unable to uplift himself—inert,
And lacking nobel form—te lumpish Clay.
And to himself the Clay said “Trodden down,
Here in abasement must I bear their scorn
Who, glittering with a glory not their own,
Boast of the accident of being born
In lofty station? Fasion'd were we both
Of the same substance, gender'd from the womb
Of the same mother; and shall theirs, forsooth,
Be all the glory, and all mine the gloom?
'Twere better not to be, than to be thus,
Earth'd common footstool. Better not to live

Than to live under lorddom tyrannous,
Strong to dendure, but impotent to strive?
Yet must I hide me, and my wrongs, away,
Till strike mine hour. And strike it will. Meanwhile,
Patince, be thou my prophet?” And the Clay
Slunk from the sun's unsympaathising smile,
And roll'd himself into the river's bed,
And there lay hidden.

Time pass'd, Man appear'd,
And laid his hnad on Nature. For his bread
The glebe was harrown'd, and the forest clear'd.
He turn'd, and tamed, the torrent to his will:
Bridged the broad river, fell'd the flourishing oak:
Groped in the granit bowels of the hill
For hidden ore: and rent with flame and smoke
The ribs of royal mountains. Dwon they came,
Shorn by the saw, and measured by the rod,
To build man's palaces, and bear his name
Carved in their flesh. The earth had a new god.

II. PART II.

Large was the chamber; bathed with light serene
And silence tuned, not troubled, by the sound
Of one cool fountain tinkling in the green
Of laurel groves that girt the porches round.

And in that chamber the sole dwellers were
Ideas, clad in clear and stately shape;
Save one, a prisoner, huge, uncouth, and bare,
Hung fast in fetters, hopeless of escape,
And broken at the heart,—a Marble Block.
Even as a hero, in base ambuscade
Fallen; so, fall'n, and from his native rock
Borne here in chains, the indignant Marble made
No moan; but round, in dumb remonstrance gazed;
And, gazing, saw, surprised, all round him stand
The images of gods. With right arm raised,
Jove lauch'd the thunders from his loaded hand:
A light of undulating lovelinesses,
Rose foam-born Venus from the foam: and, dread
With dismal beauty, by its serpent tresses
Did sworded Perseus lift Medusa's head:
There paused a-tiptoe wing-capp'd Mercury:
Apollo, pensive smiling, linger'd here:
There stately Pallas stood, with brooding eye,
Full arm'd, and grasp'd the ægis and the spear.

A kindred instinct flash'd, a sudden glow
Thrill'd, sparkling, through the Marble's crystal gain.
“Flesh of my flesh,” he cried, “I know you now,
You stately statues! and myself would fain
Be also even as ye are.”—“After me!”
A mocking voice made answer from below.
“Wretch!” laugh'd the lucid Marble, “after thee?”
For, not far off, he notice, by a row

Of pitchers, huddled in a slimy trough,
The lumpish Clay. “Baseborn, how darest thou show
Thy face in Beauty's sanctuary ? Off!
Did not I banish thee when I” . . . “When thou
Thyself wast yet unbanisht, wouldst thou say?
True! in try pride thou couldst not then foresee
The hour when me thou must perforce obey.
For thou will have to obey me.”—“Obey thee?”
“Ay! grinding they gnasht teeth against the fine
Keen flitting chisel, when thy nature stern
Must needs submit to serve each fluent line
My form imposes on it; that, in turn,
Thou mayst, by following me, be something.”—“I?
I follow thee, wretch?”—“Ho! not broken yet
Is thy proud spirit? Patience! By and by
Thou, too, wilt need, as I have needed, it.”

III. PART III.

The Artist strode into the statued hall,
Up to the block; and, with pleased eyes perused
The Marble's snowy sides, slow measuring all
The length and breadth of them. The while he mused,
Into the stone, with such intense regard,
His deep gaze dived, that in a mystic thrill
It felt his human eye, throughout its hard
And frozen bulk, with a creative will

Awakening beauteous forms in slumber claspt,
Which heaved as tho'd that will they half foreknew.
Sudden, he stretch'd his searching hand, and grasp'd . . .
—Ah strange! 'Twas not the Chisel that now flew
Dartlike, obedient to that aiming eye,
Into the heart of the expectant stone.
His Thought plunged, kneading, in the trough hard by,
And clods of viscous Clay, one after one,
Thick on the table thump'd with clumsy thud:
There, grew together: wormlike writhing, rose
Pliant to every touch: until the mud,
Gliding and glutinous, 'gan half disclose
The thought that quicken'd it. Its impish speed
Was half, like Caliban, ungainly, half,
Like Ariel, delicate, till Fancy freed
Her image struggling from it. With low laught
“Seest thou?” it lisp'd and mutter'd. “Seest thou? Try
To follow me now; and mine image take
Upon thee. Which of us hath (I or thou)
The fine creative faculty to make
Ideas first corporeal?” And, complete
In clay, a statute stood before the gaze
Of the astonisht Marble.

Then, to eat
Slowly, and gnaw through all the intricate maze
Of netted lines about his body thrown,
The griding chisel, with three-corner'd wedge,

Ground his keen tooth upon the spluttering stone
Which sprang and split in sparkles round the edge,
Driven by the dancing mallet. By degrees
The out-thrust throat and formidable face
Assume imperative purpose: fingers seize
And grasp the fluttering scrollwith eager grace:
The deep eye darkens under beetling brows:
The half-uplifted arm begins to shake
The toga's massive fold, that backward flows:
And the stretcht finger points. What worlds awake
Upon those quivering lips? What thunder-speech
Up heaves the fierce Democarcy, and breaks
The power of pale Patricians cowering each
From that curl'd lip? For lo, the Tribune speaks!
The Tribune? O proud Marble, royal born,
Thou the coarse organ of the Demos? thou!
“Art thou enough humiliated, Scorn?
Pride, is thy loftiness at last brought low?”
The base material, to the nobler one
Form'd after its own image, sneer'd. “By Me,
And after me! 'This thus, and thus alone,
That, pround one, thou henceforth hast leave to be.”

But te pure Marble, in the image clothed
Of a new power, still conscious to the last
Of all his ancient force, made answer “Loathed
Abortive botch! A granted garb thou hast,
But think not thou art safe in it. `By thee?'
Through thee, say rather: who hast now made known

Undream'd of means, and mightier ones, to me
of being above thee. Look, fool, one thine own
Futile and perishable frame. Behold!
Already runs the gaping fissure straight
From head to heel. For all thy boasting bold,
They tottering limbs can scarce support the weight
Of thy flaw's body; and thy flimsy flesh
Hastily put together, may not long
Uphold thy silly head. Some crevice fresh
Is daily widening those loose clods among.
Drunk with the fancied triumph of a day,
Thou staggerest. Me, superior still, thou must
Invoke to represent thee. Baseborn Clay,
Slave of the immortal Marble, sink—in dust!”