 | Fantasy and Passion |  |
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VII. GUSTAVE DORÉ.
How rare the audacious spirit that invokes
These shadowy grandeurs, and can bid appear
All horror's genii, awful and austere,
And paint infinity with a few strong strokes!
That steals where mortal suffering writhes and chokes,
Where sorrow has wept her last hot heavy tear,
And where, while moans of misery smite the ear,
Some great calamitous battle roars and smokes!
These shadowy grandeurs, and can bid appear
All horror's genii, awful and austere,
And paint infinity with a few strong strokes!
That steals where mortal suffering writhes and chokes,
Where sorrow has wept her last hot heavy tear,
And where, while moans of misery smite the ear,
Some great calamitous battle roars and smokes!
Now are we fain to applaud him,—and anon
To shrink from power of such uncanny spell;
We tire of death's chill touch and visage wan;
Of agony; of corruption's rank sick smell;
Of this strange soul that seems to have gazed upon
Terrific things in the red heart of hell!
To shrink from power of such uncanny spell;
We tire of death's chill touch and visage wan;
Of agony; of corruption's rank sick smell;
Of this strange soul that seems to have gazed upon
Terrific things in the red heart of hell!
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