 | Duganne's Poetical Works |  |
ODE TO POWERS' GREEK SLAVE.
This poem was the result of a competition for a prize of $100, offered by the “Cosmopolitan Art and Literary Association.” (which had purchased Hiram Powers' statue,) “for the best Ode written on this beautiful creation of American Genius.” The judges selected (says the New York Mirror) were “Messrs. Bayard Taylor, of the Tribune: R. S. Willis, of the Musical World, and H. Fuller, of the Evening Mirror, who met at the St. Nicholas Hotel, on Tuesday evening, Oct. 3d, (1854.) About two hundred contributions were sent in, with the writers' names enclosed in sealed envelopes, with the understanding that only the name of the winner should be known. This condition was strictly observed; and the committee, after carefully reading them, and discussing the merits of the fifteen or twenty worth considering, unanimously decided in favor of the Ode by Augustine Duganne.”
This poem was the result of a competition for a prize of $100, offered by the “Cosmopolitan Art and Literary Association.” (which had purchased Hiram Powers' statue,) “for the best Ode written on this beautiful creation of American Genius.” The judges selected (says the New York Mirror) were “Messrs. Bayard Taylor, of the Tribune: R. S. Willis, of the Musical World, and H. Fuller, of the Evening Mirror, who met at the St. Nicholas Hotel, on Tuesday evening, Oct. 3d, (1854.) About two hundred contributions were sent in, with the writers' names enclosed in sealed envelopes, with the understanding that only the name of the winner should be known. This condition was strictly observed; and the committee, after carefully reading them, and discussing the merits of the fifteen or twenty worth considering, unanimously decided in favor of the Ode by Augustine Duganne.”
O marble prison of a radiant thought!
Where life is half recalled—
And Beauty dwells, created, not enwrought,—
Why hauntest thou my dreams, enrobed in light,
And atmosphered with purity, wherein
Mine own soul is transfigured, and grows bright,
As though an angel smiled away its sin?
Behold! this maiden shape makes solitude
Of all the busy mart;
Beneath her soul's immeasurable woe,
All sensuous vision lies subdued;
And, from her veiléd eyes, the flow
Of tears is inward turned upon her heart:
While on the prisoning lips
Her eloquent spirit swoons,
And from the lustrous brows' eclipse
Falls patient glory, as from clouded moons!
And flexile with the delicate glow of youth,
She stands, the sweet embodiment of truth;
Her pure thoughts clustering around her form,
Like seraph garments, whiter than the snows
Which the wild sea upthrows.
Not marble only, but the human soul:
And melt the heart with soft control,
And wake such reverence in the brain,
That man may be forgiven,
If in the ancient days he dwelt
Idolatrous with sculptured life, and knelt
To Beauty more than Heaven!
The Infinite Source of all their glorious thought!
So blesséd Art, like Nature, is o'erfraught
With such a wondrous store
Of hallowed influence, that we who gaze
Aright on her creations, haply pray and praise!
What Heaven inspired and Genius hath designed:
Be thou Evangel of true Art, and preach
The freedom of the Mind!
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