 | Verses of a life time |  |
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FRANCISCO DE RIBALTA,
THE SPANISH ARTIST.
A BALLAD.
A gathering spot glowed burningly
On young Ribalta's brow,
As he stood on fair Valencia's plain,
And breathed a parting vow.
On young Ribalta's brow,
As he stood on fair Valencia's plain,
And breathed a parting vow.
For neither fame nor wealth had he,
Yet sweetly on him smiled
The young and lovely Isabel,
His master's only child.
Yet sweetly on him smiled
The young and lovely Isabel,
His master's only child.
“Farewell, farewell! my Isabel,
Mine, though I wander far,—
My love shall still shine over thee,
Like yonder distant star.
Mine, though I wander far,—
My love shall still shine over thee,
Like yonder distant star.
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“I feel within my restless soul
The power to toil and die,
Or fix upon the scroll of fame
My name in letters high.
The power to toil and die,
Or fix upon the scroll of fame
My name in letters high.
“And, dearest, I will come again,
Though he may now deride,
And in thy father's presence claim
My own, my gentle bride.
Though he may now deride,
And in thy father's presence claim
My own, my gentle bride.
“He spurned me; but the goading word
To thee alone I tell;—
He said, ‘a dauber’ ne'er should wed
His peerless Isabel.”
To thee alone I tell;—
He said, ‘a dauber’ ne'er should wed
His peerless Isabel.”
She spake not, but her beaming eye
Looked eloquently kind,
And her young fingers in his own
Were trustingly entwined.
Looked eloquently kind,
And her young fingers in his own
Were trustingly entwined.
One single, solitary tear,
Came trickling down the while;
He kissed the falling gem away,—
'T was followed by a smile.
Came trickling down the while;
He kissed the falling gem away,—
'T was followed by a smile.
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And not until his waving plume
Had parted from her sight,
Seemed she to feel the cloudiness
Upon her hope's young light.
Had parted from her sight,
Seemed she to feel the cloudiness
Upon her hope's young light.
O, what a wild and piercing gaze
Is that we throw upon
The sacred spot where one has stood
Who loved us, and is gone!
Is that we throw upon
The sacred spot where one has stood
Who loved us, and is gone!
And what a sigh upheaves the soul
When stranger forms pass by,
And with their dark, ungenial shade,
Unspell the memory!
When stranger forms pass by,
And with their dark, ungenial shade,
Unspell the memory!
Ribalta, 'neath Italia's skies,
Pursued the path to fame;
Untired, he followed where it led,
With thoughts and hopes of flame.
Pursued the path to fame;
Untired, he followed where it led,
With thoughts and hopes of flame.
He watch'd the day-dawn's earliest ray,
To urge his pictured toil;
And bent with strained and doubtful eye
Beneath the midnight oil.
To urge his pictured toil;
And bent with strained and doubtful eye
Beneath the midnight oil.
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And when upon his growing work
His kindling glances fell,
A gush of joy came o'er his heart,
That spake of Isabel.
His kindling glances fell,
A gush of joy came o'er his heart,
That spake of Isabel.
Three circling years his gentle love
Hushed up her widowed soul;
And if a sigh escaped her heart,
Hope through the current stole.
Hushed up her widowed soul;
And if a sigh escaped her heart,
Hope through the current stole.
At length he came in manly truth;
He heard her whispered tone,
Her eyebeam sank into his soul,
And she was still his own.
He heard her whispered tone,
Her eyebeam sank into his soul,
And she was still his own.
Soon to her father's vacant room
They passed with stealthy tread;
There, on an easel temptingly,
A noble sketch was spread.
They passed with stealthy tread;
There, on an easel temptingly,
A noble sketch was spread.
Eager, Ribalta seized the brush,
And wrought as life were there,
The picture grew, and every stroke
Stood out with colors rare.
And wrought as life were there,
The picture grew, and every stroke
Stood out with colors rare.
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And Isabel looked breathless on,
With eyes and hands upraised,
And large drops beaded on his brow,
As thus she stood and gazed.
With eyes and hands upraised,
And large drops beaded on his brow,
As thus she stood and gazed.
'T is done;—and now a coming step,
Her father's step is heard;
Ribalta, shrinking from his sight,
Stifles the whispered word.
Her father's step is heard;
Ribalta, shrinking from his sight,
Stifles the whispered word.
The Master starts—so beautiful
The new creation shone,—
The color, shade, expression too,
More lovely than his own.
The new creation shone,—
The color, shade, expression too,
More lovely than his own.
“Why girl, there's magic in this touch,”
The enraptured painter cried,
“And only he who wrought this work,
Deserves thee for his bride.”
The enraptured painter cried,
“And only he who wrought this work,
Deserves thee for his bride.”
A moment—and Ribalta's arm
Encircled that fair maid;
While at her father's knee they knelt,
And for his blessing prayed.
Encircled that fair maid;
While at her father's knee they knelt,
And for his blessing prayed.
1834.
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