University of Virginia Library

LINES SUGGESTED BY A CAST FROM AN ANCIENT STATUE OF THE INFANT HERCULES STRANGLING THE SERPENTS.

Behold Art's triumph! Yea, but what is Art?
Is it the Iris sent from mind to heart?
Or a bright exhalation, raised, refined,
And organized with various hues of mind?
Nay, let the mind and heart, as nature meant,
Unite to work their Maker's great intent;
As light and heat, diffused by the same sun,
To sense are diverse, but in essence one.
The poet's craft in rosy breath transpires,
And the quick music of a thousand lyres,
That wake to ecstasy the slumbering air,
Dies into nought, or flits we know not where.
The patient sculptor views, from day to day,
An image that can never pass away;
With resolute faith, which nothing can surprise,
Beholds the type in true proportions rise:
His progress slow, and every touch as slight
As dawn encroaching on a summer night;
His purpose sure, for consummated beauty
To him is love, religion, law and duty.
Long ere our God vouchsafed himself to be
A baby God, a human Deity,
The vast prophetic impulse of the earth
Foretold, and shadow'd forth the mystic birth;
Nor all the art of sacerdotal lies,
Nor the world's state, could so incarnalise
The strong idea, but that men, set free
By pure imagination's liberty,
Conceived the fancy of a boy divine.
Some fables fashion'd a fierce God of wine,
Abortive issue of intense desire,
Begot by Thunder and brought forth by Fire.
Some milder spirits cull'd two twinkling lights
From the throng'd brilliance of their Grecian nights,
And gave them names, and deem'd them great to save
The wandering mariner on the weltering wave.
Some, wiser still, believed the sun on high
A deathless offspring of the empyreal sky,
A personal power that could all truths reveal,
Mighty to slay, and merciful to heal.
Some feign'd—and they came nearest to the truth—
A destined husband of eternal youth,
Born of a mortal mother, and, ere born,
Doom'd to the pilgrim's houseless lot forlorn,
To fight and conquer, a victorious slave,
Strong in subjection, by obedience brave.
Such thought possess'd the nameless artist's mind
When he the God, the baby God, design'd,
That perfect symbol of awaken'd will,
Matching its might against predestinate ill.
The serpent writhing round his lower part,
His infant arm defies to reach his heart.
One mighty act is all the wondrous boy,
Line, limb, and feature, all are strength and joy.
Yet half an hour ago that infant slept,
Smiled at his mother's breast, and haply wept:
And when his task is done, the serpent slain,
Soft in his cradle-shield may sleep again.