 | Selections from the writings of Henry Theodore Tuckerman |  |
89
THE DYING MODEL.
A Picture by James E. Freeman.
As when the artist having wrought awhile,
Stands back and scans his work with long survey,
Achieved and unattained to reconcile,
Till fact with fancy blends and toil with play,
Stands back and scans his work with long survey,
Achieved and unattained to reconcile,
Till fact with fancy blends and toil with play,
So Time's perspective, in Rome's hallowed air,
From keen pursuit allures her musing guest—
With tranquil vision all her charms to share—
The latent harvest of prolific rest.
From keen pursuit allures her musing guest—
With tranquil vision all her charms to share—
The latent harvest of prolific rest.
He learns to linger in the path of life
To look on Nature with a patient eye,
Forget awhile the tumult and the strife
And feel the beauty of the earth and sky.
To look on Nature with a patient eye,
Forget awhile the tumult and the strife
And feel the beauty of the earth and sky.
As thus we loitered on an autumn-day,
A boy with olive cheek and dark-brown eyes,
Who in the sunshine basked along the way,
Became to vagrant hearts a cherished prize.
A boy with olive cheek and dark-brown eyes,
Who in the sunshine basked along the way,
Became to vagrant hearts a cherished prize.
90
I never look upon a noble boy,
But hope and fear awake a prescient thrill;
Life's battle yet unwon, his reckless joy
O'erleaps the future with confiding will.
But hope and fear awake a prescient thrill;
Life's battle yet unwon, his reckless joy
O'erleaps the future with confiding will.
And this young Roman acolyte of art,
Of boyhood was the gracious type and king,
Of every phase the destined counterpart,
Whose presence seemed a benison to bring:
Of boyhood was the gracious type and king,
Of every phase the destined counterpart,
Whose presence seemed a benison to bring:
When, gleesome feasting on his grapes and crust,
A little Bacchus blithe and “debonnaire;”
When, wistful gazing with pathetic trust,
An Ismael of the desert sadly fair.
A little Bacchus blithe and “debonnaire;”
When, wistful gazing with pathetic trust,
An Ismael of the desert sadly fair.
As in his lustrous orbs arch-fondness gleamed,
The ravished painter saw a Cupid near;
If awed by faith their saintly fervor beamed,
An infant John beside his Lord appear.
The ravished painter saw a Cupid near;
If awed by faith their saintly fervor beamed,
An infant John beside his Lord appear.
Summer's fierce breath hung over silent Rome,
And warned us from the lonely haunts of art,
To track the Sabine Hills—his native home—
With wayward footsteps and a buoyant heart.
And warned us from the lonely haunts of art,
To track the Sabine Hills—his native home—
With wayward footsteps and a buoyant heart.
One eve the plaintive cadence of a psalm
Stole from a cottage as we sauntered by;
Upon our spirits fell a solemn calm,
As if some holy effluence hovered nigh.
Stole from a cottage as we sauntered by;
Upon our spirits fell a solemn calm,
As if some holy effluence hovered nigh.
91
Within the humble walls a girl bent o'er
The rustic pallet of a wasted child,
Her arm beneath his head, as on the floor
She, weeping, crouched to hush her anguish wild.
The rustic pallet of a wasted child,
Her arm beneath his head, as on the floor
She, weeping, crouched to hush her anguish wild.
Apart the mother bowed in rigid woe,
While, clinging to her skirts, the latest born
Peered at her hidden face, as if to know
What made the scene so tearful and forlorn.
While, clinging to her skirts, the latest born
Peered at her hidden face, as if to know
What made the scene so tearful and forlorn.
His high brow rising from the fallen hood,
With hand upon the lapsing heart-beats laid,
Beside the lowly couch a friar stood,
Upheld a crucifix and softly prayed.
With hand upon the lapsing heart-beats laid,
Beside the lowly couch a friar stood,
Upheld a crucifix and softly prayed.
As to us turned the boy's bright, pleading eyes,
Once more their tale of faithful love to tell,
His artless smile of rapturous surmise
Revealed our dying model's last farewell.
Once more their tale of faithful love to tell,
His artless smile of rapturous surmise
Revealed our dying model's last farewell.
| Selections from the writings of Henry Theodore Tuckerman | |