The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore :: :: University of Virginia Library

Went to the Brera—saw a Dance of Loves
By smooth Albano ; him, whose pencil teems
With Cupids, numerous as in summer groves
The leaflets are, or motes in summer beams

'Tis for the theft of Enna's flower from earth,
These urchins celebrate their dance of mirth
Round the green tree, like fays upon a heath—
Those, that are nearest, link'd in order bright,

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Cheek after cheek, like rose-buds in a wreath;
And those, more distant, showing from beneath
The others' wings their little eyes of light.
While see, among the clouds, their eldest brother,
But just flown up, tells with a smile of bliss
This prank of Pluto to his charmed mother,
Who turns to greet the tidings with a kiss!

Well might the Loves rejoice—and well did they,
Who wove these fables, picture, in their weaving,
That blessed truth, (which, in a darker day,
Origen lost his saintship for believing ,)—
That Love, eternal Love, whose fadeless ray
Nor time, nor death, nor sin can overcast,
Ev'n to the depths of hell will find his way,
And soothe, and heal, and triumph there at last!

This picture, the Agar of Guercino, and the Apostles of Guido (the two latter of which are now the chief ornaments of the Brera), were formerly in the Palazzo Zampieri at Bologna.

------ that fair field
Of Enna, where Proserpine, gathering flowers,
Herself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis was gather'd.

The extension of the Divine Love ultimately even to the regions of the damned.

Guercino's Agar—where the bond-maid hears
From Abram's lips that he and she must part;

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And looks at him with eyes all full of tears,
That seem the very last drops from her heart.
Exquisite picture!—let me not be told
Of minor faults, of colouring tame and cold—
If thus to conjure up a face so fair ,
So full of sorrow; with the story there
Of all that woman suffers, when the stay
Her trusting heart hath lean'd on falls away—
If thus to touch the bosom's tenderest spring,
By calling into life such eyes, as bring
Back to our sad remembrance some of those
We've smil'd and wept with, in their joys and woes,
Thus filling them with tears, like tears we've known,
Till all the pictur'd grief becomes our own—
If this be deem'd the victory of Art—
If thus, by pen or pencil, to lay bare
The deep, fresh, living fountains of the heart
Before all eyes, be Genius—it is there!

It is probable that this fine head is a portrait, as we find it repeated in a picture by Guercino, which is in the possession of Signor Camuccini, the brother of the celebrated painter at Rome.