The complete poetical works of Thomas Campbell Oxford edition: Edited, with notes by J. Logie Robertson |
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 | The complete poetical works of Thomas Campbell |  |
LINES
ON A PICTURE OF A GIRL IN THE ATTITUDE OF PRAYER, BY THE ARTIST GRUSE, IN THE POSSESSION OF LADY STEPNEY
Was man e'er doomed that beauty made
By mimic art should haunt him?
Like Orpheus I adore a shade
And dote upon a phantom.
By mimic art should haunt him?
Like Orpheus I adore a shade
And dote upon a phantom.
Thou maid that in my inmost thought
Art fancifully sainted,
Why liv'st thou not? why art thou nought
But canvas sweetly painted?
Art fancifully sainted,
Why liv'st thou not? why art thou nought
But canvas sweetly painted?
Whose looks seem lifted to the skies,
Too pure for love of mortals—
As if they drew angelic eyes
To greet thee at heaven's portals.
Too pure for love of mortals—
As if they drew angelic eyes
To greet thee at heaven's portals.
Yet loveliness has here no grace,
Abstracted or ideal;
Art ne'er but from a living face
Drew looks so seeming real.
Abstracted or ideal;
Art ne'er but from a living face
Drew looks so seeming real.
287
What wert thou, maid? thy life, thy name
Oblivion hides in mystery;
Though from thy face my heart could frame
A long romantic history.
Oblivion hides in mystery;
Though from thy face my heart could frame
A long romantic history.
Transported to thy time I seem,
Though dust thy coffin covers,
And hear the songs in fancy's dream
Of thy devoted lovers.
Though dust thy coffin covers,
And hear the songs in fancy's dream
Of thy devoted lovers.
How witching must have been thy breath!
How sweet the living charmer
Whose very semblance after death
Can make the heart grow warmer!
How sweet the living charmer
Whose very semblance after death
Can make the heart grow warmer!
Adieu the charms that vainly move
My soul in their possession—
That prompt my lips to speak of love
Yet rob them of expression!
My soul in their possession—
That prompt my lips to speak of love
Yet rob them of expression!
Yet thee, dear picture, to have praised
Was but a poet's duty;
And shame to him that ever gazed
Impassive on thy beauty.
Was but a poet's duty;
And shame to him that ever gazed
Impassive on thy beauty.
| The complete poetical works of Thomas Campbell | |