Lectures on art, and poems

I stood alone: nor word, nor other sound,
Broke the mute solitude that closed me round;
As when the Air doth take her midnight sleep,
Leaving the wintry stars her watch to keep,
So slept she now, at noon. But not alone
My spirit then: a light within me shone
That was not mine; and feelings undefined,
And thoughts, flowed in upon me not my own.
'T was that deep mystery,—for aye unknown,—
The living presence of Another's mind.

Another mind was there,—the gift of few,—
That by its own strong will can all that's true
In its own nature unto others give,
And, mingling life with life, seem there to live.
I felt it then in mine: and, O, how fair,
How beautiful, the thoughts that met me there,—
Visions of Love and Purity and Truth!
Though form distinct had each, they seemed as 't were
Embodied all of one celestial air,
To beam for ever in coequal youth.

364

And thus I learned, as in the mind they moved,
These Stranger Thoughts the one the other loved;
That Purity loved Truth, because 't was true,
And Truth, because 't was pure, the first did woo;
While Love, as pure and true, did love the twain;
Then Love was loved of them, for that sweet chain
That bound them all. Thus sure, as passionless,
Their love did grow, till one harmonious strain
Of melting sounds they seemed; then, changed again,
One Angel Form they took,—Self-Happiness.

This Angel Form the gifted Artist saw
That held me in his spell. 'T was his to draw
The veil of sense, and see the immortal race,
The Forms spiritual that know not place.
He saw it in the quarry, deep in earth,
And stayed it by his will, and gave it birth
E'en to the world of sense; bidding its cell,
The cold, hard marble, thus in plastic girth
The shape ethereal fix, and body forth
A Being of the skies,—with man to dwell.

And then another Form beside it stood:
'T was one of this our world, though the warm blood
Had from it passed,—exhaled as in a breath
Drawn from its lips by the cold kiss of Death.
Its little “dream of human life” had fled;
And yet it seemed not numbered with the dead,
But one emerging to a life so bright,
That, as the wondrous nature o'er it spread,
Its very consciousness did seem to shed
Rays from within, and clothe it all in light.

365

Now touched the Angel Form its little hand,
Turning upon it with a look so bland,
And yet so full of majesty, as less
Than holy natures never may impress,—
And more than proudest guilt unmoved may brook.
The Creature of the Earth now felt that look,
And stood in blissful awe,—as one above,
Who saw its name in the Eternal Book,
And Him that opened it; e'en Him that took
The Little Child, and blessed it in his love.

University of Virginia Library

ON GREENOUGH'S GROUP OF THE ANGEL AND CHILD.