 | [The inspiration, in] The mirror of life |  |
145
THE INSPIRATION.
“My mother's kiss made me a painter.”
Benjamin West.
Benjamin West.
I.
The sun's slant ray was leaning downTo kiss the closing flower,
The birds on hurrying wing went by
To reach their resting bower,
As evening, like a matron mild
From duties done, drew nigh,
Breathing a sweet and soothing calm
That blessed the earth and sky,
And rested like a holy charm
Of blended hope and joy,
Where in their home's soft shadow sate
A mother and her boy.
II.
His heart like leaping fawn went forthOver the scene around,—
146
And gave his fancies bound;
And yet her tender sympathy
In every breath was felt,
As on his pencil's trembling touch
With cheering smile she dwelt;
Oh! Genius needs this sympathy
To bid the soul expand,
As lilies open to the day
By summer breezes fanned.
III.
When first the fount of mind is stirred,The mother's loving look,
In rapture beaming on her child,
Like star-shine on a brook,
Makes every gush of spirit wear
The diamond's living glow,
And bids the stream of childish hopes
In golden wavelets flow,—
Till thus the soul, an ocean filled
With love's translucent flood,
Pours out those high, immortal thoughts,
The tide that mounts to God.
IV.
The world has worshipped Angelo,And bowed at Raphael's name,
But never, in the highest place,
That Genius crowned could claim,
147
When, at his mother's feet,
His first weak, wavering sketch he drew
And earned her kisses sweet;
Till waked and warmed by her embrace
Burst forth the spirit free,
Prophetic as the sibyl's voice—
“A Painter, I will be!”
| [The inspiration, in] The mirror of life | |