Poems by Mrs. Opie :: :: University of Virginia Library

Dibutades, a potter of Sicyon, first formed likenesses in clay at Corinth, but was indebted to his daughter for the invention. The girl, being in love with a young man who was soon going from her into some remote country, traced out the lines of his face from his shadow on the wall by candle-light. Her father filling up the lines with clay formed a bust, and hardened it in the fire with the rest of his earthen ware. PLINY, book XXXV.

O Love! it was thy glory to impart
Its infant being to this magic art;
By thee inspired, the soft Corinthian maid
Her graceful lover's sleeping form portrayed.
HAYLEY.

Yes, I must write,....admiring crowds in vain
Wake in my praise the loudly swelling strain,
While thou, from whom these flattering honors flowed,
Know'st not the blessing on our loves bestowed.
Then let me breathe the tidings in thine ear,
And chide thine absence at an hour so dear;
For I my triumphs with indifference see,
And hate the glory that's unshared with thee.

On that dread day which tore thee from my arms,
While my sad bosom beat with fond alarms,
And I through various paths desponding roved,
Asleep I chanced to find the youth I loved.
Instant, for powerful passion swayed my soul,
With breath suspended, to thy couch I stole:
There as I stood in tender thoughts entranced,
I to thy cheek my trembling lips advanced;
And, while reserve repressed the furtive bliss,
Nor quite bestowed, nor quite withheld the kiss.
When, lo! (for Love's kind god my glance impelled)
Thy shadow I upon the wall beheld;
And on my mind the loved contrivance pressed,
Which shall to future ages make me blest.

Inspired, I ran and seized a taper wand
Which seemed just fallen from thy languid hand;
Then, with quick throbbing heart, and trembling haste,
I on the wall the faithful shadow traced.
Blest hour!....but words would ill my transport tell,
When, though thy head in various postures fell,
Source of my pride, and soother of my pain,
I saw the outline still unchanged remain!
But midst my rapture as I heard thee sigh,
And saw thee throw thy languid arms on high,
Heard thee, half waking, speak Eudora's name,
As recollection o'er thy senses came,....
Ashamed to meet thy fond inquiring eyes,
Swiftly I fled,....resolved the new-found prize

Which taught my heart such rapturous joys to feel
With virgin coyness I'd from thee conceal.
But, when I reached my home, the mimic line
So brightly seemed in Memory's eye to shine,
‘Vain coyness, hence,’ I cried, ‘your scruples bear,
And let Philemon's heart my rapture share!’
But Heaven when next we met that joy denied,
And sorrow chilled the glow of tender pride,....
For, oh! thou cam'st to bid thy last farewell,
And on thy neck in speechless grief I fell.
But when, dear youth, I heard that sad adieu,
The blest invention rose to Memory's view;
And, as my living love I saw no more,
I ran his lifeless semblance to adore.

What though in vain I bade that semblance speak
The youthful crimson mantling on thy cheek;
What though the sombre line could ill portray
Those looks which valour, genius, love display,....
Still, as I gaze, see Fancy's friendly art
The charms they wanted to my lines impart,
See cold reality before her fly,
Bloom paints thy cheek, and radiance fires thine eye.

But soon new hopes my throbbing bosom bless;
Soon, with quick footsteps, to my sire I press,....
Exclaiming, ‘Haste! the mimic lines survey
Whose magic influence can my grief allay.’
And as he gazed, I cried, ‘Thy skill shall now
With added power Philemon's graces show,

His clustering curls design with nicest art,
And on his forehead, richly waving, part.’
I ceased,....when he in humid clay designs
The fair proportion of my faithful lines,
Then to his furnace bears the prize away,
While hope my bosom ruled with added sway.
But not Deucalion felt more joy to view
Men spring to being from the stones he threw,
Than I experienced when my smiling sire
Thine image took from the Promethean fire.
It seemed my absent lover to restore;
And, till thou com'st, will charm me more and more;
For breath of absence bids faint flames expire,
But serves to feed true passion's generous fire;

It makes my heart with added fervour burn;
Yet still, too tardy youth, return, return!

Now hear my triumphs....Soon the tale transpired:
Increasing crowds, with new ambition fired,....
Chiefs, sages, bards who build the lofty lay,
All bid me haste their features to portray,....
The present moment's bounded triumphs scorn,
And wish to charm in ages yet unborn.
My father's art then forms the mimic head,
While nymphs and swains my path with roses spread,
While to the lyre my honoured name they breathe,
While round my brow they votive garlands wreathe.
‘And, on the pile when those soft limbs shall lie,
Think not thy glory will expire, they cry:’

‘Know, Corinth's pride! till time itself be o'er,
Thy name shall lovers, sages, chiefs adore;
And, thine invention through the world conveyed,
The world shall bless the fond Corinthian maid.’

Such homage Corinth to Eudora pays;
But o'er my bosom genuine passion sways,...
And the full heart where glows its gentle flame
Disdains ambition, and desires not fame.
No; while my name the voice of praise repeats,
My heart with nought but tender pleasure beats;
I joy to know my father's feeling breast
Exults to see me honoured, loved, caressed;
I joy to feel, while I my triumphs see,
I grow more worthy, matchless youth, of thee.

But, dearest boast! I've circumscribed the sway
Of that dread god to whom none homage pay.
Though stern-browed Death with all-destroying power
Tear from our grasp the forms our souls adore,
Saved by my art from his rapacious hand,
Their semblance still shall Memory's sigh command;
Still shall it softly charm in breathing clay,
Still, spite of death, prolong its gentle sway.
Nor let me dare to joy like this confine
The loved effects that wait my mimic line;
By its blest art succeeding chiefs shall know
Of Corinth's heroes each undaunted brow,
Till, as they gaze, aroused to kindred fire,
They strive to be the heroes they admire.

And what Invention's vigorous wings can bind?....
Ages to come may new devices find;
And some fond maid, inspired by love like mine,
On the pale clay bid glowing colours shine.
Nor there shall stop the art by love inspired;
Behold, to greater deeds his votary's fired!
And, wondrous progress of creative art!
See the whole form to mimic being start!

Hail, fair creations bursting on my view!
At Art's bold touch, assuming Nature's hue,
Kings, heroes, sages, even gods appear!
Jove grasps his lightning, Pallas lifts her spear!
See, to their temples trembling votaries throng,
And, struck with awe, forbear the votive song.....

The breathing forms behold with timid eye,
And, ‘Lo! a present deity!’ they cry.

Meanwhile my humbler art shall please, shall bless,
Increase enjoyment, and console distress;
Shall hush the plaintive grief of those who moan
O'er the dark bier, shall softly sooth my own.
For when I'm doomed my father's urn to view
My tears his honoured semblance shall bedew,
And, while the bust his kind expression wears,
I'll think he still my vows of duty hears.
And oh! should Fate thine early death ordain....
Hence, false idea! horrible as vain;
For when thy life, my all of bliss, is o'er,
In one embrace we'll meet, to part no more.

But O return! Though Fancy paints thee near,
Though thy fond parting accents still I hear,
While thee I view though seas between us roll,
And still thy long last look thrills through my soul;
Yet, yet, thy absence prompts the ceaseless sigh:
For, oh! when Fame my humble roof drew nigh,
Friendship I saw by slow degrees depart,
And Love alone can cheer my drooping heart.
The fair companions of my early days
With malice blame me, or with coldness praise,
And too too well this mournful truth proclaim,
‘They forfeit friendship, who are dear to fame.’
But thy Eudora can this loss despise,
So thou behold her with affection's eyes;

So he who gave the life which Love has blest
Still fondly clasp me to his honoured breast.
'Tis from Love's nearest ties true bliss must come,....
They her sole priests, her only altar, home;
On that has Jove's benignant power decreed
Their hallowed breath her sacred fire shall feed.
Then come, dear youth, nor fear the wintry wind,....
Resistless fetters will the tempest bind;
Come, dauntless venturing o'er the foaming tide,....
A matchless pilot will thy vessel guide.

Last night, when sleep o'er all held sovereign sway,
And I in restless feverish slumbers lay,
Around me more than morning's splendour beamed,
And on my sight a radiant vision gleamed.

Starting, I rose, when I a youth surveyed,
Like thee in feature, and like thee arrayed,
Save that, adorned in evervarying bloom,
From either shoulder waved a downy plume.
When, lo! he cried, ‘Sleep, drowsy power! remove:
Virgin, thine eyes behold the god of Love;
And hark! those winds that roughly dared to blow,
Husht by my presence, softly murmur now;
Waked by the genial gales my pinions shed,
See round thy couch the flowers of summer spread!
Now hear, blest maid, o'er whom with friendly wing
I've hovered oft, the joyful news I bring:....
Long had I prized the homage of thy heart,
Long vowed to bless a passion void of art;

And when thy breast with boding anguish swelled,
I to Philemon's couch thy feet impelled;
The slender wand beside the couch I placed,...
I the loved youth with added beauty graced,....
I on the wall the friendly shadow threw,
I with nice art the faithful outline drew.
Nor here, Eudora, shall my favours end:
I'll o'er thee still with watchful kindness bend,
And soon, to sooth thy bosom's fond alarms,
Will guard Philemon to thy constant arms.
The Halcyon, tamer of the tyrant flood,
Shall, at my bidding, on the billows brood;
That bird, of azure plumes, and plaintive tone,
Shall shield thy heart from sorrows like her own.

Then, in return, thy grateful zeal display,
And try Love's glowing features to portray;
Raised on my altar bid my image stand,
The fair creation of Eudora's hand.’

This said, away he winged his graceful flight;
While, as he flew, around the brow of Night
His twining figure spires of radiance wreathed,
And his soft pinions sweetest music breathed.
Then to my task I flew with eager haste:
But, though I thought I Love's own features traced,
And with nice art each fair proportion told,
Thine, and thine only, could mine eyes behold!
And wherefore not? Like thee the vision seemed,
Save that his form with younger graces beamed;

Nor more I strive to change the mimic lines,
The winged god in all thy beauty shines.

But come, the wonders of my hand survey;
Come, at Love's semblance grateful homage pay;
O haste, triumphant o'er the fettered wind,
And round his brows thy votive garlands bind!
O! thou hast much to see! No longer poor,
We court the needy stranger to our door;
And, while to want we give the aid it seeks,
Our altered state our altered dwelling speaks;
Coarse robes no more obscure my father's mien,
But all his native dignity is seen;
With Tyrian dyes his ample tunic glows,
And to the ground in waving beauty flows,

While down his robe his silver ringlets spread,
Their white contrasted with its radiant red;....
So look bright clouds upon the mountain's brow,
While there the sun's last crimson glories glow:
And I....But wherefore tales like these impart?
Suffice all here is changed,....except....my heart:
That still to thee with faithful fondness turns,
Thy presence covets, and thy absence mourns.
But since past pain enhances present joys,
Though now thy absence all my bliss alloys,
More bright 't will make the hour of meeting glow,
As to the storm the rainbow's charms we owe.
Till then, the loitering moments thus I cheat,....
I to the mimic head my vows repeat;

The lifeless cheek with glowing lip I press,
The lifeless brow in living garlands dress;
And my sick heart from weary woe to free,
I clasp the precious bust, and think on thee.