Lyrics of the heart :: :: University of Virginia Library

Here let me rest; a dewy fragrance breathes,
In gentlest whispers, from the plains around,
Whilst o'er my head, in green and graceful wreaths,
The o'erarching vine its wandering shoots hath wound:
What rainbow hues yon bright horizon bound!
What golden gleams yon sleeping spires invest!
Here let me pause,—it is enchanted ground;
Hence, let me brood upon yon burning west,
Where sun-touched Florence lies, like Love on Beauty's breast!

II

But not alone to chain the roving eye,
Doth yon fair scene its magic marvels spread;
It hath a holier spell, a charm more high—
The haunt, the birth-place of the glorious dead!
There Raffaelle oft his heavenly fancy fed
With thoughts and visions all too pure for earth;
There Buonaroti's dreams,—of darkness bred,
And Hell's wild grandeur,—taste-sublimed, had birth;
Two bright but differing stars, of kindred fame and worth.

III

Unequalled masters of that Art divine
Which makes our visions palpable as bright;
'Neath whose keen eye, and touch creative, shine
Unnumbered shapes of wonder and delight;—
Surpassing rivals in Fame's boundless flight;
Twin heirs of Genius and her broad domain;
One, seeking sunshine in the realms of light,
The other courting Horror's grisly train,
And drawing strength from Hate, sublimity from Pain!

IV

Transcendent Raffaelle, thy accomplished mind,
Irradiate, teemed with beauty, love, and grace!
What pure simplicity, by taste refined,
In all thy forms, the studious eye may trace!
What seraph brightness breathes from every face
Thy glowing mind hath on thy canvass poured;
How doth thy might his humbled heart abase,
Who seeks, a votary true, thy shrine adored,
To win a touch, a charm,—and his despair record!

V

Nor less his fame, to whose proud hand 'twas given,
The Judgment Day's terrific tale to tell;
Who, if he sometimes caught his fire from Heaven,
Would oftener snatch it from the depths of Hell;
The fiercer passions owned his wondrous spell;
Titanic grief that will not yield to Time;
Revenge, Remorse, and Hate unquenchable,—
The weltering offspring of Despair and Crime,—
Touched by his wand, uprise in agony sublime!

VI

But, lo! what Vision bursts upon my sight!
What shapes, what hues, yon opening doors unfold!
What rainbow forms are glancing in the light
Showered from yon gorgeous roof of fretted gold!
Whence spring the dazzling tints I now behold?
Where am I, where?—I live, I breathe again!
What glorious triumphs of the days of old
Are gathered 'round: Ausonia, France, and Spain,
Your brightest dreams I see; I have not toiled in vain!

VII

There Guido's Mary looks in faith on high;
There Salvi's Nun in silent prayer doth bow;

In this and the succeeding stanza, the surname of the painter has been substituted for that by which he is usually designated: as Salvi, for Sassoferrato; Cagliari, for Paul Veronese; Zampieri, for Domenichino; Mazzuoli, for Parmegiano; and Berretino, for Pietro da Cartona.

There Claude's bright rippling wave and sunset sky,
Salvator's storm-rent rock and mountain brow,
And Poussin's classic glooms are gathering now;—
There Carlo Dolci's matchless anguish droops;
There golden Titian's living beauties glow;
There graceful Watteau spreads his courtly groups;
And 'neath his ponderous cross, Del Sarto's Saviour stoops!

VIII

There bright Giorgione's blue-eyed consort shines,
A rival star to Titian's gay Brunette;
There pure Coreggio's reading mourner pines;
And crystal Cuyp's delicious sun hath set;
There Spagnoletto's dying Anchoret,
And Caravaggio's slaughtered Martyrs lie;
There deep, clear Ruysdael's Twilight lingers yet;
Romano's battle steeds are thundering by;
And Cagliari's Feast salutes the broad blue sky!

IX

There, too, Albano's Sea Nymphs float along;
Guercino's Hagar sheds upbraiding tears;
Piombo's Lazar in his faith is strong;
And Vinci's Judith still the charger bears;—
There polished Teniers' festive evening wears;
Velasquez' Infant smiles in fadeless youth;
Zampieri's Sibyl lifts the veil of years;
Hobbema's sunlit slopes, and mill-stream smooth,
And Rembrandt's shadowy power, reflect immortal truth!

X

And more, yet more; the fierce Giotto there,
His victim tortured, triumphs in his pain;
There Mazzuoli's Vision, bright and fair,
From robber-spoilers hath escaped again;
And Berretino's Sabines shriek in vain!
There full of faith, the good St. Bruno dies;
There Snyders' yelling bloodhounds burst their chain:
There gorgeous Rubens' emblemed Triumphs rise;
And Vandyck's Charles uplifts his mild, reproachful eyes.

XI

The sun hath sunk behind yon city gay,
Where purple hues are fleckering all the sky;
And Twilight weaves her web of night and day;
And one by one the stars look out on high;
But as the feathery clouds sail slowly by
The crimson flush that tracks their monarch's way,
Each snow-white billow takes a deeper dye,
Each silvery wreath grows brighter in the ray,
Till all have shared the spell, and, smiling, passed away!

XII

And thus my heart, when I have ceased to gaze,
Enchanting Florence, on thy fanes sublime,
Will strive to trace the bright, immortal blaze
That rises round thee from the depths of Time!
And though I leave thee for a colder clime;
Still memory's halo, lingering pensively,
Shall steep my soaring visions as they climb;
Till many an aim, wish, feeling, hope shall be
To brighter issues touched by thoughts of thine and thee!