Poems By W. C. Bennett: New ed |
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TO THE AUTHORESS OF “ART-LIFE IN MUNICH.” |
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TO THE AUTHORESS OF “ART-LIFE IN MUNICH.”
See—the ways of glory lie
Wide before thee; shall not God
Give thy feet the strength to try
These bright paths that Guido trod!
On! be bold! in faith there lies
Power that tracks high destinies.
Wide before thee; shall not God
Give thy feet the strength to try
These bright paths that Guido trod!
On! be bold! in faith there lies
Power that tracks high destinies.
451
Nature lives: her colours see;
These the touch of Titian caught;
Glooms and gleams are given to thee,
All with which dark Rembrandt wrought;
All from which they reap'd a name,
Nature—life, are still the same.
These the touch of Titian caught;
Glooms and gleams are given to thee,
All with which dark Rembrandt wrought;
All from which they reap'd a name,
Nature—life, are still the same.
In the strength of truth be strong;
Doubt her never, though she be
Held at times of all men wrong—
To thyself, a mystery:
Trust in nature; work and wait,—
All shall own her soon or late.
Doubt her never, though she be
Held at times of all men wrong—
To thyself, a mystery:
Trust in nature; work and wait,—
All shall own her soon or late.
Work in worship; let not earth,
Low desires, thy strivings leaven;
Prayer—thine art should have the worth
Of an incense unto heaven;
So shall all Murillo saw
From thy canvas ask our awe.
Low desires, thy strivings leaven;
Prayer—thine art should have the worth
Of an incense unto heaven;
So shall all Murillo saw
From thy canvas ask our awe.
Life hath angels at its tasks;
Earth hath heroes—martyrs now:
Show us these; the present asks
Unto its own saints to bow;
Virtues, mask'd in poor disguise,
Give their whiteness to our eyes.
Earth hath heroes—martyrs now:
Show us these; the present asks
Unto its own saints to bow;
Virtues, mask'd in poor disguise,
Give their whiteness to our eyes.
Holiest beauty to us show,
Such as heaven's own radiance wears,
Daily sorrows doom'd to know,
Toil and all life's common cares,—
Love and pity, walking earth,
Knowing not themselves their worth.
Such as heaven's own radiance wears,
Daily sorrows doom'd to know,
Toil and all life's common cares,—
Love and pity, walking earth,
Knowing not themselves their worth.
Yet why so?—to thee, the past,
Unto us a thing of death,
Lives a life, through thee, to last,
Breathes, before thee, living breath;
Place—time—garb—is either strange;
Life is life, howe'er they change.
Unto us a thing of death,
Lives a life, through thee, to last,
Breathes, before thee, living breath;
Place—time—garb—is either strange;
Life is life, howe'er they change.
452
Look not thou through others' eyes;
Wiser, see thou with thine own;
Paint thy fresh thoughts as they rise,
Beauty to thy vigils shown;
Numa-like, coy Nature woo
For the charms she shows to few.
Wiser, see thou with thine own;
Paint thy fresh thoughts as they rise,
Beauty to thy vigils shown;
Numa-like, coy Nature woo
For the charms she shows to few.
Welcome fame, if fame be won
Through the plaudits of the wise;
Though the many crown thee, shun
Plaudits which the few despise;
Hast thou genius?—thou wast born
God to serve, through praise or scorn.
Through the plaudits of the wise;
Though the many crown thee, shun
Plaudits which the few despise;
Hast thou genius?—thou wast born
God to serve, through praise or scorn.
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