1850–60.]
METTA V. VICTOR.
523
Beggars that in odd corners lurk—
And slender maidens with faces wild:
And slender maidens with faces wild:
Young men, whose dreams of greatness burst
Their garret walls with their narrow scope,
Who drowned their hunger and cold and thirst
In the brimming wine of a thrilling hope—
All had a place in this picture strange:—
I shuddered, yet could not choose but look,
While ever and ever the picture changed
Like turning the leaves of a solemn book.
Their garret walls with their narrow scope,
Who drowned their hunger and cold and thirst
In the brimming wine of a thrilling hope—
All had a place in this picture strange:—
I shuddered, yet could not choose but look,
While ever and ever the picture changed
Like turning the leaves of a solemn book.
Vast shadows over the landscape crept,
Blending the country and town in one;
Shapeless dread in the darkness slept—
Even the sky was dull and dun.
Save that a pencil of silver light
Slid through the heavy and choking air.
Suddenly touching with beauty bright
Some pale face lifted in patient prayer.
Blending the country and town in one;
Shapeless dread in the darkness slept—
Even the sky was dull and dun.
Save that a pencil of silver light
Slid through the heavy and choking air.
Suddenly touching with beauty bright
Some pale face lifted in patient prayer.
The darkness drifted like wind and rain—
I seemed to listen as well as look,
While gusts went by that were loud with pain,
And the air with sobs of sorrow shook
To a strange, continuous undertone
Of tears that were falling many and fast:—
Ah, the wind that over the sea doth moan
Had never so wild a sound as this last!
I seemed to listen as well as look,
While gusts went by that were loud with pain,
And the air with sobs of sorrow shook
To a strange, continuous undertone
Of tears that were falling many and fast:—
Ah, the wind that over the sea doth moan
Had never so wild a sound as this last!
Ever through space the picture grew.
Bearing me on with its thronging train;—
This tempest of human sorrow blew
And beat on the world its drenching rain.
"What painter hath done this work?" I cried—
"Hath painted this picture wild and dim?"
"Selfishness wrought it!" a voice replied,
"For a prize of Gold that was offered him."
Bearing me on with its thronging train;—
This tempest of human sorrow blew
And beat on the world its drenching rain.
"What painter hath done this work?" I cried—
"Hath painted this picture wild and dim?"
"Selfishness wrought it!" a voice replied,
"For a prize of Gold that was offered him."
I said:—"Oh let the vision pass!"
The scene, like mist, was drifted away!
A light wind ran through the rippling grass,
A golden glow on the world did lay;
The dimpled foot of the happy child
On moss and velvet violets trod;
With the joy of flowers the fields were wild.
And perfumes rose from the grateful sod.
The scene, like mist, was drifted away!
A light wind ran through the rippling grass,
A golden glow on the world did lay;
The dimpled foot of the happy child
On moss and velvet violets trod;
With the joy of flowers the fields were wild.
And perfumes rose from the grateful sod.
The mother's breast was full and fair.
She laughed as she nursed her rosy boy.
And shook the curls of her careless hair
To vex him with a gay annoy:
The girl her simple labor sped.
Mocking with songs the birds and streams,—
Then rested 'neath the rose-vine red,
Her cheeks flushed crimson with her dreams;
She laughed as she nursed her rosy boy.
And shook the curls of her careless hair
To vex him with a gay annoy:
The girl her simple labor sped.
Mocking with songs the birds and streams,—
Then rested 'neath the rose-vine red,
Her cheeks flushed crimson with her dreams;
The laborer feasted at his ease
On the rich fruits his toil had won;—
The peach and purple grape were his—
The wheat gold-tinted by the sun:
The young man with a step elate.
Walked proudly on th' admiring Earth,
His ideas grown to actions great—
Success commensurate with his worth:
On the rich fruits his toil had won;—
The peach and purple grape were his—
The wheat gold-tinted by the sun:
The young man with a step elate.
Walked proudly on th' admiring Earth,
His ideas grown to actions great—
Success commensurate with his worth:
The splendor of the boundless sky
Was of so soft and fine a hue,
No daintiest critic-taste could cry
"There was too much of gold or blue!"
"Who painted this," I said, "must be
Of Art, the master and the lord:"
"Love wrought it!" some one answered me,
"And Beauty was his sole reward."
Was of so soft and fine a hue,
No daintiest critic-taste could cry
"There was too much of gold or blue!"
"Who painted this," I said, "must be
Of Art, the master and the lord:"
"Love wrought it!" some one answered me,
"And Beauty was his sole reward."
"But when shall Love, the Artist, stand
Most honored in the world's esteem,
Most honored in the world's esteem,
