146
THE TRIUMPHS
As the fine artist, whose nice toils aspire
To fame eternal by encaustic fire;
If he, with grief, has seen the faithless heat
Mar the rich labour it should make complete,
When next his hands, with trembling care, confide
To the fierce element his pencil's pride,
Watches unceasing the pernicious flame,
Terror and hope contending in his frame,
While his fair work the dangerous fire sustains,
Feels it in all his sympathetic veins,
And at each trivial sound that chance may cause,
Hears the gem crack, and sees its cruel flaws:
With such solicitude the panting maid
Past the long street, of every noise afraid.
Now, while around her rival flambeaus flare,
And the coach rattles thro' the crowded square,
She fears some dire mischance mud yet befall,
Some demon snatch her from the promis'd ball;
And dreams no trial more severe than this,
So bright she figures the new scene of bliss:
To fame eternal by encaustic fire;
If he, with grief, has seen the faithless heat
Mar the rich labour it should make complete,
When next his hands, with trembling care, confide
To the fierce element his pencil's pride,
Watches unceasing the pernicious flame,
Terror and hope contending in his frame,
While his fair work the dangerous fire sustains,
Feels it in all his sympathetic veins,
And at each trivial sound that chance may cause,
Hears the gem crack, and sees its cruel flaws:
With such solicitude the panting maid
Past the long street, of every noise afraid.
Now, while around her rival flambeaus flare,
And the coach rattles thro' the crowded square,
She fears some dire mischance mud yet befall,
Some demon snatch her from the promis'd ball;
And dreams no trial more severe than this,
So bright she figures the new scene of bliss:
