Poems (Truesdell)/To a Neglected Artist

by Helen Truesdell

TO A NEGLECTED ARTIST.

"Divinest Art! the stars above
 Were fated on thy birth to shine!
Oh. horn of beauty and of love,
 What early poetry was thine!"

Have you been abroad to a far-off land,
 To win for yourself a name?
With an aching heart 'neath a foreign sky,
 Have you toiled for the breath of fame?

If not, then away with your easel now,
 Your paint and your pencils too;
For, could you draw with a mightier skill
 Than the art of a Raphael knew.

'T would avail you not: they would pass you by,
 They would coldly hurry on
To one who had come from a distant clime—
 A rare and a wondrous one.

But you say, you love your native land;
 That her hills, all bathed in light,
Are scenes that an artist holds most dear—
 A fair and a lovely sight.

'T is true; we can boast of noble trees,
 Broad streams, and fairest flowers;
That a thousand varied beauties dwell
 In this happy land of ours.

But heed them not—away! away!
 Though the loving and the true
Should linger around with a holy spell,
 Oh, bid them a long adieu!

But you say, that your mother's heart would break;
 That you are her only stay;
That her cheek would pale, and her eye grow dim,
 While you'd "tempt fame's dangerous way."

Then be content with your lowly lot,
 And time to you may bring
Something more worthy of your art,
 Than a poet's offering.