The Seaside and the Fireside/Gaspar Becerra
Gaspar Becerra.
By his evening fire the artist
Pondered o'er his secret shame;
Baffled, weary, and disheartened,
Still he mused, and dreamed of fame.
Pondered o'er his secret shame;
Baffled, weary, and disheartened,
Still he mused, and dreamed of fame.
'T was an image of the Virgin
That had tasked his utmost skill;
But, alas! his fair ideal
Vanished and escaped him still.
That had tasked his utmost skill;
But, alas! his fair ideal
Vanished and escaped him still.
From a distant Eastern island
Had the precious wood been brought;
Day and night the anxious master
At his toil untiring wrought;
Had the precious wood been brought;
Day and night the anxious master
At his toil untiring wrought;
Till, discouraged and desponding,
Sat he now in shadows deep,
And the day's humiliation
Found oblivion in sleep.
Sat he now in shadows deep,
And the day's humiliation
Found oblivion in sleep.
Then a voice cried, “ Rise, O master!
From the burning brand of oak
Shape the thought that stirs within thee!”
And the startled artist woke,—
From the burning brand of oak
Shape the thought that stirs within thee!”
And the startled artist woke,—
Woke, and from the smoking embers
Seized and quenched the glowing wood;
And therefrom he carved an image,
And he saw that it was good.
Seized and quenched the glowing wood;
And therefrom he carved an image,
And he saw that it was good.
O thou sculptor, painter, poet!
Take this lesson to thy heart:
That is best which lieth nearest;
Shape from that thy work of art.
Take this lesson to thy heart:
That is best which lieth nearest;
Shape from that thy work of art.