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.
'T was an image of the Virgin 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;
Till, discouraged and desponding, 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 oakShape 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.
O thou sculptor, painter, poet! Take this lesson to thy heart:That is best which lieth nearest; Shape from that thy work of art.