Book 10 — THE SCULPTOR TO HIS STATUE

JOHN J. INGALLS '55[1]

"Thou silent, pallid dream, in marble stone! No rare, sweet phantasie which my divine And all unearthly-mingled soul has thrown Around a glowing form, art thou, where shine, As garlands wove about a kindled shrine, The beauties of a godlike art and more Etherial thought fashioned to high design, But a remembrance of that unknown shore Where youth and love eterne on spirit pinions soar.

"O'er the hushed vales and gulfy hills of Greece Night brooded on her darkly jewelled wing, Binding in drowsy chains of dewy peace Sweet birds, white flocks and every living thing, And lapsing streams which to the forest sing. Beneath that pillared fane which guards the place Where spirits twain sleep in the charmed ring, I slept after the banquet, and the rays Of a past heaven flashed on my soul's astonished gaze.

"The emerald isles that sail a silver sea, Caverned by plumy groves of sunny palm, Broke on my startled vision suddenly; When as but quickly parted, sweet and calm, That long forgot yet ever haunting psalm Floated from lips that flew to greet me home. A meteor flamed; I woke in rude alarm; Above me orbed the temple's sullen dome; Around me swam the early morning's starless gloom.

"Of that fair dream thou art the memory, My genius, in its wildest fancy, bound And petrified to immortality! A holy presence seems to hover round The deep, perpetual loveliness, as crowned With angel radiance, and plumed for flight, Thy pinioned sandals spurn the flowerless ground, Striving to gain that far Olympian height Towards which in rapturous awe upturns thy longing sight.

"Why are thy parted lips so dumb and cold? Else with my eager arms about thee thrown And folded in thy soft embrace, had rolled The Lethean tide of love, in which, unknown And all unheeded in their state, had flown The future and the past, merged in that sea The present, whose far deeps are felt alone By the pale diver, reaching breathlessly Through pearled and coral caves concealed from mortal eye.

"Oh, shape divine! Such madd'ning grace must have A soul, a consciousness of love and life Though tombed in pallor, with no epitaph But silence! What mighty spell with power rife Can wake thee into Being's passion strife? Yet if there be such, let it rest unsought; For every boon thou couldst from breath derive I would not wrest from thee that higher lot, The need of deathlessness, thou pale, embodied thought!

"Great poet souls and people yet unborn Shall lay their speechless homage at thy feet, And still thy life be in its rosy dawn, Whose eve eternity alone shall greet. While I, to whom thy changeless smile were sweet As heaven, long mingled with earth's vilest mould, Shall be forgot! What wealth of fame can mete The loss of love? None, none! Thy fate is cold, But oh, what starry treasures might it not unfold!"

He ceased. A lambent halo seemed to play About her head, as lightnings round the moon; Her marble tresses streamed in golden spray— A tremor throbbed along her limbs of stone, And sky-hued veins with life's warm pulses shone. One thought of wordless love beamed from her eyes, Then, gently floating from her shining throne 'Mid blushing smiles half drowned in tearful sighs, She faded slowly heavenward through the sunset skies.

Quarterly, 1853.

[Footnote 1: Died 1900.]