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And how your pictures must descend
He speaks To see each other, friend with friend!
It was ordained to be so, sweet!—and Oh, could you take them by surprise, 185
best You'd find Schidone's eager Duke Comes now, beneath thine eyes, upon thy Doing the quaintest courtesies
breast. To that prim saint by Haste-thee-Luke!
Still kiss me! Care not for the cowards! And, deeper into her rock den,
Care Bold Castelfranco's Magdalen
Only to put aside thy beauteous hair You'd find retreated from the ken
My blood will hurt! The Three, I do not Of that robed counsel-keeping Ser?_ As if the Tizian thinks of her,
To death, because they never lived: And is not, rather, gravely bent
230 On seeing for himself what toys 195
Have lived indeed, and so—(yet one more Are these, his progeny invent,
A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL Its night so well, you cannot break
SHORTLY AFTER THE REVIVAL OF LEARNThe sport up, so, indeed must make
ING IN EUROPE More stay with me, for others' sake.
Let us begin and carry up this corpse, She speaks
Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar To-morrow, if a harp-string, say, Is used to tie the jasmine back
Each in its tether That overfloods my room with sweets, 205
Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain, 5 Contrive your Zorzi somehow meets
Cared-for till cock-crow:
Look out if yonder be not day again
Rimming the rock-row! Your gondola---let Zorzi wreathe
That's the appropriate country; there,
men's thought, A mesh of water-weeds about
Chafes in the censer.
Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and
crop; There's Zanze's vigilant taper; safe are
Seek we sepulture
Crowded with culture!
All the peaks soar, but one the rest excels; Be you the bashful gallant, I will be
Clouds overcome 3 it; The lady with the colder breast than snow.
No! yonder sparkle is the citadel's Now bow you, as becomes, nor touch my
Circling its summit. hand
Thither our path lies; wind we up the More than I touch yours when I step to
Wait ye the warning? And say, “All thanks, Siora!”—
Our low life was the level's and the night's; Heart to heart
He's for the morning. And lips to lips! Yet once more, ere we
Step to a tune, square chests, erect each
'Ware the beholders! Clasp me and make me thine, as mine thou art!
This is our master, famous, calm and dead,
224 (He is surprised, and stabbed.
Borne on our shoulders.
2 villages. 1 Sir.
s overshadow, conceal.
1 small farm enclosures.
Sleep, crop and herd! sleep, darkling When he had gathered all books had to thorpe and croft,
give! Safe from the weather!
30 Sooner, he spurned it. He, whom we convoy to his grave aloft, Image the whole, then execute the partsSinging together,
Fancy the fabric He was a man born with thy face and Quite, ere you build, ere steel strike fire throat,
from quartz, Lyric Apollo!
Ere mortar dab brick! Long he lived nameless: how should Spring take note
(Here's the town-gate reached: there's the Winter would follow?
market-place Till lo, the little touch, and youth was gone! Gaping before us.) Cramped and diminished,
Yea, this in him was the peculiar grace 75 Moaned he, “New measures, other feet (Hearten our chorus!) anon!
That before living he'd learn how to My dance is finished"?
live No, that's the world's way: (keep the No end to learning: mountain-side,
Earn the means first-God surely will Make for the city!)
contrive He knew the signal, and stepped on with Use for our earning. pride
Others mistrust and say, “But time Over men's pity;
escapes: Left play for work, and grappled with Live now or never!” the world
45 He said, “What's time? Leave Now for Bent on escaping:
dogs and apes! “What's in the scroll,” quoth he, "thou Man has Forever." keepest furled?
Back to his book then: deeper drooped Show me their shaping,
85 Theirs who most studied man, the bard Calculus 1 racked him:
Leaden before, his eyes grew dross of Give!" -So, he gowned him,
lead: Straight got by heart that book to its Tussis? attacked him.
“Now, master, take a little rest!”-not Learned, we found him.
he! Yea, but we found him bald too, eyes (Caution redoubled, like lead,
Step two abreast, the way winds narAccents uncertain:
rowly!) “Time to taste life,” another would have Not a whit troubled, said,
55 Back to his studies, fresher than at first, “Up with the curtain!"
Fierce as a dragon
95 Patience a moment!
Sucked at the flagon. Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed Oh, if we draw a circle premature, text,
Heedless of far gain, Still there's the comment.
60 Greedy for quick returns of profit, sure Let me know all! Prate not of most or Bad is our bargain! least,
Was it not great? did not he throw on Painful or easy!
God, Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the (He loves the burthen)feast,
God's task to make the heavenly period Ay, nor feel queasy.”
Perfect the earthen? Oh, such a life as he resolved to live, 65
1 gall stones.
* a cough. When he had learned it,
3 thirsty, as in the disease of dropsy.
Did not he magnify the mind, show Lofty designs must close in like effects: 145 clear
Leave him-still loftier than the world He would not discount life, as fools do suspects, here,
Living and dying.
Found, or earth's failure:
THE BISHOP ORDERS HIS TOMB “Wilt thou trust death or not?” He AT SAINT PRAXED'S CHURCH
Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping This high man, with a great thing to pur
Nephews—sons mine . . . ah God, I know Dies ere he knows it.
not! WellThat low man goes on adding one to She, men would have to be one,
once, His hundred's soon hit:
Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was! 5 This high man, aiming at a million, What's done is done, and she is dead beMisses an unit.
side, That, has the world here should he need Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since, the next,
And as she died so must we die ourselves, Let the world mind him!
And thence ye may perceive the world's This, throws himself on God, and un- a dream. perplexed
Life, how and what is it? As here I lie 10 Seeking shall find him.
In this state-chamber, dying by degrees, So, with the throttling hands of death Hours and long hours in the dead night, at strife,
I ask Ground he at grammar;
"Do I live, am I dead?” Peace, peace Still, through the rattle, parts of speech
seems all. were rife:
Saint Praxed's ever was the church for While he could stammer
peace; He settled Hoti's business—let it be!- And so, about this tomb of mine. I Properly based Oun
15 Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De, With tooth and nail to save my niche, Dead from the waist down.
know: Well, here's the platform, here's the proper
Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my place:
care; Hail to your purlieus,?
Shrewd was that snatch from out the All ye highfliers of the feathered race, 135
corner South Swallows and curlews!
He graced his carrion with, God curse the Here's the top-peak; the multitude below same! Live, for they can, there:
Yet still my niche is not so cramped but This man decided not to Live but Know
thence Bury this man there?
140 One sees the pulpit o' the epistle-side, Here here's his place, where meteors And somewhat of the choir, those silent shoot, clouds form,
seats, Lightnings are loosened,
And up into the aëry dome where live Stars come and go! Let joy break with The angels, and a sunbeam's sure to lurk: the storm,
And I shall fill my slab of basalt there, 25 · Peace let the dew send!
And 'neath my tabernacle take my rest, * paralyzed.
With those nine columns round me, two And Moses with the tables . . . but I and two,
know The odd one at my feet where Anselm Ye mark me not! What do they whisper stands:
thee, Peach-blossom marble all, the rare, the Child of my bowels, Anselm? Ah, ye hope ripe
To revel down my villas while I gasp 65 As fresh-poured red wine of a mighty pulse. Bricked o'er with beggar's mouldy traverOld Gandolf with his paltry onion-stone,
tine? Put me where I may look at him! True Which Gandolf from his tomb-top chuckpeach,
les at! Rosy and flawless: how I earned the prize! Nay, boys, ye love meall of jasper, then! Draw close: that conflagration of my 'Tis jasper ye stand pledged to, lest I church
grieve -What then? So much was saved if My bath must needs be left behind, alas! 70 aught were missed!
35 One block, pure green as a pistachio-nut, My sons, ye would not be my death? Go There's plenty jasper somewhere in the dig
worldThe white-grape vineyard where the oil- And have I not Saint Praxed's ear to press stood,
pray Drop water gently till the surface sink, Horses for ye, and brown Greek manuAnd if ye find . . . Ah God, I know not, scripts, I!.
And mistresses with great smooth marbly Bedded in store of rotten fig-leaves soft, 40 limbs?
75 And corded up in a tight olive-frail, -- That's if ye carve my epitaph aright, Some lump, ah God, of lapis lazuli, Choice Latin, picked phrase, Tully's every Big as a Jew's head cut off at the nape, word, Blue as a vein o'er the Madonna's No gaudy ware like Gandolf's second
lineSons, all have I bequeathed you, villas, Tully, my masters? Ulpian serves his all,
need! That brave Frascati villa with its bath, And then how I shall lie through cenSo, let the blue lump poise between my turies, knees,
And hear the blessed mutter of the mass, Like God the Father's globe on both his And see God made and eaten all day hands
long, Ye worship in the Jesu Church so gay, And feel the steady candle-flame, and For Gandolf shall not choose but see and taste burst!
50 Good, strong, thick, stupefying incenseSwift as a weaver's shuttle fleet our years: smoke! Man goeth to the grave, and where is he? For as I lie here, hours of the dead night, 85 Did I say basalt for my slab, sons? Black- Dying in state and by such slow degrees, 'Twas ever antique-black I meant! How I fold my arms as if they clasped a crook, else
And stretch my feet forth straight as Shall ye contrast my frieze to come be- stone can point, neath?
And let the bedclothes, for a mortcloth, 3 The bas-relief in bronze ye promised me, drop Those Pans and Nymphs ye wot of, and Into great laps and folds of sculptor'sperchance
90 Some tripod, thyrsus, with a vase or so, And as yon tapers dwindle, and strange The Savior at his sermon on the mount, thoughts Saint Praxed in a glory, and one Pan 60 Grow, with a certain humming in my Ready to twitch the Nymph's last gar- ears, ment off,
About the life before I lived this life, ? a cheap limestone.
I basket woven of rushes.
And this life too, popes, cardinals and I'll work then for your friend's friend, priests,
never fear, Saint Praxed at his sermon on the mount, Treat his own subject after his own way, Your tall pale mother with her talking Fix his own time, accept too, his own eyes,
96 price, And new-found agate urns as fresh as day, And shut the money into this small hand And marble's language, Latin pure, dis- When next it takes mine. Will it? tencreet,
derly? -Aha, ELUCESCEBAT quoth our friend? Oh, I'll content him,-but to-morrow, No Tully, said I, Ulpian at the best!
Love! Evil and brief hath been my pilgrimage. I often am much wearier than All lapis, all, sons! Else I give the Pope This evening more than usual, and it My villas! Will ye ever eat my heart? Ever your eyes were as “a lizard's quick, | As if-forgive now
let They glitter like your mother's for my sit soul,
Here by the window with your hand in Or ye would heighten my impoverished mine frieze,
And look a half-hour forth on Fiesole, 15 Piece out its starved design, and fill my Both of one mind, as married people use,
Quietly, quietly the evening through, With grapes, and add a visor and a Term, I might get up to-morrow to my work And to the tripod ye would tie a lynx Cheerful and fresh as ever.
Let us try. That in his struggle throws the thyrsus | To-morrow, how you shall be glad for down,
this! To comfort me on my entablature Your soft hand is a woman of itself, Whereon I am to lie till I must ask
And mine the man's bared breast she “Do I live, am I dead?” There, leave curls inside.
Don't count the time lost, neither; you For ye have stabbed me with ingratitude must serve To death-ye wish it-God, ye wish it! For each of the five pictures we require:
It saves a model. So! keep looking so— 25 Gritstone, a-crumble! Clammy squares | My serpentining beauty, rounds on rounds! which sweat
How could you ever prick those perfect As if the corpse they keep were oozing ears, through
Even to put the pearl there! oh, so sweetAnd no more lapis to delight the world! My face, my moon, my everybody's moon, Well, go! I bless ye. Fewer tapers there, which everybody looks on and calls his, 30 But in a row: and, going, turn your backs And, I suppose, is looked on by in turn, -Ay, like departing altar-ministrants, 121 While she looks-no one's: very dear, no And leave me in my church, the church less.
You smile? why, there's my picture ready That I may watch at leisure if he leers
made, Old Gandolf-at me, from his onion- There's what we painters call our harmony! stone,
A common grayness silvers everything, As still he envied me, so fair she was! 125 All in a twilight, you and I alike
-You, at the point of your first pride in ANDREA DEL SARTO
(That's gone you know),—but I, at every CALLED “THE FAULTLESS PAINTER"
point; But do not let us quarrel any more, My youth, my hope, my art, being all No, my Lucrezia; bear with me for once: toned down Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. You turn your face, but does it bring your There's the bell clinking from the chapelheart?