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Or their praise either. Somebody re- Had you, with these the same, but brought marks
a mind! Morello's outline there is wrongly traced, Some women do so. Had the mouth there His hue mistaken ; what of that? or else,
urged Rightly traced and well ordered; what of “God and the glory! never care for gain. that?
The present by the future, what is that? Speak as they please, what does the moun- Live for fame, side by side with Agnolo! tain care?
Rafael is waiting: up to God, all three !" Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his I might have done it for you. So it grasp,
seems : Or what's a heaven for? All is silver-gray Perhaps not. All is as God overrules. Placid and perfect with my art: the worse! Beside, incentives come from the soul's I know both what I want and what might self; gain,
The rest avail not. Why do I need you? And yet how profitless to know, to sigh What wife had Rafael, or has Agnolo?
Had I been two, another and myself, In this world, who can do a thing, will not; Our head would have o'erlooked the And who would do it, cannot, I perceive: world !” No doubt.
Yet the will's somewhat - somewhat, too, Yonder's a work now, of that famous
And thus we half-men struggle. At the The Urbinate who died five years ago.
end, ('Tis copied, George Vasari sent it me.) God, I conclude, compensates, punishes. Well, I can fancy how he did it all, 'Tis safer for me, if the award be strict, Pouring his soul, with kings and popes to That I am something underrated here, see,
Poor this long while, despised, to speak the Reaching, that heaven might so replenish
I dared not, do you know, leave home all Above and through his art — for it gives
For fear of chancing on the Paris lords. That arm is wrongly put -- and there The best is when they pass and look aside; again
But they speak sometimes; I must bear it A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines,
all. Its body, so to speak : its soul is right, Well may they speak! That Francis, that He means right — that, child
And that long festal year at FontaineStill, what an arm ! and I could alter it:
bleau ! But all the play, the insight, and the I surely then could sometimes leave the stretch
ground, Out of me, out of me! And wherefore out? Put on the glory, Rafael's daily wear, Had you enjoined them on me, given me In that humane great monarch's golden soul,
look, We might have risen to Rafael, I and you ! One finger in his beard or twisted curl Nay, Love, you did give all I asked, I Over his mouth's good mark that made the think
smile, More than I merit, yes, by many times. One arm about my shoulder, round my oh, with the same perfect
The jingle of his gold chain in my ear, And perfect eyes, and more than perfect I painting proudly with his breath on me, mouth,
All his court round him, seeing with his And the low voice my soul hears, as a bird
eyes, The fowler's pipe, and follows to the Such frank French eyes, and such a fire of snare
But had you
Profuse, my hand kept plying by those Give the chalk here — quick, thus the line hearts, –
should go! And, best of all, this, this, this face beyond, Ay, but the soul ! he's Rafael ! rub it out! This in the background, waiting on my Still, all I care for, if he spoke the truth, work,
(What he? why, who but Michel Agnolo? To crown the issue with a last reward! Do you forget already words like those?) A good time, was it not, my kingly days? If really there was such a chance, so lost, And had you not grown restless but Is, whether you're not grateful — but I know
more pleased. 'Tis done and past; 'twas right, my in- Well, let me think so. And
smile instinct said;
deed! Too live the life grew, golden and not This hour has been an hour! Another gray,
smile? And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should If you would sit thus by me every night tempt
I should work better, do you comprehend ? Out of the grange whose four walls make I mean that I should earn more, give you his world.
more. How could it end in
See, it is settled dusk now; there's a star; You called me, and I came home to your Morello's gone, the watch-lights show the heart.
wall, The triumph was — to reach and stay
to reach and stay The cue-owls speak the name we call them there; since
by. I reached it ere the triumph, what is lost? Come from the window, love, - come in, Let my hands frame your face in your
at last, hair's gold,
Inside the melancholy little house You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine! We built to be so gay with. God is just. "Rafael did this, Andrea painted that; King Francis may forgive me: oft at The Roman's is the better when you pray,
nights But still the other's Virgin was his wife” When I look up from painting, eyes tired Men will excuse me. I am glad to judge
out, Both pictures in your presence; clearer The walls become illumined, brick from grows
brick My better fortune, I resolve to think. Distinct, instead of mortar, fierce bright For, do you know, Lucrezia, as God lives,
gold, Said one day Agnolo, his very self, That gold of his I did cement them with! To Rafael I have known it all these Let us but love each other. Must you go? years
That Cousin here again ? he waits outside ? (When the young man was flaming out his
Must see you
you, and not with me? thoughts
Those loans? Upon a palace-wall for Rome to see, More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for Too lifted up in heart because of it)
that? “Friend, there's a certain sorry little scrub Well, let smiles buy me! have you more to Goes up and down our Florence, none cares spend ?
While hand and eye and something of a Who, were he set to plan and execute
heart As you are, pricked on by your popes and Are left me, work's my ware, and what's kings,
it worth? Would bring the sweat into that brow of I'll pay my fancy. Only let me sit yours!”
The gray remainder of the evening out, To Rafael's ! And indeed the arm is Idle, you call it, and muse perfectly wrong.
How I could paint, were I but back in I hardly dare ... yet, only you to see,
One picture, just one more the Virgin's While I have mine! So still they over
face, Not yours this time! I want you at my Because there's still Lucrezia, - as I side
RABBI BEN EZRA
The best is yet to be,
Our times are in his hand To pay for this same Cousin's freak. Be- Who saith, “A whole I planned, side,
Youth shows but half; trust God: see What's better and what's all I care about,
all, nor be afraid !” Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff! Love, does that please you? Ah, but what
Not that, amassing flowers, does he,
Youth sighed, “Which rose make ours, The Cousin! what does he to please you Which lily leave and then as best recall ? " more?
Not that, admiring stars,
It yearned, "Nor Jove, nor Mars; I am grown peaceful as old age to-night.
Mine be some figured flame which blends, I regret little, I would change still less.
transcends them all!” Since there my past life lies, why alter it? The very wrong to Francis !
it is true I took his coin, was tempted and complied, Annulling youth's brief years,
Not for such hopes and fears And built this house and sinned, and all is
Do I remonstrate: folly wide the mark ! said.
Rather I prize the doubt My father and my mother died of want.
Low kinds exist without, Well, had I riches of my own? you see
Finished and finite clods, untroubled by How one gets rich! Let each one bear his
a spark. lot. They were born poor, lived poor, and poor they died:
Poor vaunt of life indeed,
Were man but formed to feed
On joy, to solely seek and find a feast:
As sure an end to men;
Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt No doubt, there's something strikes a bal
the maw-crammed beast? Yes, You loved me quite enough, it seems to
Rejoice we are allied night.
To that which doth provide This must suffice me here. What would And not partake, effect and not receive! one have?
A spark disturbs our clod; In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one more
Nearer we hold of God chance —
Who gives, than of his tribes that take, Four great walls in the New Jerusalem,
I must believe. Meted on each side by the angel's reed, For Leonard, Rafael, Agnolo, and me Then, welcome each rebuff To cover the three first without a wife, That turns earth's smoothness rough,
Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand I strove, made head, gained ground upon but go!
the whole!” Be our joys three-parts pain!
As the bird wings and sings, Strive, and hold cheap the strain;
Let us cry, "All good things Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, grudge the throe!
than flesh helps soul!”
For thence, - a paradox
Therefore I summon age Which comforts while it mocks,
To grant youth's heritage, Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail : Life's struggle having so far reached its What I aspired to be,
term : And was not, comforts me:
Thence shall I pass, approved A brute I might have been, but would
A man, for
aye removed not sink i' the scale.
From the developed brute; a God though
in the germ. What is he but a brute Whose flesh has soul to suit,
And I shall thereupon Whose spirit works lest arms and legs Take rest, ere I be gone want play?
Once more on my adventure brave and To man, propose this test Thy body at its best,
Fearless and unperplexed, How far can that project thy soul on its When I
battle next, lone way?
What weapons to select, what armour to
indue. Yet gifts should prove their use : I own the Past profuse
Youth ended, I shall try Of power each side, perfection every turn: My gain or loss thereby; Eyes, ears took in their dole,
Leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold: Brain treasured up the whole ;
And I shall weigh the same, Should not the heart beat once “How Give life its praise or blame: good to live and learn”?
Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know,
being old. Not once beat “Praise be thine ! I see the whole design,
For note, when evening shuts, I, who saw power, see now Love perfect A certain moment cuts too:
The deed off, calls the glory from the gray: Perfect I call thy plan:
A whisper from the west Thanks that I was a man!
Shoots —“Add this to the rest, Maker, remake, complete, - I trust what Take it and try its worth: here dies anthou shalt do!”
For pleasant is this flesh;
we did best!
So, still within this life,
Let us not always say,
For more is not reserved
To act to-morrow what he learns to-day: So passed in making up the main account; Here, work enough to watch
All instincts immature, The Master work, and catch
All purposes unsure, Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the That weighed not as his work, yet swelled tool's true play.
the man's amount: As it was better, youth
Thoughts hardly to be packed Should strive, through acts uncouth, Into a narrow act, Toward making, than repose on aught Fancies that broke through language and found made:
escaped ; So, better, age, exempt
All I could never be, From strife, should know, than tempt All, men ignored in me, Further. Thou waitedst age: wait death This, I was worth to God, whose wheel nor be afraid !
the pitcher shaped. Enough now, if the Right
Ay, note that Potter's wheel, And Good and Infinite
That metaphor ! and feel Be named here, as thou callest thy hand Why time spins fast, why passive lies our
clay, — With knowledge absolute,
Thou, to whom fools propound, Subject to no dispute
When the wine makes its round, From fools that crowded youth, nor let "Since life fleets, all is change; the Past thee feel alone.
gone, seize to-day !"
Be there, for once and all,
give us peace at last!
Fool! All that is, at all,
and clay endure.
Now, who shall arbitrate?
He fixed thee 'mid this dance Ten men love what I hate,
Of plastic circumstance, Shun what I follow, slight what I receive; This Present, thou, forsooth, would fain Ten, who in ears and eyes
arrest: Match me; we all surmise,
Machinery just meant They this thing, and I that: whom shall To give thy soul its bent, my soul believe?
Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently
impressed Not on the vulgar mass Called “work,” must sentence pass,
What though the earlier grooves, Things done, that took the eye and had Which ran the laughing loves the price;
Around thy base, no longer pause and press? O'er which, from level stand,
What though, about thy rim, The low world laid its hand,
Skull-things in order grim Found straightway to its mind, could Grow out, in graver mood, obey the value in a trice:
But all, the world's coarse thumb
Look not thou down but up!