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pygmalion.
Nor grew his dark eye luminous with joy.
Heart-crushed with grief, worn with intense desires,
And wasting with a mad, consuming flame,
He wildly gazed, his cold cheek rivalling
The whiteness of the marble he had wrought.
The robe's loose folds which lay upon his breast
Tumultuous rose and fell, like ocean waves
Upheaved by storms beneath; and on his brow,
In beaded drops, the dew of anguish lay.
And thus he flung himself upon the earth,
And poured in prayer his wild and burning words:—
Heart-crushed with grief, worn with intense desires,
And wasting with a mad, consuming flame,
He wildly gazed, his cold cheek rivalling
The whiteness of the marble he had wrought.
The robe's loose folds which lay upon his breast
Tumultuous rose and fell, like ocean waves
Upheaved by storms beneath; and on his brow,
In beaded drops, the dew of anguish lay.
And thus he flung himself upon the earth,
And poured in prayer his wild and burning words:—
"Great Jove, to thy high throne a mortal's prayer
In all the might of anguish struggles up!
Thou hast beheld his work, as day by day,
It put on form and beauty, till it stopd
The wonder of the glorious realm of art.
The sculptor wrought not blindly. Oft there came
Blest visions to his soul of forms divine;—
Of white-armed Juno, in that hour of love,
When, fondling close the cuckoo, tempest-chilled,
She all unconscious in that form did press
The mighty sire of the eternal gods
To her soft bosom;—Aphrodite fair,
As first she trod the glad, enamoured earth,
In all the might of anguish struggles up!
Thou hast beheld his work, as day by day,
It put on form and beauty, till it stopd
The wonder of the glorious realm of art.
The sculptor wrought not blindly. Oft there came
Blest visions to his soul of forms divine;—
Of white-armed Juno, in that hour of love,
When, fondling close the cuckoo, tempest-chilled,
She all unconscious in that form did press
The mighty sire of the eternal gods
To her soft bosom;—Aphrodite fair,
As first she trod the glad, enamoured earth,
