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You see before you the young enthusiast, destined to be her country's future Corinne, and ere long to be crowned at the capitol, now, amid the radiant dreams of solitude, with the great and glorious dower which genius gives,—
"Pouring her full and burning heart
In song, or on the canvas making
Her charms of beauty visible;"
and you gaze on her in the excitement of emerging from her solitude,—
"When first upon the gallery's wall
Picture of hers is placed, to share
Wonder and praise from each one there;"
while your spirit listens to her future songs, as to the audible voice of a living presence.
Turn now to the tales of old romance and glorious chivalry:—
"Lo! the past yields up an hour
To the painter’s magic power;
Mastered into life and light,
Breathing, beautiful and bright,
One bright hour in glory dyed
Of the old chivalric pride,
With war-music round them poured,
With the sunshine on the sword,
Girdled by their southern clime,
Stand a group of olden time."
Would you look on the warriors of that chivalric day? Come then with Count Leoni, to see his band—
"With helm on head and spear in hand,
Proud as he marks the sunbeams shine
Over the long embattled line,
And says, exulting, "They are mine!"
No chief were he who could have eyed
Such soldiers without chieftain’s pride:
Plumed, and full armed, from head to heel,
They sat like statues carved in steel;
He of that body was the soul
To lead, to curb, inspire, control."
