30 THE PAINTER'S LAST WORK , & c .
THE PAINTER'S LAST WORK .
A SCENE . *
BY MRS . HEMANS .
Clasp me a little longer on the brink
Of life , while I can feel thy dear caress ;
And when this heart hath ceased to beat , oh ! think , And let it mitigate thy woe's excess ,
That thou hast been to me all tenderness ,
And friend to more than human friendship just . GERTRUDE OF WYOMING .
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SCENE - A Room in an Italian Cottage . The Lattice open- ing upon a Landscape at sunset .
FRANCESCO - TERESA .
TERESA .
THE fever's hue hath left thy cheek , beloved ! Thine eyes , that make the day - spring in my heart , Are clear and still once more . Wilt thou look forth ? Now , while the sunset with low - streaming light- The light thou lov'st - hath made the chesnut - stems All burning bronze , the lake one sea of gold ! Wilt thou be raised upon thy couch , to meet The rich air fill'd with wandering scents and sounds ? Or shall I lay thy dear , dear head once more On this true bosom , lulling thee to rest With vesper hymns ?
FRANCESCO .
No , gentlest love ! not now : My soul is wakeful - lingering to look forth , Not on the sun , but thee ! Doth the light sleep So gently on the lake ? and are the stems Of our own chesnuts by that alchymy So richly changed ? —and is the orange scent Floating around ? -But I have said farewell , Farewell to earth , Teresa ! not to thee , Nor yet to our deep love , nor yet awhile Unto the spirit of mine art , which flows Back on my soul in mastery ! -- one last work ! And I will shrine my wealth of glowing thoughts ,
Clinging affection and undying hope , All that is in me for eternity ,
All , all , in that memorial .
TERESA .
Oh ! what dream
Is this , mine own Francesco ? Waste thou not
Thy scarce returning strength ; keep thy rich thoughts For happier days ! they will not melt away Like passing music from the lute ; -dear friend ! Dearest of friends ! thou canst win back at will The glorious visions .
FRANCESCO .
Yes ! the unseen land
Of glorious visions hath sent forth a voice To call me hence . Oh ! be thou not deceived ! Bind to thy heart no earthly hope , Teresa !
I must , must leave thee ! Yet be strong , my love , As thou hast still been gentle !
TERESA .
Oh , Francesco !
What will this dim world be to me , Francesco , When wanting thy bright soul , the life of all- My only sunshine ! -How can I bear on ? How can we part ? We , that have loved so well , With clasping spirits link'd so long by grief- By tears - by prayer ?
FRANCESCO .
Ev'n therefore we can part ,
With an immortal trust , that such high love
Is not of things to perish .
Suggested by the closing scene in the life of the painter Blake ; as beautifully related by Allan Cunningham .
Let me leave
One record still , to prove it strong as death , Ev'n in Death's hour of triumph . Once again , Stand with thy meek hands folded on thy breast , And eyes half - veil'd , in thine own soul absorb'd , As in thy watchings , ere I sink to sleep ; And I will give the bending flower - like grace Of that soft form , and the still sweetness throned On that pale brow , and in that quivering smile Of voiceless love , a life that shall outlast Their delicate earthly being . There - thy head Bow'd down with beauty , and with tenderness , And lowly thought - even thus - my own Teresa ! Oh ! the quick glancing radiance , and bright bloom That once around thee hung , have melted now Into more solemn light -- but holier far , And dearer , and yet lovelier in mine eyes , Than all that summer flush ! For by my couch ,
In patient and serene devotedness ,
Thou hast made those rich hues and sunny smiles , Thine offering unto me . Oh ! I may give Those pensive lips , that clear Madonna brow , And the sweet earnestness of that dark eye , Unto the canvas -- I may catch the flow Of all those drooping locks , and glorify With a soft halo what is imaged thus-
But how much rests unbreathed ! My faithful one ! What thou hast been to me ! This bitter world , This cold unanswering world , that hath no voice To greet the heavenly spirit - that drives back All Birds of Eden , which would sojourn here A little while - how have I turn'd away From its keen soulless air , and in thy heart , Found ever the sweet fountain of response , To quench my thirst for home !
The dear work grows
Beneath my hand - the last ! Each faintest line With treasured memories fraught . Oh ! weep thou not Too long , too bitterly , when I depart !
Surely a bright home waits us both - for I ,
In all my dreams , have turn'd me not from God ; And Thou - oh ! best and purest ! stand thou there— There , in thy hallow'd beauty , shadowing forth The loveliness of love !
FIRST LOVE .
LOVE ! -1 will tell thee what it is to love ! It is to build with human thoughts a shrine , Where Hope sits brooding like a beauteous dove ; Where time seems young , and life a thing divine . All tastes , all pleasures , all desires combine To consecrate this sanctuary of bliss . Above -- the stars in shroudless beauty shine ; Around the streams their flowery margin kiss ;
And if there's heaven on earth , that heaven is surely this !
Yes , this is Love - the steadfast and the true-
The immortal glory which hath never set- The best , the brightest boon the heart e'er knew- Of all life's sweets , the very sweetest yet !
Oh ! who but can recal the eve they met
To breathe , in some green walk , their first young vòw , While summer flows with moonlight dews were wet , And winds sighed soft around the mountain's brow- And all was rapture then - which is but memory now ! Honour may wreathe the victor's brow with bays , And Glory pour her treasures at his feet- The Statesman win his country's honest praise- Fortune and Commerce in our cities meet :
But when - ah ! when were earth's possessions sweet— Unblest with one fond friend those gifts to share ?
The lowliest peasant , in his calm retreat ,
Finds more of happiness , and less of care ,
Than hearts unwarmed by Love ' mid palace halls must bear !
