THE DEATH OF RAPHAEL. 67
THE DEATH OF RAPHAEL. *
A DRAMATIC SKETCH.
SCENE.-RAPHAEL reclined upon a Couch in the open Air, on a Terrace filled with flowering Shrubs; a gentle green slope descending from it to a rapid Stream, beyond which is the open Country, and the City of Rome in the distance, with the Sun setting behind it.
ENTER TO HIM GIULIO ROMANO WITH AN UNFINISHED
PICTURE.
How fares it with you, Sir?
Giulio Pippi-
Is it so?
RAPHAEL.
GIULIO.
The same, mine honour'd master.
I have brought, as you did ask me some days past,
The sketch of your young scholar, Florio:
Is it not brave?
[ Places it before him.
RAPHAEL.
A little further to the left, Giulio,
So that the sun's light jar not with its own: Why, aye, there's matter in that stripling's dreams, Knew he but how to guide it-here ' tis lost; A crude, raw, immatured sublimity, Bursting by fitful starts upon the sense, And wasted in a wrong pursuit withal; For that boy knows not his own pow'r as yet, Much less the paths in which he must direct it. Mark thou this sketch, Giulio; ' tis a tale Of Lesbian Sappho and her traitor love, Whose wavering heart the nymph had vainly tried, To bind in constancy with those sweet sounds That oft had bound a thousand hearts more worthy: Look at the face, as turn'd to his she sees In one wild glance, how cold and powerless The burning spell that chain'd him once hath grown, And as the heavenly cadence dies away, He turns him idly with a faithless sigh, Wafted to Lesbian Daphne: look thou here, Mark but her eyes-by heaven there's fire in them, Pow'r that would rase a temple! and her lip, Albeit sweet music hath held empire there, Looks in its full and scornful beauty, like A parting thunder-cloud, just at the pause Before it sends the forked lightning forth, To blast beholders! On her marble brow There sits a proud regality-look! look! With what a mighty and a fearful grasp The enchained soul is held within that space Of spiritualized mortality!
So far ' tis noble; but he has outdone Himself and his original, stepp'd out Of judgment's boundary, and beauty's line,
In this tall, graceless form; Gods! Need the soul Of Lesbian Sappho, pictur'd in that face, To be thus mounted on a giant length? Why he hath marr'd all beauty, and all truth, With its ill-judg'd proportions: and look hereThose clustering locks, that should be dark as Erebus, Steal, like her cheek, their colour from the sun. That arm falls not ungracefully, but wants The voice that might speak things unutterable. But he! -mark you not here, Giulio, How fearfully our pupils ' genius wanes When it would picture softness: why he looks More like a pouting schoolboy, just denied A summer holiday, than Venus ' protege; And here again, how his conceptions fail— This rugged scenery, and northern sky, Would better suit some wild romantic tale Of chain'd Prometheus, or the fearful night When chaos came again: there bid him turn Amid the dim, the horrible, his steps,
- It is said of Raphael, that his intense sense of the beautiful destroyed him.
And never venture e'en to let the sun
Throw his bright beams on them.-Of this enough. Oh! I have had a dream,
A vision of such heavenly things, Giulio, That but to look upon this world again, Makes my soul flutter like a prison'd bird, Eager for light and liberty!
GIULIO.
O! for a glimpse, a shadow of that dream, Ere thou shalt send it on its glorious way To immortality!
RAPHAEL.
Ha! say'st thou so? —
It would indeed be glorious-but no!
There are no tintings on this barren earth,
To picture forth that brightness; it must die!
And see, mine arm falls powerless, as though
In mockery of such vain purpose;
Enough that I, if but in thought, have trod
The jewell'd pavements of Elysium,
And held high converse with celestial things:
But list, Giulio: -Methought I stood
Upon an eminence, whose velvet sod
Sprung freshly ' neath my footsteps; round me breath'd
Rich airs, not laden with the sickly perfume
Of summer flowers that blossom but to die,
And leave the track of their mortality
Upon the laggard senses they have pall'd;
But such as on th ' eternal morning shall
Thro' the earth-mantled soul their essence waft,
And blow it into life! Beneath me slop'd
A flower-enamel'd valley, whose bright paths,
In wildest, but most sweet magnificence,
Had intertwined them on their mazy way,
Till each was wreath'd in one. Here a sunny lawn
Lay laughing in unshadow'd loveliness,
While o'er its emerald crest the rich cascade
Of snowy marble, in fantastic play
Sprinkled an everlasting dew. Clustering here,
The woodland canopy in grandeur tower'd;
And 'twixt the opening branches might be seen
The twilight turf, the coyly wandering path,
The brook, whose broken crystal as it swept
O'er the bright pebbles, sent a silvery sound
Of dreamy music. A rich river roll'd
Its glittering waves in conscious majesty,
Winding round flower, and shrub, and forest tree,
And gardens, for whose golden fruit th '
Hesperides Had well forsworn their trust.
Upon its banks
Bright forms were wandering, the spirits of
Earth's best and fairest-how much more than fair,
Thus robed in glory, was their gorgeous beauty!
Floating around celestial music stole,
From voices and rich instruments, alike
Harmonious; and ever and anon
A burst of choral harmony ascended,
Breathing of praise, and pray'r, and seraph joy,
And adoration, on its winged way,
To God's own footstool. Rapt as I stood, methought
A form advanced, upon whose radiant brow
Glitter'd a star-gemm'd coronal, that threw
A dazzling brilliance round her seraph beauty,
Mine eyes scarce brook'd to pierce thro'. O, my Giullo,
Sure 'twas no fever'd wild imagining,
No vain illusion sent to mock my soul
With meteor-lustre; for she smil'd upon me;
(So heavenly-tuned, and yet so soft a smile!)
And held her snowy hands so winningly
To woo me from that lowliness in which
