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      An English Lane

      There is also the beautiful description in "Balaustion's Adventure" of the Alkestis by Sir Frederick Leighton.

      The flagrant anachronism of making a Greek girl at the time of the Fall of Athens describe an English picture cannot but be forgiven, since the artistic effect gained is so fine. The poet quite convinces the reader that Sir Frederick Leighton ought to have been a Kaunian painter, if he was not, and that Balaustion or no one was qualified to appreciate his picture at its full worth.

      "I know, too, a great Kaunian painter, strong

       As Herakles, though rosy with a robe

       Of grace that softens down the sinewy strength:

       And he has made a picture of it all.

       There lies Alkestis dead, beneath the sun,

       She longed to look her last upon, beside

       The sea, which somehow tempts the life in us

       To come trip over its white waste of waves,

       And try escape from earth, and fleet as free.

       Behind the body, I suppose there bends

       Old Pheres in his hoary impotence;

       And women-wailers, in a corner crouch

       —Four, beautiful as you four—yes, indeed!—

       Close, each to other, agonizing all,

      34 As fastened, in fear's rhythmic sympathy,

       To two contending opposite. There strains

       The might o' the hero 'gainst his more than match,

       —Death, dreadful not in thew and bone, but like

       The envenomed substance that exudes some dew

       Whereby the merely honest flesh and blood

       Will fester up and run to ruin straight,

       Ere they can close with, clasp and overcome

       The poisonous impalpability

       That simulates a form beneath the flow

       Of those grey garments; I pronounce that piece

       Worthy to set up in our Poikilé!

      "And all came—glory of the golden verse,

       And passion of the picture, and that fine

       Frank outgush of the human gratitude

       Which saved our ship and me, in Syracuse—

       Ay, and the tear or two which slipt perhaps

       Away from you, friends, while I told my tale,

       —It all came of this play that gained no prize!

       Why crown whom Zeus has crowned in soul before?"

      Once before had Sir Frederick Leighton inspired the poet in the exquisite lines on Eurydice.

EURYDICE TO ORPHEUS

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      A PICTURE BY LEIGHTON

      But give them me, the mouth, the eyes, the brow!

       Let them once more absorb me! One look now

       Will lap me round for ever, not to pass

       Out of its light, though darkness lie beyond:

      35 Hold me but safe again within the bond

       Of one immortal look! All woe that was,

       Forgotten, and all terror that may be,

       Defied—no past is mine, no future: look at me!

      Beautiful as these lines are, they do not impress me as fully interpreting Leighton's picture. The expression of Eurydice is rather one of unthinking confiding affection—as if she were really unconscious or ignorant of the danger; while that of Orpheus is one of passionate agony as he tries to hold her off.

      Though English art could not fascinate the poet as Italian art did, for the fully sufficient reason that it does not stand for a great epoch of intellectual awakening, yet with what fair alchemy he has touched those few artists he has chosen to honor. Notwithstanding his avowed devotion to Italy, expressed in "De Gustibus," one cannot help feeling that in the poems mentioned in this chapter, there is that ecstasy of sympathy which goes only to the most potent influences in the formation of character. Something of what I mean is expressed in one of his latest poems, "Development." In this we certainly get a real peep at young Robert Browning, led by his wise father into the delights of Homer, by slow degrees, where all is truth at first, to36 end up with the devastating criticism of Wolf. In spite of it all the dream stays and is the reality. Nothing can obliterate the magic of a strong early enthusiasm, as "fact still held" "Spite of new Knowledge," in his "heart of hearts."

DEVELOPMENT

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      My Father was a scholar and knew Greek.

       When I was five years old, I asked him once

       "What do you read about?"

       "The siege of Troy."

       "What is a siege and what is Troy?"

       Whereat

       He piled up chairs and tables for a town,

       Set me a-top for Priam, called our cat

       —Helen, enticed away from home (he СКАЧАТЬ