Wonderful artist! praise, like mine—
Tho' springing from a soul that feels
Deep worship of those works divine
Where Genius all his light reveals—
How weak 'tis to the words that came
From him, thy peer in art and fame,[2]
Whom I have known, by day, by night,
Hang o'er thy marble with delight;
And while his lingering hand would steal
O'er every grace the taper's rays[3]
Give thee with all the generous zeal
Such master spirits only feel,
That best of fame, a rival's prize!
[1] This statue is one of the last works of Canova, and was not yet in marble when I left Rome. The other, which seems to prove, in contradiction to very high authority, that expression of the intensest kind is fully within the sphere of sculpture, was executed many years ago, and is in the possession of the Count Somariva at Paris.
[2] Chantrey.
[3] Canova always shows his fine statue, the Venere Vincitrice, by the light of a small candle.
EXTRACT XVI.
Les Charmettes.
A Visit to the house where Rousseau lived with Madame de Warrens.— Their Menage.—Its Grossness.—Claude Anet.—Reverence with which the spot is now visited.—Absurdity of this blind Devotion to Fame.—Feelings excited by the Beauty and Seclusion of the Scene. Disturbed by its Associations with Rousseau's History.—Impostures of Men of Genius.—Their Power of mimicking all the best Feelings, Love, Independence, etc.
Strange power of Genius, that can throw
Round all that's vicious, weak, and low,
Such magic lights, such rainbows dyes
As dazzle even the steadiest eyes.
* * * * *
'Tis worse than weak—'tis wrong, 'tis shame,
This mean prostration before Fame;
This casting down beneath the car
Of Idols, whatsoe'er they are,
Life's purest, holiest decencies,
To be careered o'er as they please.
No—give triumphant Genius all
For which his loftiest wish can call:
If he be worshipt, let it be
For attributes, his noblest, first;
Not with that base idolatry
Which sanctifies his last and worst.