Then boldly spoke the youth: "Admire I will!
What though thy Christ for death's repose prepare
So strangely silent and so strangely still,
Yet at a great thing greatly wrought I stare,
And long to match the marvel that I see;
I see what is, and thou what should be there."
The master looked upon him silently,
His youthful strength, his limbs so straight and fine,
And deemed there were no model such as he.
"A prey thou find'st me to despair malign—
How get from lifeless marble life and pain?
Here nature fails, whose secrets else are mine.
To seek a hireling's aid were all in vain;
And sought I thine, though partner of my aims,
Naught but a cold refusal should I gain."
"Nay," said the youth, "in art's and God's high names,
I would perform unwearied, unafraid,
Whate'er of me thy need transcendent claims."
He spoke, and straight his beauty disarrayed,
Showing the fair flower of his youthful grace
Within the guarded workshop's sacred shade.
Entranced the master gazed, and could not chase
A thought that rose unbidden to his mind—
If pain upon that form its lines could trace!
"The help thou off'rest if I am to find,
Thee too the cross must raise above the ground * * *"
Willing, the youth his gracious limbs resigned.
With tight cords first his prey the sculptor bound,
Then brought the hammer and the piercing nails—
A martyr's death must close the destined round!