THE sculptor paused before his finished work, —
A wondrous statue of divinest mould.
Like Cytherea's were the rounded limbs,
The hands, in whose soft fulness, still and deep,
Like sleeping Loves, the chiselled dimples lay,
The hair's rich fall, the lip's exquisite curve.
But most like Juno's were the brow of pride,
And lofty bearing of the matchless head; —
While over all, a mystic holiness,
Like Dian's purest smile, around her hung,
And hushed the idle gazer, like the air
Which haunts at night the temples of the gods.

As stood the sculptor with still folded arms,
And viewed this shape of rarest loveliness,
No flush of triumph crimsoned o'er his brow,
Nor grew his dark eye luminous with joy.
Heart-crushed with grief, worn with intense desires,
And wasting with a mad, consuming flame,
He wildly gazed, his cold cheek rivalling
The whiteness of the marble he had wrought.
The robe's loose folds which lay upon his breast
Tumultuous rose and fell, like ocean waves
Upheaved by storms beneath; and on his brow,
In beaded drops, the dew of anguish lay.
And thus he flung himself upon the earth,
And poured in prayer his wild and burning words: —

'Great Jove, to thy high throne a mortal's prayer
In all the might of anguish struggles up!
Thou hast beheld his work, as day by day
It put on form and beauty, till it stood
The wonder of the glorious realm of art.
The sculptor wrought not blindly. Oft there came —
Blest visions to his soul of forms divine; —
Of white-armed Juno, in that hour of love,
When, fondling close the cuckoo, tempest-chilled,
She all unconscious in that form did press
The mighty sire of the eternal gods
To her soft bosom; — Aphrodite fair,
As first she trod the glad, enamoured earth,
With small, white feet, spray-dripping from the sea; —
Of crested Dian, when her nightly kiss
Pressed down the eyelids of Endymion, —
Her silvery presence making all the air
Of dewy Latmos tremulous with love.

'And now (deem not thy suppliant impious,
Our being's source, thou Father of all life),
A wild, o'ermastering passion fires my soul, —
I madly love the work my hand hath wrought.
Intoxicate I gaze through all the day,
And mocking visions haunt my couch at night;
My heart is faint and sick with longings vain,
A burning thirst is parching up my life.

'I call upon her, and she answers not!
The fond love-names I breathe into her ear
Are met with maddening silence! When I clasp
Those slender fingers in my fevered hand,
Their coldness chills me like the touch of death!
And while my heart's wild beatings shake my frame,
And pain my breast with love's sweet agony,
No faintest throb that shining bosom stirs.

'O, I would have an eye to gaze in mine!
An ear to listen for my coming step, —
A voice of love, with tones like joy's own bells,
To ring their silver changes on mine ear!
A yielding hand to thrill within mine own,
And lips of melting sweetness, full and warm!
Would change this deathless stone to mortal flesh,
And barter immortality for love!

'If voice of earth, in wildest prayer, may reach
To godhood, throned amid the purple clouds,
To animate this cold and pulseless stone
Grant thou one breath of that immortal air
Which feedeth human life from age to age,
And floateth round Olympus! — Hear, 0 Jove!

'And so this form may shrine a soul of light,
Whose starry radiance shall unseal these eyes,
Send down the sky's blue deeps, 0 sire divine,
One faintest gleam of that benignant smile
Which glows upon the faces of the gods,
And lights all heaven! — Hear, mighty Jove!'

He stayed his prayer, and on his statue gazed.
Behold, a gentle heaving stirred its breast!
O'er all the form a flush of rose-light passed,
Along the limbs the azure arteries throbbed,
A golden lustre settled on the head,
And gleamed amid the mazes of the hair;
The rounded cheek grew vivid with a blush,
Ambrosial breathings cleft the curvèd lips,
And softly through the archèd nostril stole;
Slow rose the silken-fringèd lids, and eyes
Like violets wet with dew drank in the light!

Moveless she stood, until her wandering glance
Upon the rapt face of the sculptor fell;
Bewildered and abashed, it sank beneath
The burning gaze of his adoring eyes.
And then there ran through all her trembling frame
A strange, sweet thrill of blissful consciousness,
Life's wildest joy, in one delicious tide,
Poured through the channels of her new-born heart,
And love's first sigh rose quivering from her breast.

She turned, and, smiling, bent her toward the youth,
And blushed love's dawn upon him as he knelt.
He rose, sprang forward with a passionate cry,
And joyously outstretched his waiting arms; —
And lo! the form he sculptured from the stone,
Instinct with life, and radiant with soul,
A breathing shape of beauty, soft and warm,
Of mortal womanhood, all smiles and tears,
In love's sweet trance upon his bosom lay.