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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391637" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Restoration Of The Works Of Art In Italy</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">LAND of departed fame! whose classic plains <br>Have proudly echo'd to immortal strains; <br>Whose hallow'd soil hath given the great and brave <br>Daystars of life, a birth-place and a grave; <br>Home of the Arts! where glory's faded smile <br>Sheds lingering light o'er many a mouldering pile; <br>Proud wreck of vanish'd power, of splendour fled, <br>Majestic temple of the mighty dead! <br>Whose grandeur, yet contending with decay, <br>Gleams through the twilight of thy glorious day; <br>Though dimm'd thy brightness, riveted thy chain, <br>Yet, fallen Italy! rejoice again! <br>Lost, lovely realm! once more 'tis thine to gaze <br>On the rich relics of sublimer days. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Awake, ye Muses of Etrurian shades, <br>Or sacred Tivoli's romantic glades; <br>Wake, ye that slumber in the bowery gloom <br>Where the wild ivy shadows Virgil's tomb; <br>Or ye, whose voice, by Sorga's lonely wave, <br>Swell'd the deep echoes of the fountain's cave, <br>Or thrill'd the soul in Tasso's numbers high, <br>Those magic strains of love and chivalry: <br>If yet by classic streams ye fondly rove, <br>Haunting the myrtle vale, the laurel grove; <br>Oh ! rouse once more the daring soul of song, <br>Seize with bold hand the harp, forgot so long, <br>And hail, with wonted pride, those works revered <br>Hallow'd by time, by absence more endear'd. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And breathe to Those the strain, whose warrior-might <br>Each danger stemm'd, prevail'd in every fight; <br>Souls of unyielding power, to storms inured, <br>Sublimed by peril, and by toil matured. <br>Sing of that Leader, whose ascendant mind <br>Could rouse the slumbering spirit of mankind: <br>Whose banners track'd the vanquish'd Eagle's flight <br>O'er many a plain, and dark sierra's height; <br>Who bade once more the wild, heroic lay <br>Record the deeds of Roncesvalles' day; <br>Who, through each mountain-pass of rock and snow, <br>An Alpine huntsman chased the fear-struck foe; <br>Waved his proud standard to the balmy gales, <br>Rich Languedoc ! that fan thy glowing vales, <br>And 'midst those scenes renew'd the achievements high, <br>Bequeath'd to fame by England's ancestry. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet, when the storm seem'd hush'd, the conflict past, <br>One strife remain'd–the mightiest and the last! <br>Nerved for the struggle, in that fateful hour <br>Untamed Ambition summon'd all his power; <br>Vengeance and Pride, to frenzy roused, were there, <br>And the stern might of resolute Despair. <br>Isle of the free! 'twas then thy champions stood, <br>Breasting unmoved the combat's wildest flood; <br>Sunbeam of battle! then thy spirit shone, <br>Glow'd in each breast, and sank with life alone. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, hearts devoted! whose illustrious doom <br>Gave there at once your triumph and your tomb, <br>Ye, firm and faithful, in the ordeal tried <br>Of that dread strife, by Freedom sanctified; <br>Shrined, not entomb'd, ye rest in sacred earth, <br>Hallow'd by deeds of more than mortal worth. <br>What though to mark where sleeps heroic dust, <br>No sculptured trophy rise, or breathing bust, <br>Yours, on the scene where valour's race was run, <br>A prouder sepulchre–the field ye won! <br>There every mead, each cabin's lowly name, <br>Shall live a watchword blended with your fame; <br>And well may flowers suffice those graves to crown <br>That ask no urn to blazon their renown! <br>There shall the bard in future ages tread, <br>And bless each wreath that blossoms o'er the dead; <br>Revere each tree whose sheltering branches wave <br>O'er the low mounds, the altars of the brave; <br>Pause o'er each warrior's grass-grown bed, and hear <br>In every breeze some name to glory dear; <br>And as the shades of twilight close around, <br>With martial pageants people all the ground. <br>Thither unborn descendants of the slain <br>Shall throng as pilgrims to the holy fane, <br>While as they trace each spot, whose records tell <br>Where fought their fathers, and prevail'd, and fell, <br>Warm in their souls shall loftiest feelings glow, <br>Claiming proud kindred with the dust below! <br>And many an age shall see the brave repair, <br>To learn the Hero's bright devotion there. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And well, Ausonia! may that field of fame, <br>From thee one song of echoing triumph claim. <br>Land of the lyre! 'twas there the avenging sword <br>Won the bright treasures to thy fanes restored; <br>Those precious trophies o'er thy realms that throw <br>A veil of radiance, hiding half thy woe, <br>And bid the stranger for awhile forget <br>How deep thy fall, and deem thee glorious yet. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yes, fair creations! to perfection wrought, <br>Embodied visions of ascending thought! <br>Forms of sublimity! by Genius traced <br>In tints that vindicate adoring taste; <br>Whose bright originals, to earth unknown, <br>Live in the spheres encircling glory's throne; <br>Models of art, to deathless fame consign'd, <br>Stamp'd with the high-born majesty of mind; <br>Yes, matchless works! your presence shall restore <br>One beam of splendour to your native shore, <br>And her sad scenes of lost renown illume, <br>As the bright sunset gilds some hero's tomb. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! ne'er, in other climes, though many an eye <br>Dwelt on your charms, in beaming ecstasy; <br>Ne'er was it yours to bid the soul expand <br>With thoughts so mighty, dreams so boldly grand, <br>As in that realm, where each faint breeze's moan <br>Seems a low dirge for glorious ages gone; <br>Where 'midst the ruin'd shrines of many a vale, <br>E'en Desolation tells a haughty tale, <br>And scarce a fountain flows, a rock ascends, <br>But its proud name with song eternal blends! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yes! in those scenes where every ancient stream <br>Bids memory kindle o'er some lofty theme; <br>Where every marble deeds of fame records, <br>Each ruin tells of Earth's departed lords; <br>And the deep tones of inspiration swell <br>From each wild olive-wood, and Alpine dell; <br>Where heroes slumber on their battle plains, <br>Midst prostrate altars and deserted fanes, <br>And Fancy communes, in each lonely spot, <br>With shades of those who ne'er shall be forgot; <br>There was your home, and there your power imprest, <br>With tenfold awe, the pilgrim's glowing breast; <br>And, as the wind's deep thrills and mystic sighs <br>Wake the wild harp to loftiest harmonies, <br>Thus at your influence, starting from repose, <br>Thought, Feeling, Fancy, into grandeur rose. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fair Florence! queen of Arno's lovely vale! <br>Justice and Truth indignant heard thy tale, <br>And sternly smiled, in retribution's hour, <br>To wrest thy treasures from the Spoiler's power. <br>Too long the spirits of thy noble dead <br>Mourn'd o'er the domes they rear'd in ages fled. <br>Those classic scenes their pride so richly graced, <br>Temples of genius, palaces of taste, <br>Too long, with sad and desolated mien, <br>Reveal'd where Conquest's lawless track had been; <br>Reft of each form with brighter light imbued, <br>Lonely they frown'd, a desert solitude, <br>Florence ! the Oppressor's noon of pride is o'er, <br>Rise in. thy pomp again, and weep no more! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">As one, who, starting at the dawn of day <br>From dark illusions, phantoms of dismay, <br>With transport heighten'd by those ills of night, <br>Hails the rich glories of expanding light; <br>E'en thus, awakening from thy dream of woe, <br>While heaven's own hues in radiance round thee glow, <br>With warmer ecstasy 'tis thine to trace <br>Each tint of beauty, and each line of grace <br>More bright, more prized, more precious, since deplored, <br>As loved, lost relics, ne'er to be restored, <br>Thy grief as hopeless as the tear-drop shed <br>By fond affection bending o'er the dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Athens of Italy! once more are thine <br>Those matchless gems of Art's exhaustless mine. <br>For thee bright Genius darts his living beam, <br>Warm o'er thy shrines the tints of Glory stream, <br>And forms august as natives of the sky, <br>Rise round each fane in faultless majesty, <br>So chastely perfect, so serenely grand, <br>They seem creations of no mortal hand. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ye, at whose voice fair Art, with eagle glance, <br>Burst in full splendour from her deathlike trance; <br>Whose rallying call bade slumbering nations wake, <br>And daring Intellect his bondage break; <br>Beneath whose eye the lords of song arose, <br>And snatch'd the Tuscan Iyre from long repose, <br>And bade its pealiing energies resound, <br>With power electric, through the realms around; <br>Oh! high in thought, magnificent in soul! <br>Born to inspire, enlighten, and control; <br>Cosmo, Lorenzo! view your reign once more, <br>The shrine where nations mmgle to adore! <br>Again the Enthusiast there, with ardent gaze, <br>Shall hail the mighty of departed days: <br>Those sovereign spirits, whose commanding mind <br>Seems in the marble's breathing mould enshrined; <br>Still with ascendant power the wor]d to awe, <br>Still the deep homage of the heart to draw <br>To breathe some spell of holiness around, <br>Bid all the scene be consecrated ground, <br>And from the stone, by Inspiration wrought, <br>Dart the pure lightnings of exalted thought. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There thou, fair offspring of immortal Mind! <br>Love's radiant goddess, idol of mankind! <br>Once the bright object of Devotion's vow, <br>Shalt claim from taste a kindred worship now. <br>Oh! who can te]l what beams of heavenly light <br>Flash'd o'er the sculptor's intellectual sight, <br>How many a glimpse, reveal'd to him alone, <br>Made brighter beings, nobler worlds, his own; <br>Ere, like some vision sent the earth to bless, <br>Burst into life thy pomp of loveliness! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Young Genius there, while dwells his kindling eye <br>On forms, instinct with bright divinity, <br>While new-born powers, dilating in his heart, <br>Embrace the full magnificence of Art; <br>From scenes, by Raphael's gifted hand array'd, <br>From dreams of heaven, by Angelo portray'd; <br>From each fair work of Grecian skill sublime, <br>Seal'd with perfection, 'sanctified by time'; <br>Shall catch a kindred glow, and proudly feel <br>His spirit burn with emulative zeal, <br>Buoyant with loftier hopes, his soul shall rise, <br>Imbued at once with nobler energies; <br>O'er life's dim scenes on rapid pinions soar, <br>And worlds of visionary grace explore, <br>Till his bold hand give glory's daydream birth, <br>And with new wonders charm admiring earth. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Venice, exult ! and o'er thy moonlight seas, <br>Swell with gay strains each Adriatic breeze! <br>What though long fled those years of martial fame, <br>That shed romantic lustre o'er thy name; <br>Though to the winds thy streamers idly play, <br>And the wild waves another Queen obey; <br>Though quench'd the spirit of thine ancient race, <br>And power and freedom scarce have left a trace; <br>Yet still shall Art her splendours round thee cast, <br>And gild the wreck of years for ever past. <br>Again thy fanes may boast a Titian's dyes, <br>Whose clear soft brilliance emulates thy skies, <br>And scenes that glow in colouring's richest bloom, <br>With life's warm flush Palladian halls illume. <br>From thy rich dome again the unrivall'd steed <br>Starts to existence, rushes into speed, <br>Still for Lysippus claims the wreath of fame, <br>Panting with ardour, vivified with flame. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Proud Racers of the Sun! to fancy's thought <br>Burning with spirit, from his essence caught, <br>No mortal birth ye seem–but form'd to bear <br>Heaven's car of triumph through the realms of air; <br>To range uncurb'd the pathless fields of space, <br>The winds your rivals in the glorious race; <br>Traverse empyreal spheres with buoyant feet, <br>Free as the zephyr, as the shot-star fleet; <br>And waft through worlds unknown the vital ray, <br>The flame that wakes creations into day. <br>Creatures of fire and ether ! wing'd with light, <br>To track the regions of the Infinite! <br>From purer elements whose life was drawn, <br>Sprung from the sunbeam, offspring of the dawn. <br>What years on years, in silence gliding by, <br>Have spared those forms of perfect symmetry! <br>Moulded by Art to dignify, alone, <br>Her own bright deity's resplendent throne, <br>Since first her skill their fiery grace bestow'd, <br>Meet for such lofty fate, such high abode, <br>How many a race, whose tales of glory seem <br>An echo's voice–the music of a dream, <br>Whose records feebly from oblivion save <br>A few bright traces of the wise and brave; <br>How many a state, whose pillar'd strength sublime, <br>Defied the storms of war, the waves of time, <br>Towering o'er earth majestic and alone, <br>Fortress of power–has flourish'd and is gone! <br>And they, from clime to clime by conquest borne, <br>Each fleeting triumph destined to adorn, <br>They, that of powers and kingdoms lost and won, <br>Have seen the noontide and the setting sun, <br>Consummate still in every grace remain, <br>As o'er their heads had ages roll'd in vain! <br>Ages, victorious in their ceaseless flight, <br>O'er countless monuments of earthly might! <br>While she, from fair Byzantium's lost domain, <br>Who bore those treasures to her ocean-reign, <br>'Midst the blue deep, who rear'd her island-throne, <br>And called the infinitude of waves her own; <br>Venice, the proud, the Regent of the sea, <br>Welcomes in chains the trophies of the Free!: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thou, whose Eagle's towering plume umfurl'd, <br>Once cast its shadow o'er a vassal world, <br>Eternal city! round whose Curule throne, <br>The lords of nations knelt in ages flown; <br>Thou, whose Augustan years have left to time <br>Immortal records of their glorious prime; <br>When deathless bards, thine olive-shades among, <br>Swell'd the high raptures of heroic song; <br>Fair, fallen Empress! raise thy languid head <br>From the cold altars of the illustrious dead, <br>And once again, with fond delight survey <br>The proud memorials of thy noblest day. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lo! where thy sons, O Rome! a godlike train, <br>In imaged majesty return again! <br>Bards, chieftains, monarchs, tower with mien august <br>O'er scenes that shrine their venerable dust. <br>Those forms, those features, luminous with soul, <br>Still o'er thy children seem to claim control; <br>With awful grace arrest the pilgrim's glance, <br>Bind his rapt soul in elevating trance, <br>And bid the past, to fancy's ardent eyes, <br>From time's dim sepulchre in glory rise. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Souls of the lofty! whose undying names <br>Rouse the young bosom still to noblest aims; <br>Oh! with your images could fate restore, <br>Your own high spirit to your sons once more; <br>Patriots and Heroes! could those flames return, <br>That bade your hearts with freedom's ardours burn <br>Then from the sacred ashes of the first, <br>Might a new Rome in phoenix grandeur burst! <br>With one bright glance dispel the horizon's gloom, <br>With one loud call wake empire from the tomb; <br>Bind round her brows her own triumphal crown, <br>Lift her dread aegis with majestic frown, <br>Unchain her eagle's wing, and guide his flight, <br>To bathe his plumage in the fount of light. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Vain dream! degraded Rome! thy noon is o'er, <br>Once lost, thy spirit shall revive no more. <br>It sleeps with those, the sons of other days, <br>Who fix'd on thee the world's adoring gaze; <br>Those, blest to live, while yet thy star was high, <br>More blest, ere darkness quench'd its beam, to die! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet, though thy faithless tutelary powers <br>Have fled thy shrines, left desolate thy towers,<br>Still, still to thee shall nations bend their way,<br>Revered in ruin, sovereign in decay!<br>Oh! what can realms, in fame's full zenith, boast,<br>To match the relics of thy splendour lost!<br>By Tiber's waves, on each illustrious hill,<br>Genius and Taste shall love to wander still,<br>For there has Art survived an empire's doom, <br>And rear'd her throne o'er Latium's trophied tomb; <br>She from the dust recalls the brave and free, <br>Peopling each scene with beings worthy thee! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! ne'er again may War, with lightning-stroke, <br>Rend its last honours from the shatter'd oak! <br>Long be those works, revered by ages, thine, <br>To lend one triumph to thy dim decline. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bright with stern beauty, breathing wrathful fire, <br>In all the grandeur of celestial ire, <br>Once more thine own, the immortal Archer's form <br>Sheds radiance round, with more than Being warm! <br>Oh! who could view, nor deem that perfect frame, <br>A living temple of ethereal flame? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lord of the daystar! how may words portray <br>Of thy chaste glory one reflected ray? <br>Whate'er the soul could dream, the hand could trace, <br>Of regal dignity, and heavenly grace; <br>Each purer effluence of the fair and bright, <br>Whose fitful gleams have broke on mortal sight; <br>Each bold idea, borrow'd from the sky, <br>To vest the embodied form of Deity; <br>All, all in thee ennobled and refined, <br>Breathe and enchant, transcendently combined! <br>Son of Elysium! years and ages gone <br>Have bow'd, in speechless homage, at thy throne, <br>And days unborn, and nations yet to be, <br>Shall gaze, absorb'd in ecstasy, on thee! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thou, triumphant wreck, e'en yet sublime, <br>Disputed trophy, claimed by Art and Time; <br>Hail to that scene again, where Genius caught <br>From thee its fervours of diviner thought! <br>Where He, the inspired One, whose gigantic mind <br>Lived in some sphere, to him alone assign'd; <br>Who from the past, the future, and the unseen, <br>Could call up forms of more than earthly mien: <br>Unrivall'd Angelo on thee would gaze, <br>Till his full soul imbibed perfection's blaze! <br>And who but he, that Prince of Art, might dare <br>Thy sovereign greatness view without despair? <br>Emblem of Rome! from power's meridian hurl'd, <br>Yet claiming still the homage of the world. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What hadst thou been, ere barbarous hands defaced <br>The work of wonder, idolized by taste? <br>Oh! worthy still of some divine abode, <br>Mould of a Conqueror! ruin of a God! <br>Still, like some broken gem, whose quenchless beam <br>From each bright fragment pours its vital stream, <br>'Tis thine, by fate unconquer'd, to dispense <br>From every part some ray of excellence! <br>E'en yet, inform'd with essence from on high, <br>Thine is no trace of frail mortality! <br>Within that frame a purer being glows, <br>Through viewless veins a brighter current flows; <br>Fill'd with immortal life each muscle swells, <br>In every line supernal grandeur dwells. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Consummate work! the noblest and the last <br>Of Grecian Freedom, ere her reign was past: <br>Nurse of the mighty, she, while lingering still, <br>Her mantle flow'd o'er many a classic hill, <br>Ere yet her voice its parting accents breathed, <br>A hero's image to the world bequeathed; <br>Enshrined in thee the imperishable ray <br>Of high-soul'd Genius, foster'd by her sway. <br>And bade thee teach, to ages yet unborn, <br>What lofty dreams were hers–who never shall return! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And mark yon group, transfixed with many a throe, <br>Seal'd with the image of eternal woe: <br>With fearful truth, terrific power, exprest, <br>Thy pangs, Laocoon, agonize the breast, <br>And the stern combat picture to mankind <br>Of suffering nature, and enduring mind. <br>Oh, mighty conflict! though his pains intense <br>Distend each nerve, and dart through every sense; <br>Though fix'd on him, his children's suppliant eyes <br>Implore the aid avenging fate denies; <br>Though with the giant-snake in fruitless strife, <br>Heaves every muscle with convulsive life, <br>And in each limb existence writhes, enroll'd <br>'Midst the dread circles of the venom'd fold; <br>Yet the strong spirit lives–and not a cry <br>Shall own the might of Nature's agony! <br>That furrow'd brow unconquer'd soul reveals, <br>That patient eye to angry Heaven appeals, <br>That struggling bosom concentrates its breath, <br>Nor yields one moan to torture or to death! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sublimest triumph of intrepid Art! <br>With speechless horror to congeal the heart, <br>To freeze each pulse, and dart through every vein, <br>Cold thrills of fear, keen sympathies of pain; <br>Yet teach the spirit how its lofty power <br>May brave the pangs of fate's severest hour. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Turn from such conflicts, and enraptured gaze <br>On scenes where Painting all her skill displays: <br>Landscapes, by colouring dress'd in richer dyes, <br>More mellow'd sunshine, more unclouded skies, <br>Or dreams of bliss, to dying martyrs given, <br>Descending seraphs, robed in beams of heaven. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh ! sovereign Masters of the Pencil's might, <br>Its depths of shadow, and its blaze of light; <br>Ye, whose bold thought, disdaining every bound, <br>Explored the worlds above, below, around, <br>Children of Italy! who stand alone <br>And unapproach'd, 'midst regions all your own; <br>What scenes, what beings bless'd your favour'd sight <br>Severely grand, unutterably bright! <br>Triumphant spirits! your exulting eye <br>Could meet the noontide of eternity, <br>And gaze untired, undaunted, uncontroll'd, <br>On all that Fancy trembles to behold. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bright on your view such forms their splendour shed, <br>As burst on prophet-bards in ages fled: <br>Forms that to trace, no hand but yours might dare, <br>Darkly sublime, or exquisitely fair; <br>These, o'er the walls your magic skill array'd, <br>Glow in rich sunshine, gleam through melting shade, <br>Float in light grace, in awful greatness tower, <br>And breathe and move, the records of your power. <br>Inspired of Heaven! what heighten'd pomp ye cast <br>O'er all the deathless trophies of the past! <br>Round many a marble fane and classic dome, <br>Asserting still the majesty of Rome; <br>Round many a work that bids the world believe <br>What Grecian Art could image and achieve; <br>Again, creative minds, your visions throw <br>Life's chasten'd warmth, and Beauty's mellowest glow, <br>And when the Morn's bright beams and mantling dyes, <br>Pour the rich lustre of Ausonian skies, <br>Or evening suns illume, with purple smile, <br>The Parian altar, and the pillar'd aisle, <br>Then, as the full, or soften'd radiance falls <br>On angel-groups that hover o'er the walls, <br>Well may those Temples, where your hand has shed <br>Light o'er the tomb, existence round the dead, <br>Seem like some world, so perfect and so fair, <br>That naught of earth should find admittance there, <br>Some sphere, where beings, to mankind unknown <br>Dwell in the brightness of their pomp alone! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hence, ye vain fictions! fancy's erring theme! <br>Gods of illusion! phantoms of a dream! <br>Frail, powerless idols of departed time, <br>Fables of song, delusive, though sublime! <br>To loftier tasks has Roman Art assign'd <br>Her matchless pencil, and her mighty mind! <br>From brighter streams her vast ideas flow'd <br>With purer fire her ardent spirit glow'd. <br>To her 'twas given in fancy to explore <br>The land of miracles, the holiest shore; <br>That realm where first the light of life was sent, <br>The loved, the punish'd, of the Omnipotent! <br>O'er Judah's hills her thoughts inspired would stray, <br>Through Jordan's valleys trace their lonely way; <br>By Siloa's brook, or Almotana's deep, <br>Chain'd in dead silence, and unbroken sleep; <br>Scenes, whose cleft rocks, and blasted deserts tell, <br>Where pass'd the Eternal, where His anger fell! <br>Where oft His voice the words of fate reveal'd, <br>Swell'd in the whirlwind, in the thunder peal'd, <br>Or heard by prophets in some palmy vale, <br>Breathed 'still small' whispers on the midnight gale. <br>There dwelt her spirit–there her hand portray'd, <br>'Midst the lone wilderness or cedar-shade, <br>Ethereal forms with awful missions fraught, <br>Or patriarch-seers absorb'd in sacred thought, <br>Bards, in high converse with the world of rest, <br>Saints of the earth, and spirits of the blest. <br>But chief to Him, the Conqueror of the grave, <br>Who lived to guide us, and who died to save; <br>Him, at whose glance the powers of evil fled, <br>And soul return'd to animate the dead; <br>Whom the waves own'd–and sunk beneath His eye, <br>Awed by one accent of Divinity; <br>To Him she gave her meditative hours, <br>Hallow'd her thoughts, and sanctified her powers. <br>O'er her bright scenes sublime repose she threw, <br>As all around the Godhead's presence knew, <br>And robed the Holy One's benignant mien <br>In beaming mercy, majesty serene. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! mark where Raphael's pure and perfect line <br>Portrays that form ineffably divine! <br>Where with transcendent skill his hand has shed <br>Diffusive sunbeams round the Saviour's head; <br>Each heaven-illumined lineament imbued <br>With all the fullness of beatitude, <br>And traced the sainted group, whose mortal sight <br>Sinks overpower'd by that excess of light! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Gaze on that scene, and own the might of Art, <br>By truth inspired, to elevate the heart! <br>To bid the soul exultingly possess, <br>Of all her powers, a heighten'd consciousness; <br>And strong in hope, anticipate the day, <br>The last of life, the first of freedom's ray; <br>To realize, in some unclouded sphere,<br>Those pictured glories imaged here! <br>Dim, cold reflections from her native sky,<br>Faint effluence of 'the Day-spring from on high!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Felicia+Dorothea+Hemans">Felicia Dorothea Hemans</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391637" data-title="The Restoration Of The Works Of Art In Italy de Felicia Dorothea Hemans" data-description="LAND of departed fame! whose classic plains 
Have proudly echo'd to immortal strains; 
Whose hallow'd soil hath given the great and brave 
Daystars of life, a birth-place and a grave; 
Home of the Arts! where glory's faded smile 
Sheds lingering l..."></div>
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