Ml 80 ■R3/ Hemans Restoration of the works of Art to Italy THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA ' LOS ANGELES A POEM. THE RESTORATION OF THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY A POEM. BY FELICIA HEMANS. Italia, Italia ! O tu cui die la sorte Dono infelice di bellezza, ond' bai Funesta dote d'infioiti guai, Che'n fronte scritte per gran doglia porte ; Deh, fossi tu men bell.i, o alnien piu forte. FlUCAJA. SECOND EDITION. OXFORD, PRINTED BY W. BAXTER ; FOR J. MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET, LONDON. 1816. " X EGE French, who in every invasion have been the " scourge of Italy, and have rivalled or rather surpassed " the rapacity of the Goths and Vandals, laid their sacri- " legions hands on the unparalleled collection of the " Vatican, tore its Masterpieces from their pedestals, " and dragging them from their temples of marble, " transported them to Paris, and consigned them to tlie " dull sullen halls, or rather stables, of the Louvre. * * *##**** * * *»»»*** " But the joy of discovery was short, and the triumph " of taste transitory !" Eustace's Classical Tour through Italy, vol. ii. p. 60. :I.09(]GSC THE RESTORATION OF THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. THE RESTORATION OF THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. iiAND of departed fame ! whose classic plains, Have proudly echoed to immortal strains; Whose hallow'd soil hath given the great and brave, Day-stars of life, a birth-place and a grave; Home of the Arts ! where glory's faded smile, Sheds ling'ring light o'er many a mould'ring pile; Proud wreck of vanish'd power, of splendor fled, Majestic temple of the mighty dead ! Wbose grandeur, yet contending with decay. Gleams thro' the twilight of thy glorious day; B 2 THE RESTORATION OF Tho' dlinm'd thy brightness, rivetted thy chain, Yet, fallen Italy ! rejoice again ! Lost, lovely Realm ! once more 'tis thine to gaze On the rich relics of sublimer days. Awake, ye Muses of Etrurian shades, Or sacred Tivoli's romantic glades; Wake, ye that slumber in the bowery gloom, Where the wild ivy shadows Virgil's tomb; Or ye, whose voice, by .Sorga's lonely wave, Swoird the deep echoes of the fountain's cave, Or thrill'd the soul in Tasso's nnnibcrs high, Those majjic strains of love and chivalrv; If yet by classic streams ye fondly rove, Ilauuting the myrtle-viilc, the laurcl-p:rove ; Oh ! rouse once more tlie daring soul of song. Seize with bold han 1 the liHrp, forgot so long, THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. 3 And hail, with wonted pride, those works revcr'd, Hallow'd by time, by absence more endear'd. And breathe to Those tlie strain, whose warriur-niigl.t Each danger stemm'd, prevail'd in every fight ; Souls of unyielding power, to storms inured, Sublim'd by peril, and by toil matured. Sing of that Leader, whose ascendant mind. Could rouse the slumb'ring snirit of mankind ; Whose banners track'd the vanquish'd Eagle's flight O'er many a plain, and dark Sierra's height; Who bade once more the wild, heroic lay, Record the deeds of Roncesvalles' day ; Who, thro' each mountain-pass of rock and snow, An Alpine Huntsman, chas'd the fear-struck foe; Waved his proud standard to the balmy gales, Rich Languedoc ! that fan thy glowing vales, li 'f 4 THE RESTORATION OF Anil 'midst those scenes renew'd tli' achievements high, Bequeath'd to fame by England's ancestry. Yet, when the storm seem'd hushed, the conflict past. One strife remained — the mightiest and the last ! Nerved for the struggle, in that fateful hour, Untamed Ambition summon'd all his power; Vengeance and Pride, to frenzy rous'd, were there, And the stern might of resolute Despair. Isle of the free ! 'twas then thy champions stood, Breasting unmov'd the combat's wildest flood, Sunbeam of Battle, then thy spirit shone, Glow'd in each breast, and sunk with life alone. Oh hearts devoted ! whose illustrious doom. Gave there at once your triumph and your tomb, Ye, firm and faithful, in th' ordeal tried Of that dread strife, by Freedom sanctified; THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. Shrin'd, not entomb'd, ye rest in sacred earth, Hallow 'd by deeds of more than mortal worth. What tho' to mark where sleeps heroic dust, No sculptur'd trophy rise, or breathing bust, Yours, on the scene where valour's race was run, A prouder sepulchre — the field ye won ! There every mead, each cabin's lowly name, Shall live a watch-word blended with vour fame : And well may flowers suffice those graves to crown, That ask no urn to blazon their renown. There shall the Bard in future ages tread. And bless each wreath that blossoms o'er the dead ; Revere each tree, whose sheltering branches wave O'er the low mounds, the altars of the brave ; Pause o'er each Warrior's grass-grown bed, and hear In every breeze, some name to glory dear. And as the shades of twilight close around, With martial pageants people all the ground. 6 THE RESTOlliVTlON OF Thither unborn descendants of the slain. '} Sliall throng, as pilgrim's to some holy fane, While, as they trace each spot, whose records tell, Where fouglit their fathers, and prevail'd, and fell, Warm in their souls shall loftiest feelings glow. Claiming proud kindred with the dust below ! And many an age shall see the brave repair, To learn the Hero's bright devotion there. And well, Ausonia ! may that field of fame, From thee one song of echoing triumph claim. Land of the lyre ! 'twas there th' avenging sword, Won the bright treasures to thy fanes restored ; Those precious trophies o'er thy realms that throw A veil of radiance, hiding half thy woe. And bid the stranger for awhile forget Row deep thy fall, and deem thee glorious yet. THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. Yes ! fair creations, to perfection wrought, Embodied visions of ascending thought ! Forms of sublimity ! bv Genius traced. In tints that vindicate adoring taste ; Whose bright originals, to larth unknown. Live in the spheres encircling glory's throne ; Models of art, to (kathless fame consign'd, Stamp'd with the high-born mnjesty of mind ; Yes, matchless works ! your presence shall rLstore One beam of splendor to your native shore, And her sad scenes of lost renown illume, As the brijiht Sunset <>ilds some Hero's tomb. Oh ! ne'er, in other climes, tho' many an eye, Dwelt on your cliaruis in beaming eesUibV ; Ne'er was it yours to bid the soul expand With thoughts so mighty, dreams so hoi ily grand, 8 THE RESTORATION OF As in that realm, where each luint breeze's moaiij Seems a low dirge for glorious ages gone ; Where 'midst the ruiii'd slirincs of many a vale, E'en Desolation tells a liaiiirhtv tale. And scarce a fountain Hows, a rock ascends, But its proud name with song eternal blends ! Ves ! in those scenes, where every ancient stream, Bids memory kindle o'er some lofty theme; Where every marble deeds of fanie records, Each ruin tells of Earth's departed lords; And the deep tones of inspiration swell, From each wild Olive-wood, and Alpine dell ; Where heroes slumber, on their battle plains, 'Midst prostrate altars, and deserted flmes, And Fancy communes, in each lonely spot, With shades of those who ne'er shall be forgot; THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. There was your home, and there your power imprest, With tenfold awe, the pilgrim's glowing breast ; And, as the wind's deep thrills, and mystic sighs. Wake the wild harp to loftiest harmonies, Thus at your influence, starting from repose, Tliought, Feeling, Fancy, into grandeur rose. Fair Florence ! Queen of Arno's lovely vale I Justice and Truth indignant heard thy tale, And sternly smii'd in retribution's hour, To wrest thy treasures from the Spoiler's power. Too long the s])irits of thy noble dead Mourned o'er the domes thev rear'd in aht I While siie, from fair Byzantium's lost domain, Who bore those treasures to her ocean-reign, 'Midst the bhu' deep, uln) reared her island-throne. And calle«l th' infinitude of waves her own; Vtf.ice the I roud, the Regent ef the sea, Welcomes in chains the trophies cf tiie Frie I 18 THE RESTORATION OF And thou, whose Eagle's towering phimo uiifdrled, Once cast its sliadow o'er a vassal world, Eternal city ! round wliose Curule throne, The Lords of nations knelt in ages flown ; Thou, whose Augustan years have left to time, Immortal records of their glorious prime; When deathless hards, thine olive-shades among, Swelled the high raptures of heroic song; Fair, fallen Einpress ! raise thy languid head, From the cold altars of th' illustrious dead. And once again, with fond delight survey, The proud memorials of thy nohlest day. Lo ! where thy sous, oh Rome ! a godlike train, In imaged majesty return agtu'n ! Bards, chieftains, monarchs, tower with mien r.ugusl. O'er scenes that shrine their venerable dust. THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. lU Those forms, those features, himinous with soul, Still o'er thy children seem to claim control ; With awful grace arrest the pilgrim's glance, Bind his rapt soul in elevating trance, And bid the past, to fancy's ardent eyes, From time's dim sepulchre in glory rise. Souls of the lofty ! whose undying names, Rouse the young bosom still to noblest aims ; Oh ! with your images could fate restore. Your own high spirit to your sons once more ; Patriots and Heroes ! could those flames return, That bade your hearts with freedom's ardours burn ; Then from the sacred ashes of the first, Might a new Rome in phcpnix-grandeur burst ! With one bright glance dispel th' horizon's gloom, With one loud call wake Empire from the tomb; D 2 20 THE llEtJTORA'riON OF Bind round her brows her own triumphal crown, Lift her dread ^Egis, with majestic frown, Unchain her Eagle's wing, and guide his flight, To bathe its plumage in the fount of light. Vain dream ! degraded Rome ! thy noon is o'er, Once lost, thy spirit shall revive no more. It sleeps with those, the sons of other days, Who fixed on thee the world's adoring gaze; Those, blest to live, while yet thy star was high, More blest, ere darkness quenched its beam, to die Yet, tho' thy faithless tutelary powers. Have fled thy shrines, left desolate thy towers, Still, still to thee shall nations bend their way, Revered in ruin, sovereign in decay ! Oh ! what can realms, in fame's full zenith, boast, To match the relics of thy splendor lost ! THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. 91 By Tiber's waves, on each illustrious hill, Genius and Taste shall love to wander still, For there has Art survived an Empire's doom, And reared her throne o'er Latium's trophied tomb ; She from the dust recalls the brave and iVce, Peopling each scene with beings worthy thee ! Oh ! ne'er again may War, with lightning-stroke, Rend its last honours from the shatter'd oak ! Long be those works, revered by ages, thine, To lend one triumph to thy dim decline. Bright with stern beauty, breathing wrathful fire, In all the grandeur of celestial ire, Once more thine own, ih' immortal Archer's form, Sheds radiance round, with more than Being warm ! Oh ! who e(»uld view, nor deem that perfect frame, A living temple of ethereal flame? 22 rilE RESTOIIATION OF Lord of the day-star ! how may words pourtruy Of tliy cluistc gk)ry one reflected ray ? W'hate'er the soul couhl (h-cain, the hand could trace, Of regal dignity, and heavenly grace; Each purer effluence of the fair and bright, Whose fitful gleatus iiave broke on mortal sight ; Each bold idea, borrowed from the sky, To vest th' embodied form of Deity ; All, all in thee ennobled and refined, Breathe and enchant, transccndently combined ! Son of Elysium ! years and ages gone, Have bowed, in speechless homage, at thy throne. And days unborn, and nations yet to be, Shall gaze, absorbed in ecstasy, on thee ! And thou, triumphant wreck', e'en yet sublime, Disputed trophy, claimed by Art and Time, THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. 23 Hail to that scene a^ain, where Genius caught From thee its fervors of diviner thoii^ht ! Where He, th' inspirit! One, whose gigantic inind. Lived in some sphere, to him alone assigned ; \^'ho from the past, the future, and th' unseen, Could call up forms of more than earthly mien ; Unrivalled AngeK), on thee would gaze, Till his full soul iml)ibed perfection's blaze f And who but he, that l^rince of Art, might dare Thy sovereign greatness view without despair.'' Emblem of iiome ! from power's meridian luuled. Yet claiming still the homaire oi' the world. Wlial hadst thou been, ere barbarous hands del'aeeil The work of wonder, idolized by taste? Oh! worthy still of some divine abode, ^Mould of a Conqueror ! ruin ol a (lod I 24 THE RESTORATION OF Still, like some broken gem, whose quenchless beam, From each brijrlit fragment pours its vital stream, 'Tis thine, by tate iinconquercd, to dispense From every part, some ray of excellence ! E'en yet, informed with essence from on high. Thine is no trace of frail mortality ! Within that frame a purer Being glows, Thro' viewless veins a brighter current (lows; Filled with inniurlal life each muscle swells. In every line supernal grandeur dwtlls. Consummate work ! the no1)lest and the last, ^ Of Grecian Freedom ere her reign was past. Nurse of the mighty, she, while lingering still, Her mantle flowed o'er many a classic hill. Ere yet lier voice its parting accents breathed, A Hero's image to the world bequeathed ; THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. Of Enshrined in thee th' inipeusliahle ray, Ot high-souled Genius, fostered by her sway, And bade thee teacli, to ages yet unl)orn, What lofty dreams were hers — who never shall return ! And mark yon group, transfixed with many a throe, Scaled with the image of eternal woe: With fearful truth, terrific power, exprest, Thy pangs, Laocoon, agonize the bieast, And the stern combat picture to mankind. Of suffering nature, and endurlnij mind. Oh, mighty conflict ! tho' his pains intense, Distend each nerve, and dart thro' every sense; Tho' fixed on him. Ins children's suppliant eyes, Implore the aid avenging fate denies ; Tho' with the ijiant-snake in fruitless strife, Heaves everv nmscle with convulsive life, 26 THE RE8T011AT10N OF And in each limb Existence writhes, enrolled 'Midst the dread circles of the venomed fold ; Yet the strong spirit lives — and not a cry, Shall own the might of Nature's agony ! That furrowed brow unconquered soul reveals, That patient eye to angry heaven appeals, That struggling bosom concentrates its breath, '* Nor yields one moan to torture or to death ! Sublimest triumph of intrepid Art ! With speechless horror to congeal the heart, To fieeze each pulse, and dart thro' every vein, Cold thrills of fear, keen sympathies of pain; Yet teach the spirit how its lofty power, May brave the pangs of fate's severest hour. Turn from such coiiHicts, and enraptured gaze, On scenes where Painting all her skill displays : THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. 97 Landscapes, by colouring drest in richer dyes, More mellowed sunshine, more unclouded skies ; Or dreams of bliss, to dyin<^ ^Lirtyrs given. Descending Seraphs, robed in beams of heaven. Oh! sovereign Masters of the Pencil's might, Its depth of shadow, and its blaze of light. Ye, whose bold thought disdaining every bound, Explored the worlds above, below, around, Children of Italy ! who stand alone, And unapproached, 'midst regions all your own ; What scenes, what beings blest your favoured sight. Severely grand, unutterably bright ! Triumphant spirits ! your exulting eye. Could meet the noontide ol eternity, And ga/e untired, undaunted, uncontrollod, On all that Fancy trembles to behold. F. 2 28 THi: RESTORATION OF Bright oil your view such forms tlicir si)Icn(lor shed, As burst on Propliet-bards in ages fled : Forms that to trace, no hand but yours might dare, Darkly sublime, or exquisitely fair. These o'er the walls your magic skill arrayed. Glow in rich sunshine, gleam thro' melting shade, Float in light grace, in awful greatness tower. And breathe and move, the records of your power. Inspired of Heaven ! what heightened pomp ye cast. O'er all the deathless trophies of the past ! Round many a marble fane and classic dome, Asserting still the majesty of Rome; Round many a work that bids the world believe, What Grecian Art could image and achieve ; Again, creative minds, your visions throw. Life's chastened warmth, and Beauty's mellowest glow. And when the Morn's bright beams and mantling dyes, Pour the rich lustre of Ausonian skies, THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. 99 Or evening suns illume, with purple smile, The Parian altar, and the pillared aisle, Then, as the full, or softened radiance falls, On Angel-groups that hover o'er the walls, Well may those Temples, where your hand has shed Light o'er the tomb, existence round the dead, Seem like some world, so perfect and so fair, That nought of earth should find admittance there. Some sphere, where Beings, to mankind unknown. Dwell in the brightness of their pomp, alone ! Hence, ye vain fictions, fancy's erring theme, Gods of illusion 1 phantoms of a dream ! Frail, powerless idols of departed time. Fables of song, delusive, the' sublime ! To loftier tasks has Roman Art assigned. Her matchless pencil, and her mighty mind ! 30 THE RKSTORATION OF From briirhtcr streams her vast ideas flowed, \Vith purer fire her ardent spirit glowed. To her 'twas given in fancy to explore, The land of miracles, the holiest shore; That realm where first the light of life was sent, The loved, the punisheil, of th' Omnipotent ! O'er Judah's hills her thoughts inspired would stray, Thro' Jordan's valleys trnce their lonely w?iy ; By Siloa's brook, or ^ Almotana's deep, Chained in dead silence, and unbroken sleep; Scenes, whose cleft rocks, and blasted deserts tell, Where pass'd th' Eternal, where his anger fell ! Where oft his voice the words of fate revealed, Swelled in the whirlwind, in the thunder pealed. Or heard by prophets in some palmy vale. Breathed ' still small' whispers on the midnight gale. There dwelt her spirit — there her hand pourtrayed, 'Midst the lone wilderness or cedar-shade, THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. 31 Ethereal forms, with awful missions fraught, Or Patriarch-seers, absorbed in sacred thought, Bards, in high converse with the world of rest. Saints of the earth, and spirits of the blest. But chief to Him, the Conqueror of the grave, Who lived to guide us, and who died to save ; Him, at whose glance the powers of evil fled, And soul returned to animate the dead ; Whom the waves owned — and sunk beneath his eye. Awed by one accent of Divinity; To Him she gave her meditative hours. Hallowed her thoughts, and sanctified her powers. O'er her bright scenes sublime repose she threw, As all around the Godhead's presence knew, And robed the Holv One's benignant mien, in beaming mercy, majesty serene. 32 THE RESTORATION OF Oil ! mark, wIicmh' Raphael's pure and perfect Hue Pourtrays that form ineffably divine ! *" Where with transcendent skill his hand has shed Diffusive sunbeams round the Saviour's head ; Each heaven-illumined lineament imbued With all the fulness of beatitude, And traced the sainted group, whose mortal sight, Sinks t)verpowered by that excess of light ! Gaze on that scene, and own the might of Art^ By truth inspired, to elevate the heart ! To bid the soul exultingly possess, Of all her powers, a heightened consciousness^ And strong in hope, anticipate the day, The last of life, the first of freedom's ray ; To realize, in some unclouded sphere. Those pictured glories feebly imaged here ! THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. 33 Dim, cold reflections from her native sky, Faint effluence of" the Day-spring from on hio^h !" F NOTES. Page 22. note 1. The Belvidere Torso, the favourite study of Michael Angelo, and of many other distinguished artists. Page 23. no(e 2. Quoique cette statue d'Hercule ait ete maltraitee et mutilee d'une mani^re etrange, se trouvant sans tete, sans bras, et sans jambes, elle est cependant encore iin chef-d'oeuvre aux yeux des connoisseurs; et ceux qui savent percer dans les mysteres de I'art, se la repr^sentent dans toute sa beaute. L' Artiste en voulant representer Ilercule, a forme mi corps ideal au-dessus de la nature * * * Get Hercule paroit done ici tel qu'il dut 6tre lorsque purifie par le feu des foiblesses de I'humanitd, 11 obtint I'lmmortalite et prit place aupres des Dieux. II est represente sans aucun besoin de nourriture et de reparation de forces. Les veines y sont toutes invisibles. WiNCKELMANN, Histoue (Je VArt rliez lea Aaciens, torn. ii. J). 248. F 2 36 NOTES. Page 24. note 3. Le Torso d'lJercule paroit un des derniers ouvrages par- faits que liat ait produiten Grece, avant la perte de sa liberty. Car apres ciuc la Grecefut reduite en province Romaine, I'his- toire ne fait mention d'aucun Artiste celebre de cette nation, jusqu'aux temps du Triumvirat Romain. WiNCKELMANN, ibid. toni. ii. p. 250. Page 26. note 4. " It is not, in the same manner, in the agonized limbs, or in the convulsed muscles of the Laocoon, that the secret grace of its composition resides; it is in ttie majestic air of the head, which has not yielded to sujferinij;, and in the deep serenity of the forehead, which seems to be still superior to all its a^ic- tions, and significant of a niin