FOR

'OUR LADY OF THE ROCKS'

BY LEONARDO DA VINCI.

MOTHER, is this the darkness of the end,

The Shadow of Death? and is that outer sea
Infinite imminent Eternity?

And does the death-pang by man's seed sustain'd
In Time's each instant cause thy face to bend
Its silent prayer upon the Son, while he
Blesses the dead with his hand silently
To his long day which hours no more offend?

Mother of grace, the pass is difficult,

Keen as these rocks, and the bewildered souls

Throng it like echoes, blindly shuddering through.

Thy name, O Lord, each spirit's voice extols,

Whose peace abides in the dark avenue

Amid the bitterness of things occult.

FOR

A VENETIAN PASTORAL

BY GIORGIONE.

(In the Louvre.)

WATER, for anguish of the solstice :-nay,
But dip the vessel slowly,-nay, but lean
And hark how at its verge the wave sighs in
Reluctant. Hush! Beyond all depth away
The heat lies silent at the brink of day :

Now the hand trails upon the viol-string

That sobs, and the brown faces cease to sing, Sad with the whole of pleasure. Whither stray

Her eyes now, from whose mouth the slim pipes creep And leave it pouting, while the shadowed grass

Is cool against her naked side? Let be :

Say nothing now unto her lest she weep,
Nor name this ever. Be it as it was,—
Life touching lips with Immortality.

FOR

AN ALLEGORICAL DANCE OF WOMEN

BY ANDREA MANTEGNA.

(In the Louvre.)

SCARCELY, I think; yet it indeed may be

The meaning reached him, when this music rang Clear through his frame, a sweet possessive pang, And he beheld these rocks and that ridged sea. But I believe that, leaning tow'rds them, he

Just felt their hair carried across his face

As each girl passed him; nor gave ear to trace
How many feet; nor bent assuredly

His eyes from the blind fixedness of thought
To know the dancers. It is bitter glad
Even unto tears. Its meaning filleth it,
A secret of the wells of Life: to wit: :
The heart's each pulse shall keep the sense it had
With all, though the mind's labour run to nought.

FOR

'RUGGIERO AND ANGELICA'

BY INGRES.

I.

A REMOTE Sky, prolonged to the sea's brim:
One rock-point standing buffeted alone,
Vexed at its base with a foul beast unknown,
Hell-birth of geomaunt and teraphim :

A knight, and a winged creature bearing him,
Reared at the rock: a woman fettered there,
Leaning into the hollow with loose hair

And throat let back and heartsick trail of limb.

The sky is harsh, and the sea shrewd and salt:
Under his lord the griffin-horse ramps blind

With rigid wings and tail. The spear's lithe stem. Thrills in the roaring of those jaws: behind,

That evil length of body chafes at fault.

She doth not hear nor see-she knows of them.

II.

CLENCH thine eyes now,-'tis the last instant, girl :
Draw in thy senses, set thy knees, and take
One breath for all: thy life is keen awake,--
Thou mayst not swoon.

Was that the scattered whirl

Of its foam drenched thee ?-or the waves that curl
And split, bleak spray wherein thy temples ache?
Or was it his the champion's blood to flake
Thy flesh ?—or thine own blood's anointing, girl?

Now, silence for the sea's is such a sound

As irks not silence; and except the sea,

All now is still. Now the dead thing doth cease To writhe, and drifts. He turns to her and she, Cast from the jaws of Death, remains there, bound,

Again a woman in her nakedness.