The Statues in the Block

"LOVE is the secret of the world," he said;"The cup we drain and still desire to drink.The loadstone hungers for the steel; the steel,Inert amid a million stones, responds to this.So yearn and answer hearts that truly love:Once touch their life-spring, it vibrates to death;And twain a thrill as one are nature-wed."

But silent stood the three who heard, nor smiledNor looked agreement. Strangers these who stoodWithin a Roman studio—still young,But sobered each with that which follows joyAt life's fresh forenoon, and the eye of each

Held deep within a restless eager light,As gleams a diamond in a darkened roomWith radiance hoarded from the vanished sun.

"The meteor-stone is dense and dark in space,But bursts in flame when through the air it rushes;And our dull life is like an aeroliteThat leaps to fire within the sphere of love."Unchecked his mood ran on: "Sweet amorous hoursThat lie in years as isles in tropic seas,You spring to view as Art is born of Love,And shape rich beauties in this marble block!

Before them rose within the shaded lightA tall and shapely mass of Alp-white crystalFresh from the heart of a Carrara quarry.

"Opaque to you this marble; but to me,Whose eyes the chrism of passion has anointed,The stone is pregnant with a life of love.Within this monolith there lives a form

Which I can see and would reveal to you,Could hand and chisel swiftly follow sight.From brow to foot her lissome form stands forth—The ripe lips smiling reached; with nestling press,As round the sailor frozen in the bergThe clear ice closes on the still dead face,The marble, grown translucent, touches softEach comely feature—rippled hair, and chin,And lily sweep of bust and hip and limb—Ah, sweet mouth pouting for the lips that cling,And white arms raised all quivering to the claspAh, rich throat made for burning lover's kiss,And reckless bodice open to the swell,And deep eyes soft with love's suffusion—Love!O Love! still living, memory and hope,Beyond all sweets thy bosom, breath, and lips—My jewel and the jewel of the world!"

They stood in silence, each one rapt and still,As if the lovely form were theirs as his,

Till one began—harsh voice and clouded faceWith other presence in his eye—and said:

"Opaque to me with such a glow-worm rayAs Love's torch flings—but, mark, the dense rock meltsWhen from my soul on fire the fiercer beam,The mighty calcium-glare of hate leaps outAnd eats the circumambient marble—See!Laid bare as corpse to keen anatomist,With every sinuous muscle picked with shadow,And every feature tense with livid passion,And all the frame aheave with sanguine throbsThe ecstasy of agonized Revenge!stone, reveal it how my parting kissWas wet upon her mouth when other lipsDrank deep the curséd fountain; how the coinI hung with rapture 'tween her glowing breasts,And fondly thought if I should die and sheShould live till age had blanched her hair and flesh,

This golden medal's touch would still have powerTo light the love-fire in the faded eyesAnd swell the shrivelled breast to maiden roundnessThis thought I nursed—O Stygian abyss!—Away thy picture of the rippled hair!Her hair was rippled and her eyes were deep,Her breasts and limbs were white and lily-curved,But all the woman, soul and wondrous flesh,Was poison-steeped and veined with vicious fire;And I, blind fool who trusted, was but oneWho swooned with love beside her—But I drankThe wine she filled, and made her eat the dregs—I drenched her honey with my sea of gall.I see her in the marble where she shrinksIn shuddered fear, as if my face were fire—Her cowering shadow making whiter stillThe face of him that writhes beside her feet.I see him breathe, the last deep breath, and turnHis eyes upon me horror-filled—his hand,Still hot with wanton dalliance, clutched hard

Across the burning murder in his side—And now he sinks still glaring—And my heartIs there between them, petrified, O God!And pierced by that red blow that struck their guilt.O balm and torture! he must hate who loves,And bleed who strikes to see thy face, Revenge!"

Grown deep the silence for the words that died,And paler still the marble for its grief.

"Ah, myrrh and honey!" spake a third, whose eyesWere deep with sorrow for the woe; "blind handsThat grope for flowers and pierce the flesh with thorns!All love of woman still may turn to hate,As wine to bitterness, as noon to night.But sweeter far and deeper than the loveOf flesh for flesh, is the strong bond of heartsFor suffering Motherland—to make her free!Love's joy is short, and Hate's black triumph bitter,And loves and hates are selfish save for thee,

chained and weeping at thy pillar's foot,Thy white flesh eaten by accursed bands.No love but thine can satisfy the heart,For love of thee holds in it hate of wrong,And shapes the hope that moulds humanity!Not mine your passions, yet I weigh them well—Who loves a greater sinks all lesser love,Who hates a tyrant loses lesser hate.My Land! I see thee in the marble, bowedBefore thy tyrant, bound at foot and wrist—Thy garments rent—thy wounded shoulder bare—Thy chained hand raised to ward the cruel blow—My poor love round thee scarf-like, weak to hideAnd powerless to shield thee—but a boyI wound it round thee, dearest, and a manI drew it close and kissed thee—Mother, wife!For thee the past and future days; for theeThe will to trample wrong and strike for slaves;For thee the hope that ere mine arm be weakAnd ere my heart be dry may close the strife

In which thy colors shall be borne through fire,And all thy griefs washed out in manly blood—And I shall see thee crowned and bound with love,Thy strong sons round thee guarding thee. O starThat lightens desolation, o'er her beam,Nor let the shadow of the pillar sinkToo deep within her, till the dawn is redOf that white noon when men shall call her Queen!"

The deep voice quivering with affection ceased,And silent each they saw within the stoneThe captive nation and the mother's woe.Yet while their hearts the fine emotion warmed,Ere ebbed the deep-pulsed throb of brotherhood,The last one spoke, and held the wave at full:—

"Yea, brothers, his the noblest for its grief;Your love was loss—but his was sacrifice.Your light was sunlight, for the shallow sense,

That bends the eyes on earth and thinks it sees;His love was nightlike, when we see the stars,Forgetting petty things around our feet.Yet here, too, find his weakness, for his hopeIs still for sunlight, and your shallow sense,And golden crowns and queendom for his love.I, too, within the stone behold a statue,Far less than yours, but greater, for I knowMy symbol a beginning, not an end.O, Grief, with Hope! The marble fades—behold!The little hands still crossed—a child in death.My link with love—my dying gift from herWhose last look smiled on both, when I was leftA loveless man, save this poor gift, alone.My heart had wound its tendrils round one life,But, when my joy was deepest, she was stricken,And I was powerless to save. My prayersAnd piteous cries were flung against my face—My life was blighted by the curse of Heaven!But from the depths her love returned to soothe:

Her dear hand reached from death and placed her childWhere she had lived, within the riven tendrils,And firmly these closed round their second treasure.And she, my new love, in her infant holdTook every heart-string as her mother's gift,And touched such tender fine-strung chords, and playedSuch music in my heart as filled my lifeWith trembling joy and fondness for the child.I feared to be so blest—her baby cheek,When laid on mine, was Heaven's sweetest touch;And when she looked me in the eyes, I sawHer mother look at me from deep within,And bless me for the love I gave and won.Yet, when I loved her most she, too, was doomed:I saw it come upon her like a shadow,And watched the change, appalled at first, but setTo ward the danger from my darling. She,As day by day still failing, grew so tender

And crept so often to my heart, as if,Though but a babe who could not speak a word,She knew full well my life would soon be shattered.But all my love was fruitless, and my prayersTo leave her with me beat the gates in vain.I thought my love must hold her, till at lastI held the tiny body like a leafAll day and night within my arms; and so,Close nestled to my yearning heart, Death passed,As merciless as God, but left that lookOf two dead loves, as if Death's self knew pity.And I was lost heart-withered in a nightThat knew no star and held no ray of hope,And heard no word but my despairing curseWith lifted hands, at life and Him who gave it!My graves were all I had—the little moundWhere my hands laid her, with the sweet young grass—The tiny hill that grew until the sunWas hid behind it, and I sat below

And gnawed my heart in grief within its shadow.So one day bowed in woe beside the graveThe weight grew deadly, and I called aloudThat God should witness to my life in ruin.And God's word reached me through the little graveWhere in the grass my face was buried weepingHis peace came through it like a pent-up breathThat rolled from some great world whose gates had oped,And blew upon my wild and hardened heart,And swept my woe before it like a leaf.My dried heart drank the meaning of the peace:True love shall trust, and selfish love must die,For trust is peace, and self is full of pain;Arise, and heal thy brother's grief; his tearsShall wash thy love and it will live again.little grave, I thought 't was love had died,But in thy bosom only lies my sorrow.1 see my darling in the marble now—My wasted leaf—her kind eyes smiling fondly,

And through her eyes I see the love beyond,The biding light that moves not—and I knowThat when God gives to us the clearest sightHe does not touch our eyes with Love, but Sorrow."