Rhymes On The Road. Extract IV. Milan.

The Picture Gallery.--Albano's Rape of Proserpine.--Reflections.-- Universal Salvation.--Abraham sending away Agar, by Guercino.--Genius.     Went to the Brera--saw a Dance of Loves         By smooth ALBANO! him whose pencil teems     With Cupids numerous as in summer groves         The leaflets are or motes in summer beams.     'Tis for the theft of Enna's flower from earth,     These urchins celebrate their dance of mirth     Round the green tree, like fays upon a heath--         Those that are nearest linkt in order bright,     Cheek after cheek, like rose-buds in a wreath;     And those more distant showing from beneath         The others' wings their little eyes of light.     While see! among the clouds, their eldest brother         But just flown up tells with a smile of bliss     This prank of Pluto to his charmed mother         Who turns to greet the tidings with a kiss!     Well might the Loves rejoice--and well did they         Who wove these fables picture in their weaving     That blessed truth, (which in a darker day         ORIGEN lost his saintship for believing,[1])--     That Love, eternal Love, whose fadeless ray         Nor time nor death nor sin can overcast,     Even to the depths of hell will find his way,         And soothe and heal and triumph there at last!     GUERCINO'S Agar--where the bondmaid hears         From Abram's lips that he and she must part,     And looks at him with eyes all full of tears         That seem the very last drops from her heart.     Exquisite picture!--let me not be told     Of minor faults, of coloring tame and cold--     If thus to conjure up a face so fair,[2]     So full of sorrow; with the story there     Of all that woman suffers when the stay     Her trusting heart hath leaned on falls away--     If thus to touch the bosom's tenderest spring,     By calling into life such eyes as bring     Back to our sad remembrance some of those     We've smiled and wept with in their joys and woes,     Thus filling them with tears, like tears we've known,     Till all the pictured grief becomes our own--     If this be deemed the victory of Art--         If thus by pen or pencil to lay bare     The deep, fresh, living fountains of the heart         Before all eyes be Genius--it is there!