Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; WOLFE. PARRHASIUS. PARRHASIUS, a painter of Athens, amongst those Olynthian captives Philip of Macedon brought home to sell, bought one very old man ; and, when he had him at his house, put him to death with extreme torture and torment, the better, by his example, to express the pains and passions of his Prometheus, whom he was then about to paint. THE golden light into the painter's room The lint-specks floated in the twilight air. Parrhasius stood, gazing forgetfully Upon his canvass. There Prometheus lay, The vulture at his vitals, and the links Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh; And, as the painter's mind felt through the dim, Were like the winged god's, breathing from his flight. "BRING me the captive now! Upon the bended heavens, around me play Ha! bind him on his back! Look! as Prometheus in my picture here — or he faints! stand with the cordial near! Press down the poisoned links into his flesh! Will he live thus? Quick, my good pencil now! Ha! grey-haired, and so strong! How fearfully he stifles that short moan! Pity thee! So I do! I pity the dumb victim at the altar; But does the robed priest for his pity falter? A thousand lives were perishing in thine : A spirit that the smothering vault shall spurn, Consumed my brain to ashes as it won me, Ay, though it bid me rifle My heart's last fount for its insatiate thirst; The yearning in my throat for my sweet child, All, I would do it all, Sooner than die, like a dull worm to rot; O heavens! but I appal Your heart, old man! forgive! Ha! on your lives, Vain, vain; give o'er! His eye Stand back! I'll paint the death-dew on his brow. Shivering! Hark! he mutters Brokenly now - that was a difficult breath · Another? Wilt thou never come, oh Death? Is his heart still? Aha! lift up his head! THE ORPHAN BOY. ALAS! I am an orphan boy, With nought on earth to cheer my heart; And, when the kiss of love goes round, Yet once I had a father dear, A mother, too, I wont to prize, But, ah! there came a war, they say; I thought; nor could I thence foresee A scarlet coat my father took; And sword, as bright as bright could be; And feathers, that so gaily look, All in a shining cap had he. Then how my little heart did bound! Nor dreamt that, when the kiss went round, My mother sigh'd, my mother wept — And, ah! how sweet a kiss to me! But when I found he rode so far, And came not back as heretofore, I said it was a naughty war, And loved the fife and drum no more. At length the bell again did ring There was a victory, they said; But, ah! it brought my father-dead! But once again - but once again |