Landscape and figure painters of America . ,the rich deep tones of autumn, and the whiteharmony of winter. Rather do they showthat the tears of things sadden him, ashe sees that man moves through this lifelike a shadow passing over the ground, andlike it disappears and is forgotten, while na-ture is permanent and enduring. Hear herspeaking: Will ye scan me and read me and tellOf the thoughts that ferment in my breast,My longing, my sadness, my joy?Will ye claim for your great ones the giftTo have renderd the gleam of my skies,To have echod the moan of my seas,Utterd the voice of my hills?Race
Landscape and figure painters of America . ,the rich deep tones of autumn, and the whiteharmony of winter. Rather do they showthat the tears of things sadden him, ashe sees that man moves through this lifelike a shadow passing over the ground, andlike it disappears and is forgotten, while na-ture is permanent and enduring. Hear herspeaking: Will ye scan me and read me and tellOf the thoughts that ferment in my breast,My longing, my sadness, my joy?Will ye claim for your great ones the giftTo have renderd the gleam of my skies,To have echod the moan of my seas,Utterd the voice of my hills?Race after race, man after man,Have thought that my secret was theirs,—They are dust, they are changed, they are gone!I remain. — Mauve is an artist and not a philosopher,and we do not expect any theories of life fromhim; but he cannot help expressing in his artwhat he feels, when he looks out on the variedphenomena of the world, and this seems tobe the burden of it: the earth is beautiful initself, but sad in relation to man, for he lives. ANTON MAUVE 163 but a short time on it, and passes away, andthe future is not known. What an influence Mauve had on his brotherartists, and on his fellow countrymen, theirloving and affectionate memory of him is beautifully expressed by M. A. , in his study of the artists life andwork: But Mauve is not dead! When we Dutchwalk in those pretty country lanes under thebirch trees, with their silvery leaves and pearly teenth Cen tury. aspect; when we watch the sun caressing thegreen meadows and playing about among thebranches of the willow, or over the alder andhazel trees; when we hear the echo of thetinkling bell of the sheep on the heath, wesay: Mauve lives, he is here, he is here! Painters ofthe Nine- CHAPTER X MATTHEW MARIS Born 1839. There are some artists about whose placein the art world there is always great discussion;they have strong admirers, and these perhapsexaggerate their good qualities, and on theother hand the
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