. The poetical works of James Russell Lowell . aysBuild up the spirits dwelling-place!A temple of so Parian stoneWould brook a marble god alone,The statue of a perfect life,Far-shrined from earths bestaining ! though such felicityIn our vext world here may not be,Yet, as sometimes the peasants hutShows stones which old religion cutWith text inspired, or mystic signOf the Eternal and Divine,Torn from the consecration deepOf some fallen nunnerys mossy sleep,So, from the ruins of this dayCrumbling in golden dust away,The soul one gracious block may with some fragment of th
. The poetical works of James Russell Lowell . aysBuild up the spirits dwelling-place!A temple of so Parian stoneWould brook a marble god alone,The statue of a perfect life,Far-shrined from earths bestaining ! though such felicityIn our vext world here may not be,Yet, as sometimes the peasants hutShows stones which old religion cutWith text inspired, or mystic signOf the Eternal and Divine,Torn from the consecration deepOf some fallen nunnerys mossy sleep,So, from the ruins of this dayCrumbling in golden dust away,The soul one gracious block may with some fragment of the law,Which, set in lifes uneven benedictions may lure some nunlike thoughts to takeTheir dwelling here for memorys sake. MASACCIO.(IN THE BRANCACCI CHAPEL.) He came to Florence long ago. And painted here these walls, that shone For Raphael and for Angelo, With secrets deeper than his own. Then shrank into the dnrk again. And died, we know not how or when. The shadows deepened, and I turnedHalf sadly from the fresco grand;. My coachman in the nioonliglit there. Page 341. WITHOUT AND WITHIN. — GODMINSTEK CHIMES. 341 And is this, mused I, all ye earned,High-vaulted brain and cunning hand,That ye to greater men could teachThe skill yourselves could never reach ? And who were they, I mused, that wroughtThrough pathless wilds, with labor highways of our daily thought ?Who reared those towers of earliest songThat lift us from the throng to peaceRemote in sunny silences ? Out clanged the Ave Mary to my heart this message came:Each clamorous throat among them tellsWhat strong-souled martyrs died in flameTo make it possible that thouShouldst here with brother sinners bow. Thoughts that gi-eat hearts once broke for, weBreathe cheaply in the common air;The dust we trample heedlesslyThrobbed once in saints and heroes rare,Who perished, opening for their raceNew pathways to the commonplace. Henceforth, when rings the health to thoseWho live in story
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