. Stories for the household . but not less the ground lay many a sketch that resembled the daughters of theCampagna, in their fresh hearty comeliness, but the two originals werefar handsomer than their portraits. All the burners of the six-armedlamp flared and flamed; and the human flamed up from within, andappeared in the glare as if it were divine. Apollo ! Jupiter ! 1 feel myself raised to your heaven, to your glory!I feel as if the blossom of life were unfolding itself in my veins at thismoment! Yes, the blossom unfolded itself, and then burst and fell, and an evilvapour arose f
. Stories for the household . but not less the ground lay many a sketch that resembled the daughters of theCampagna, in their fresh hearty comeliness, but the two originals werefar handsomer than their portraits. All the burners of the six-armedlamp flared and flamed; and the human flamed up from within, andappeared in the glare as if it were divine. Apollo ! Jupiter ! 1 feel myself raised to your heaven, to your glory!I feel as if the blossom of life were unfolding itself in my veins at thismoment! Yes, the blossom unfolded itself, and then burst and fell, and an evilvapour arose from it, blinding the sight, leading astray the fancy—thefirework of the senses went out, and it became dark. He was again in his own room • there he sat down on his bed andcollected his thoughts. Fie on thee! these were the words that sounded out of his mouthfrom the depths of his heart. Wretched man, go, begone ! And adeep painful sigh burst from his bosom. Away! begone 1 These, her words, the words of the living Psyche,. THE SCULPTOR AMONG HIS FRIENDS. echoed through his heart, escaped from his lips. He buried his head inthe pillows, his thoughts grew confused, and he fell asleep. In the morning dawn he started up, and collected his thoughts had happened ? Had all the past been a dream ? The visit to ha;the feast at the tavern, the evening with the purple carnations of the Caui-pagna ? No, it was all real—a reality he had never before experienced. In the purple air gleamed the bright Star, and its beams fell uponhim and upon the marble Psyche. He trembled as he looked at thatpicture of immortality, and his glance seemed impure to him. He threwthe cloth over the statue, and then touched it once more to unveil theform—but he was not able to look again at his own work. Gloomy, quiet, absorbed in his own thoughts, he sat there through thelong day ; he heard nothing of what was going on around him, and noman guessed what was passing in this human soul. And days
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookpublisherlondongroutledgean
