With Shelley in Italy : being a selection of the poems and letters of Percy Bysshe Shelley which have to do with his life in Italy from 1818 to 1822 . Theface is of an oval fulness, and the features conceived withthe daring of a sense of power. In this respect it resem-bles the careless majesty which Nature stamps upon therare masterpieces of her creation, harmonising them as itwere from the harmony of the spirit within. Yet all thisnot only consists with, but is the cause of the subtlest deli-cacy of clear and tender beauty — the expression at onceof innocence and sublimity of soul — of purit
With Shelley in Italy : being a selection of the poems and letters of Percy Bysshe Shelley which have to do with his life in Italy from 1818 to 1822 . Theface is of an oval fulness, and the features conceived withthe daring of a sense of power. In this respect it resem-bles the careless majesty which Nature stamps upon therare masterpieces of her creation, harmonising them as itwere from the harmony of the spirit within. Yet all thisnot only consists with, but is the cause of the subtlest deli-cacy of clear and tender beauty — the expression at onceof innocence and sublimity of soul — of purity and strength— of all that which touches the most removed and divineof the chords that make music in our thoughts — of thatwhich shakes with astonishment even the most superficial. The Minerva The head is of the highest beauty. It has a close helmet,from which the hair, delicately parted on the forehead, halfescapes. The attitude gives entire effect to the perfectform of the neck, and to that full and beautiful mouldingof the lower part of the face and mouth, which is in living[ 282 J lyTICIIEL ANGELOS N:itiou;il — See p. 286. THE YEAR 1822 beings the seat of the expression of a simplicity ana in-tegrity of nature. Her face, upraised to heaven, is anima-ted with a profound, sweet, and impassioned melancholy,with an earnest, and fervid, and disinterested pleadingagainst some vast and inevitable wrong. It is the joy andpoetry of sorrow making grief beautiful, and giving it thatnameless feeling which, from the imperfection of language,we call pain, but which is not all pain, though a feelingwhich makes not only its possessor, but the spectator of it,prefer it to what is called pleasure, in which all is notpleasure. It is difficult to think that this head, though ofhighest ideal beauty, is the head of Minerva, although theattributes and attitude of the lower part of the statue cer-tainly suggest that idea. The Greeks rarely, in their repre-sentation
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