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Mich. Raf:

Mich.

Raff Mich.

Pupe.
Mich.
Pope.
Mich.

Pope. Raff Pope. Mich. Pope. Mich. Pope. Mich.

Pope. Mich. Pope. Mich. Raff

You drove your pencil round, and thus-and thus :-
I never stood before a face so fine.
'Tis a free sketch ; I know it.

Thou shouldst paint
Gods, my good Michael, and leave earth to me.
The children and the women thou wilt have :
What need to ask what thou hast won already.
Hark! there are footsteps coming.

'Tis the Pope.
[Pope JULIUS II. enters, with attendants.]
We come to visit thee, good Buonarotti.
Your holiness is welcome.

What hast done?
Since yesterday ?-but little, save design :
This head, and that.

This takes my fancy much.
Your holiness is right.

So, who art thou?
'Tis Raffaelle Sanzio.

Ha ! and who is he?
A painter, holy father; and a good one.-
What else?

Some drawings, which your holiness
Will prize but little. I've been plotting lately.
Thine is a tedious art: is 't not so, Michael ?
'Tis hard to compass.

Ay, and slow to live.
True;- but it lives for ever.

Like Renown,
Which clothes with sun and life the deeds of men,
Building on earth a world which may outlast
Its strong foundation. Give me Fame-on earth;
And, when I leave sweet earth, a finer sphere,
Where Beauty breaketh like a summer morn.
Let me have voices, too, heart-wakening words,
All touch'd like pictures with the soul of thought :
So will I dream over Elysian flowers,
And listen to music, and quaff nectar-dew,
And lie in the light of love, and paint for ever
Peace! peacel what's this?

He hath a liberal fancy.
He fills his horn fuller than Fortune's.
Now I would rather lie on some vast plain,
And hear the wolves upbraiding the cold moon,
Or on a rock when the blown thunder comes
Booming along the wind. My dreams are nought,
Unless with gentler figures fierce ones mix,-
Giants with Angels, Death with Life, Despair
With Joy :-

:-even the Great One comes in terror
To me, apparell'd like the fiery storm.
Thy fancy was begat i' the clouds.

My soul
Finds best communion with both ill and good.
Some spirits there are, all earth, which only thrive
In wine or laughter. So my nature breathes
Darkness and Night, Power or the death of Power ;-

Pope. Mich. Pope. Mich.

Raff.
Mich.

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A mountain riven—a palace sack'd—a town
Rent by an earthquake (such as once uptore
Catania from its roots, and sent it down
To the centre, split in fragments)-Famine,- Plague-
Earth running red with blood, or deluge-drown'd.
These are my dreams :-and sometimes, when my brain
Is calm, I lie awake and think of God.
Michael !

A vision comes which has no shape;
None, though I strain my sight, and strive to draw
Some mighty fashion on the trembling dark,-
Tis gone :-again I draw, again 'tis fown,
And so I toil in vain.

But thou must dream
Again for me, good Michael. We must shew
A dream that shall outlast the walls of Rome.
I'll do my best ; but thought is as a root
That strikes which way it will through the dark brain :
I cannot force't.

What wilt thou paint,-a World ?
Ay-its Creation.

Make it fresh and fair:
Breathe all thy soul upon it, until it glow
Like day. Clasp it all round with Paradise,
Colour, and light, green bowers

I'll make it bare.
Like man when he comes forth, a naked wretch,
So shall his dwelling be,—the barren soil.
This must not be. It is not writ i’ The Book.
Pardon me: I must chase my own poor thought,
Which way soever it turn.

Still earth should bloom ?
It should be like the time. I will not paint
Antediluvian Adam when first he sprang
From dust,--strong, active, like the autumnal stag:
But * with limbs dawning into sinewy strength.
Nor will I plant the full-blown intellect
On his bright eye, but therein gently unfold
Young Adoration

Right ! 'Twill grow and blossom.
Now for thine Eve.

Um! Must there be a woman?
“Must!”—Thou wouldst paint a barren world indeed.
Thou never lovedst.
I have : nay, I love still.

Whom? what?

Mine Art.
Why, so do I :-yet I love women too.
Thy humour feeds one sense and starves the rest.
A poor economy. The youth speaks well.
Perhaps : yet, the first man was born alone,
Companionless, a prodigy, like Light.
Birds and the desert brutes awaited him :
Nought else. A world there was (fair if thou wilt);
Yet Eden grew not before Adam rose.

Pope. Mich.

Raff Mich.

Raff.

Mich. Raf.

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Pope.
Mich.

• See his picture. « Dominus Deus formavit hominem ex solo terræ."

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- no more.

Mich.

After his birth, indeed, sve may have wrought ..
That pleasant garden, wherein the Devil stole

And tempted Raffaelle's goddess soon to sin.
Raff: Stop there, stop there k. The man
Mich,

Alas! he fell,
He ate perdition from the woman's hand.
:"?!167 b'Death for himself-(he was not born to die,
14. But live, the lord of this eternal stat)

pretty,
11. Death for himself and race, despair and toil, 31' [ 16793 ?

Peril, and passion which no joy can quench,
Grief here, and Hell hereafter, these he earn'da: 1.7845911

Shall 1 paint all this truly
Raff:

Why notThes; Pope. Do as thou wilt. Man’s life is full of troubles, : Mich.

It is a pillar writ on every side

With fiery figures. Shall we shew them all"9, 1974,18 mm ': Pope. No: the first fall,

+ 1917 no

Yes, the fierce moral.it: "1
That let me do; for I have sketch'd already
Dark phantasies, and broke up graves, and blown, , !,
In thought, the heart-piercing trumpet, whose loud crysin

Shall blast the dreams of millions.
Pope.

What is this? Raff.

The Judgement.
Mich.

Ay, the Judgement.
Look!

In the middle, near the top, shall stand
Jesus, the Saviour: by his side mild crowds
Of followers, and Apostles hovering near.
Here shall be seen the bless'd, and there the damn'd,
Sinners, whom diabolic strength shall hurl
Down to perdition. Insolent visages,
Born in the sleep of Sin, shall flesh their fangs ;
Dwarfs, devils, and hideous things, and brute abortions
Some who make sick the moon, and some who hide
Their monstrous foreheads in a reptile's mask :
Pale Palsy, and crook'd Spasm, and bloated. Plague, pojet
And Fear, made manifest, shall fill the wind

With Hell,- for Hell is horror, link'd to pain. -
Pope.
No more.

Thou dost bewitch my flesh to ice.
Raff No more, good Buonarotti. Now farewell !
Mich. Farewell i
Raff.

Thy figures haunt me, like Disease.
I must go hear some Roman melody,
Accomplish'd music, and sweet human words,
And bask beneath the smiles which thou dost scorn,

When I am disenchanted-
Mich.

Come again.
Raff: I will : farewell ! Father, thy holy blessing:
Pope. My blessing on thee, son! Michael, farewell !

[Exeunt, :

1

SKETCHES OF THE IRISH BAR.-NO, VIII.

Serjeant Goold. The French Revolution had scarcely burst upon the world, and its portentous incidents were still the daily subject of universal astonishment or dismay, when there arose in the metropolis of Ireland a young gentleman, who, feeling jealous of the unrivalled importance which the Continental phenomenon was enjoying, resolved to start in his own person as an opposition-wonder. He had some of the qualifications and all the ambitious self-dependence befitting so arduous a project. Nature and fortane had been extremely kind to him. He was of a respectable and wealthy family. His face was handsome; his person small, but symmetrical and elastic, and peculiarly adapted to the performance of certain bodily feats which he subsequently achieved. As to bis general endowments, he was, upon his own showing, a fac-simile of the admirable Crichton. He announced himself as an adept in every known department of human learning, from the prophetic revelations of judicial astrology, and the more obsolete mysteries of magic lore, up to the lightest productions of the amatory muse of France. He professed to speak every living language (except the Irish) as fluently and correctly as if he had been a native-born. He played, sung, danced, fenced, and rode with more skill and spirit than the masters of those respective arts who had presumed to teach him. He had a deep sense of the value of so many combined perfections, and acted under the persuasion that he was called upon to amaze the world. His friends, who had perceived that beneath his incomprehensible aspirations there lurked the elements of a clever man, recommended the Bar as a profession in which with industry, and his 10,0001., for he inherited about as much, and a rising religion, for he was a Protestant, he might fairly hope to gratify their ambition, if not his own. He assented ;- and submitted to pass through the preliminary forms-rather, however, under the idea, that at some future period it might suit his views to accept the chancellorship of Ireland, than with any imme. diate intention of squandering his youthful energies upon so inglorious a vocation. He felt that he was destined for higher things, and proceeded to assert his claims. He never appeared abroad but in a costly suit of the most persuasive cut, and glowing with bright and various tints. He set up an imposing phaëton, in which with Kitty Cut-adash, of fascinating memory, and then the reigning illegitimate belle of Dublin, by his side, he scoured through streets and squares with the brilliancy and rapidity of an optical illusion. He entertained his friends, the choicest spirits about town, with dinners, such as bachelor never gave before- dishes so satisfying and scientific, as to fill not only the stomach, but the mind-claret, such as few even of the Irish bishops could procure, and champaigne of vivacity exampled only by his own. He furnished his stable with a stud of racers; and if Í am rightly informed, he still, half-laughing, half-wondering at his former self, recalls the times when mounted upon a favourite thoroughbred, and Aaming in a pink-satin jockey-dress, he distanced every competitor, and bore away the Curragh cup. I have spoken of his dancing. Tradition asserts that it was not confined to ball-rooms. I am told VOL. X. NO, XXXVIII.

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that at the private theatre in Fishamble-street, a place in those days of
much fashionable resort, he was known to slide in between the acts, in
the costume of a Savoy peasant, and throw off a pas seul in a style of
original dexterity and grace, which to use an Irish descriptive phrase,
“elicited explosions of applause from the men, and ecstatic ebullitions
of admiration from the ladies.” He was equally remarkable for his
excellence in the other manly exercises. He thought nothing of vault-
ing over four horses standing abreast. He was paramount at foot-ball;
and astonished and won wagers from the Bishop of Derry himself
(the noted Lord Bristol), who was supposed to be the keenest judge in
Ireland of what the toe of man could achieve. Before assuming the
forensic robe, our aspirant for renown set out upon a Continental tour;
and according to his subsequent report, although he travelled in strict
incognito, gathered fresh glory at every post-town through which he was
whirled along. After a considerable stay at Paris, where, however, he
arrived too late to stop the revolutionary torrent, he passed on and
visited several of the German courts-gave "travelling opinions” upon
the course of policy to be respectively pursued by them at that critical
juncture, and afterwards satisfied himself that the most important events
that followed were mainly influenced by his timely interposition. He
left Germany with some precipitation. The rumour ran that there
were state-reasons for his departure. The subject was too delicate to
be revealed in all its circumstances, but upon his return to Ireland his
friends heard in broken sentences of a certain Palatine princess--the
dogged jealousy of royal husbands--the incorrigible babbling of maids
of honour--muttered threats of incarceration and a confidential re-
monstrance on the part of a very sensible man, a member of the Aulic
council, respecting the confusion that might hereafter ensue, should it
come to be suspected that the stream of reputed legitimacy had been
reinforced by a tributary rill of Munster blood.

Upon his reappearance in Ireland, our prodigy, exulting in the fame of his Continental exploits, was about to commence a new course of wonders in his native land, when an unforeseen occurrence in the form of a dishonoured check upon his banker came to

-repress his noble rage And freeze the genial current of his soul. He discovered that he was a ruined man. The patrimonial ten thousand pounds which had given an eclut to all he did, had vanished. The road to glory still lay before him, but he was without a guinea in his pocket to pay the travelling expenses. In this emergency there were three courses open to him—to cut his throat—to sell his soul to the Protestant ascendancy-or to be honest and industrious, and ply at his profession. He chose the last-and (the most wonderous thing in his wonderful career) it came to pass, that notwithstanding the many apparent disqualifications under which he started, he rose, and not slowly, to an eminence which no one but himself, would have ventured to predict. He is now “ quantum mutatus ab illo," a very able and distinguished person at the Irish Bar, Mr. Serjeant Goold. And if I have ushered in my notice of this gentleman with an allusion to the freaks of his youth, of which after all I may have received an exaggerated

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