SECOND READING.

To VITTORIA COLONNA.

THE MODEL AND THE STATUE.

Se ben concetto.

When that which is divine in us doth try
    To shape a face, both brain and hand unite
    To give, from a mere model frail and slight,
    Life to the stone by Art’s free energy. 
Thus too before the painter dares to ply
    Paint-brush or canvas, he is wont to write
    Sketches on scraps of paper, and invite
    Wise minds to judge his figured history. 
So, born a model rude and mean to be
    Of my poor self, I gain a nobler birth,
    Lady, from you, you fountain of all worth! 
Each overplus and each deficiency
    You will make good.  What penance then is due
    For my fierce heat, chastened and taught by you?

XV.

THE LOVER AND THE SCULPTOR.

Non ha l’ ottimo artista.

The best of artists hath no thought to show
    Which the rough stone in its superfluous shell
    Doth not include:  to break the marble spell
    Is all the hand that serves the brain can do. 
The ill I shun, the good I seek, even so
    In thee, fair lady, proud, ineffable,
    Lies hidden:  but the art I wield so well
    Works adverse to my wish, and lays me low. 
Therefore not love, nor thy transcendent face,
    Nor cruelty, nor fortune, nor disdain,
    Cause my mischance, nor fate, nor destiny;
Since in thy heart thou carriest death and grace
    Enclosed together, and my worthless brain
    Can draw forth only death to feed on me.

XVI.

LOVE AND ART.

Si come nella penna.

As pen and ink alike serve him who sings
    In high or low or intermediate style;
    As the same stone hath shapes both rich and vile
    To match the fancies that each master brings;
So, my loved lord, within thy bosom springs
    Pride mixed with meekness and kind thoughts that smile: 
    Whence I draw nought, my sad self to beguile,
    But what my face shows—­dark imaginings. 
He who for seed sows sorrow, tears, and sighs,
    (The dews that fall from heaven, though pure and clear,
    From different germs take divers qualities)
Must needs reap grief and garner weeping eyes;
    And he who looks on beauty with sad cheer,
    Gains doubtful hope and certain miseries.

XVII.

THE ARTIST AND HIS WORK.

Com’ esser, donna, puo.

How can that be, lady, which all men learn
    By long experience?  Shapes that seem alive,
    Wrought in hard mountain marble, will survive
    Their maker, whom the years to dust return! 
Thus to effect cause yields.  Art hath her turn,
    And triumphs over Nature.