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Emerald and bright carbuncle. Clear and pure he work'd the ether As with lapis-lazuli, And the mountains in the distance Stretching blue and far away-- All so well, that I, in rapture At this second revelation, Turn'd to gaze upon the painter From the picture which he drew. "Have I not," he said, "convinced thee That I know the painter's secret? Yet the greatest is to come." Then he drew with gentle finger, Still more delicately pointed, In the wood, about its margin, Where the sun within the water Glanced as from the clearest mirror, Such a maiden's form! Perfect shape in perfect raiment, Fair young cheeks 'neath glossy ringlets, And the cheeks were of the colour Of the finger whence they came. "Child," I cried, "what wond'rous master In his school of art hath form'd thee, That so deftly and so truly, From the sketch unto the burnish, Thou hast finish'd such a gem?" As I spoke, a breeze arising Stirr'd the tree-tops in the picture, Ruffled every pool of water, Waved the garments of the maiden; And, what more than all amazed me, Her small feet took motion also, And she came towards the station Where I sat beside the boy. So, when every thing was moving, Leaves and water, flowers and raiment, And the footsteps of the darling-- Think you I remain'd as lifeless As the rock on which I rested? No, I trow--not I! This is as perfect a landscape as one of Berghem's sunniest. An artist is, to our mind, one of the happiest creatures in God's creation. Now that the race of wandering minstrels has passed away, your painter is the only free joyous denizen of the earth, who can give way to his natural impulses without fear of reproach, and who can indulge his enthusiasm for the bright and beautiful to the utmost. He has his troubles, no doubt; for he is ambitious, and too often he is poor; but it is something to pursue ambition along the natural path with unwarped energies, and ardent and sincere devotion. As to poverty, that is a fault that must daily mend, if he is only true to himself. In a few years, the foot-sore wanderer of the Alps, with little more worldly goods than the wallet and sketch-book he carries, will be the royal academician, the Rubens or the Reynolds of his day, with the most _recherche_ studio in London, and more
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