Then Ellen the gift with delight and surprise From the cunning young stripling received. 'Twas a youth o'er the form of a statue inclined, 'Twas the tale of the sculptor Pygmalion of old; Fair Ellen remember'd and sigh'd; 66 Ah, couldst thou but lift from that marble so cold, Thine eyes too imploring, thy arms should enfold, And press me this day as thy bride." She said when, behold, from the canvass arose She turn'd and beheld on each shoulder a wing. 66 "Oh, heaven!" cried she, "who art thou?" [ring, From the roof to the ground did his fierce answer As, frowning, he thunder'd "I am the PAINT-KING! And mine, lovely maid, thou art now!” Then high from the ground did the grim monster lift Now suddenly sloping his hurricane flight, The air all below him becomes black as night, [drift And the ground where he treads, as if moved with affright, Like the surge of the Caspian bends. "I am here!" said the fiend, and he thundering At the gates of a mountainous cave; [knock'd The gates open flew, as by magic unlock'd, While the peaks of the mount, reeling to and fro, Like an island of ice on the wave. [rock'd Oh, mercy!" cried Ellen, and swoon'd in his arms, But the PAINT-KING he scoff'd at her pain. "Prithee, love," said the monster, "what mean these alarms?" She hears not, she sees not the terrible charms, She opens her lids, but no longer her eyes Black and white, red and yellow, and blue. On the scull of a Titan, that Heaven defied, While aloft to his mouth a huge pipe he applied, And anon, as he puff'd the vast volumes, were seen, In horrid festoons on the wall, Legs and arms, heads and bodies emerging between, Like the drawing-room grim of the Scotch Sawney By the devil dress'd out for a ball. [Beane, "Ah me!" cried the damsel, and fell at his feet. Then seizing the maid by her dark auburn hair, Seven days, seven nights, with the shrieks of despair, All covered with oil to the chin. G On the morn of the eighth, on a huge sable stone, Then Ellen, all reeking, he laid; With a rock for his muller he crush'd every bone, Now reaching his palette, with masterly care The blue of her eyes, and the brown of her hair, Then, stamping his foot, did the monster exclaim, Enthroned in the midst on an emerald bright, Her robe was a gleam of the first blush of light, In an accent that stole on the still charmed air ""Tis true," said the monster, "thou queen of my heart, Thy portrait I oft have essay'd; Yet ne'er to the canvass could I with my art. "Now I swear by the light of the Comet-King's tail!" "But if I succeed, then, oh, fair Geraldine! And thou, queen of fairies, shalt ever be mine, He spake; when, behold, the fair Geraldine's form On the canvass enchantingly glow'd; His touches-they flew like the leaves in a storm; And now did the portrait a twin-sister seem With the same sweet expression did faithfully teem 'Twas the fairy herself! but alas! her blue eyes And who shall describe the terrific surprise "I am lost!" said the fiend, and he shook like a leaf; When, casting his eyes to the ground, He saw the lost pupils of Ellen with grief "I am lost!" said the fiend, and he fell like a stone; Then rising, the fairy, in ire, With a touch of her finger she loosen'd her zone Her spear now a thunder-bolt flash'd in the air, She smote the grim monster; and now by the hair, Then over the picture thrice waving her spear, ROSALIE. Он, рour upon my soul again That seems from other worlds to plain; Had mingled with her light her sighs And dropped them from the skies. No-never came from aught below That makes my heart to overflow For all I see around me wears And something blent of smiles and tears So, at that dreamy hour of day Stops on the highest cloud to play— First fell the strain of him who stole In music to her soul. |