Or glad aspiring little burgh, it went, {30} Flowers cast upon the car which bore the freight, Through old streets named afresh from the event, Till it reached home, where learned age should greet My face, and youth, the star not yet distinct Above his hair, lie learning at my feet!-- Oh, thus to live, I and my picture, linked With love about, and praise, till life should end, And then not go to heaven, but linger here, Here on my earth, earth’s every man my friend, The thought grew frightful, ‘twas so wildly dear! {40} But a voice changed it. Glimpses of such sights Have scared me, like the revels through a door Of some strange house of idols at its rites! This world seemed not the world it was, before: Mixed with my loving trusting ones, there trooped . . . Who summoned those cold faces that begun To press on me and judge me? Though I stooped Shrinking, as from the soldiery a nun, They drew me forth, and spite of me. . .enough! These buy and sell our pictures, take and give, {50} Count them for garniture and household-stuff, And where they live needs must our pictures live And see their faces, listen to their prate, Partakers of their daily pettiness, Discussed of,--“This I love, or this I hate, This likes me more, and this affects me less!” Wherefore I chose my portion. If at whiles My heart sinks, as monotonous I paint These endless cloisters and eternal aisles With the same series, Virgin, Babe, and Saint, {60} With the same cold calm beautiful regard,-- At least no merchant traffics in my heart; The sanctuary’s gloom at least shall ward Vain tongues from where my pictures stand apart: Only prayer breaks the silence of the shrine While, blackening in the daily candle-smoke, They moulder on the damp wall’s travertine, ‘Mid echoes the light footstep never woke. So, die my pictures! surely, gently die! O youth, men praise so,--holds their praise its worth? {70} Blown harshly, keeps the trump its golden cry? Tastes sweet the water with such specks of earth? -- 3. ah, thought which saddens while it soothes: the thought saddens him that he has not realized his capabilities, and soothes him that he has resisted the temptations to earthly fame, and been true to his soul. 14-22. he could have expressed Hope, Rapture, Confidence, and all other passions, in the human face, each clear proclaimed without a tongue. 23. hath it spilt, my cup?: the cup of his memory. 24. What did ye give me that I have not saved?: he has retained all the impressions he has received from human faces. 25 et seq.: Nor will I say I have not dreamed (how well I have dreamed!) of going forth in each new picture, as it went to Pope or Kaiser, etc., making new hearts beat and bosoms swell.