Alicia LeFanu

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Rosara's Chain. The Palace Of Sculpture.

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THROUGH laughing meads and sounding groves,
Delighted now AMANTOR roves.
But, while, amid the verdant shade,
He loitered fond, or careless strayed,
A distant figure strikes his sight,
Arrayed in robes of dazzling white.
Perhaps the SYLVAN GENIUS here
(So Fancy whispers) deigns appear;
Perhaps alone, with sorrow fraught.
The tangled path some damsel sought.
Onward, with winged feet, he speeds.-
She meets him not, nor yet recedes.

Still she invites, still he pursues:
The snowy form he nearer views.-
A STATUE fair it stands confest,
Close by a garden's entrance placed;
As if to shield the Floral reign
From curious eye, or foot profane.
Here fragrant bowers enchant the sight.
There grots to cooling shades invite;
But still remains what charmed him most,
(The beauteous garden's pride and boast).-
Near every mount, or bubbling rill,
Or alleyed walk, or planted hill,
Fair STATUES new delight create,
And living beauties emulate.
By lake or torrent's sedgy brim,
Lay RIVER GOD or NAIAD trim,

And witnessed every secret shade
Thy image, pensive DRYAD MAID .
Nor yet was GENIUS of the WOOD ,
Nor Sprite of ELF or FAIRY brood,
Nor guardian GODDESS , GOD or FAUN ,
Or deity that haunts the lawn,
But, in the faithful marble found,
With lavish beauty smiled around.
Now, through a vista, long and wide,
With STATUES decked on either side,
A lofty PALACE bounds the view,
Of plan superb, and Parian hue;
The portals, walls, and every part
Rich treasures of the SCULPTOR'S art
Adorned; but in proportion placed,
O'erwhelming not the scenes they graced.

At his approach wide flew the gate,
And opened to a Hall of State,
With niches filled; where, passing thought,
Forms to the very life were wrought.
The sister MUSES hand in hand,
And GRACES form a beauteous band.
And many a Laurelled King was there,
And Hero Bold, and Virgin Fair.
While some, in graceful groupe displayed,
The active scenes of life pourtrayed;
And attitude, with endless charms,
The marble animates and warms.
Enthroned, amid the silent scene,
A lovely nymph, in state serene,
The only living object nigh,
Attracts the youth's enraptured eye.

'Stranger, approach,' with smiles she said;
'Since chance your steps have hither led,
'Where, deep in solitary pride,
'I and my chosen court reside:-
'For seldom quits her happy home
'The PRINCESS of the SCULPTURED DOME .
'And yet, within these lonely towers;
'Uncloying pleasures fill my hours;
'The Arts a grateful tribute bring,
'Delights from thence perpetual spring:
'Nor treasures of the quarried stone
'This hall, these gardens boast alone;
'Beyond its limits stretch your view,
'Your sight will feast on wonders new.
She said, and called her faithful train,
Who lead him through the fair domain;

Where not the HUMAN FORM alone,
Nor GOD , nor GODDESS only shone,
The animal creation too
In Sculpture there was given to view.
For here, in fleece of snow arrayed,
Mute LAMBS reposed beneath the shade;
The CHARGER there, with fiery mien,
Appeared to spurn the sylvan scene,
And, bursting from the living stone,
To call the fields of war his own.
No jutting rock, or tufted glade,
No darksome glen, or forest shade,
But the appropriate guests that fill,
The union speak of taste and skill.
Returning from the varied ground,
Deep-musing on the charms around,

He hastes, in fair MIRANDA'S sight,
To pour his heart's unmixed delight.
'And, Oh! unequalled nymph,' he cried,
'What countless treasures here reside,
'What varied beauties deck the waste,
'Raised by your hand's unerring taste!'
He said, and at her feet adores
Her genius high, and matchless powers.
Scarce prostrate, lowly, thus he lies,
When, with triumphant smiles, she cries,
'A proof of my victorious sway,
'My royal captive long shall stay.'
She spoke- ensnared in magic thrall,
To stone transfixed, he decks her hall.
'Let not despairing grief,' she says,
'Embitter my AMANTOR'S days!

'When twelve revolving moons are past,
'No longer shall the enchantment last.
'Ere then, the world entire shall see
'One moment's homage paid to me.
'Ere then, the pride of distant skies
'This scene may love, this heart may prize.'
She ceased, and, rising from her throne,
Her victim leaves, uncheered, alone.
Each day, he mourns his wayward fate,
His powerless, his inglorious state.
In proud AMANTOR'S swelling soul,
Strange to the mandates of controul,
No promise fair, nor blandishment
Can move submission, or content.

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