DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62133#0048
32
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
the other his countless hosts, who swarm behind him, bear-
ing along with them shields, bows, spears, arrows, clubs,
and slings only less wild and rude than are their own
eager, savage countenances.
On, on they come, with elf-locks and skin garments
floating on the wind ! on, on they come, hurrying through
the air from the far-distant heavens, like flocks of ominous
birds ! And now, on all sides, above and beneath the two
terrific leaders, the ghosts close in struggling conflict, and
all is one dense cloud of agony !
Let us now, returning to the large atelier, study the co-
lossal cartoon in progress,—the Homer, for the Grecian
cycle of the Berlin frescoes.
Homer, steered in a little boat by the eldest of the Sagas,
by the Sibylla, touches the shore of a small creek, where he
is awaited by assembled Greece,—by her poets, her philoso-
phers, her warriors, her priests, her Arcadian shepherds
and hunters. Homer’s figure is turned away from us, the
modern spectators, but we catch a profile glimpse of his
glorious inspired countenance as, with sightless orbs, it is
directed towards the listening crowd upon the shore. He
raises one hand commandingly towards heaven; the other
hand touches the strings of a large lyre, which he supports
upon his slightly raised knee and the curved prow of the
little bark as he pours forth his immortal strains in a mighty
torrent of song. The wind waves back the rich masses of hair
from his noble brow, rustles the leaves of his bay-wreath,
and raises the veil of Sibylla, floating it mysteriously above
her melancholy dreamy countenance, wdiich she rests upon
her left hand. Her right listlessly holds an oar, as she sits
low upon the deck of the little boat. An open scroll lies
upon her knees •, her eyes do not read its mystic words,
but are sunk in wondrous dreams. Hers are eyes which
have never shed a tear,—stern, sad eyes, though tearless.
What a contrast between the Sibylla, and the gentle heart-
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
the other his countless hosts, who swarm behind him, bear-
ing along with them shields, bows, spears, arrows, clubs,
and slings only less wild and rude than are their own
eager, savage countenances.
On, on they come, with elf-locks and skin garments
floating on the wind ! on, on they come, hurrying through
the air from the far-distant heavens, like flocks of ominous
birds ! And now, on all sides, above and beneath the two
terrific leaders, the ghosts close in struggling conflict, and
all is one dense cloud of agony !
Let us now, returning to the large atelier, study the co-
lossal cartoon in progress,—the Homer, for the Grecian
cycle of the Berlin frescoes.
Homer, steered in a little boat by the eldest of the Sagas,
by the Sibylla, touches the shore of a small creek, where he
is awaited by assembled Greece,—by her poets, her philoso-
phers, her warriors, her priests, her Arcadian shepherds
and hunters. Homer’s figure is turned away from us, the
modern spectators, but we catch a profile glimpse of his
glorious inspired countenance as, with sightless orbs, it is
directed towards the listening crowd upon the shore. He
raises one hand commandingly towards heaven; the other
hand touches the strings of a large lyre, which he supports
upon his slightly raised knee and the curved prow of the
little bark as he pours forth his immortal strains in a mighty
torrent of song. The wind waves back the rich masses of hair
from his noble brow, rustles the leaves of his bay-wreath,
and raises the veil of Sibylla, floating it mysteriously above
her melancholy dreamy countenance, wdiich she rests upon
her left hand. Her right listlessly holds an oar, as she sits
low upon the deck of the little boat. An open scroll lies
upon her knees •, her eyes do not read its mystic words,
but are sunk in wondrous dreams. Hers are eyes which
have never shed a tear,—stern, sad eyes, though tearless.
What a contrast between the Sibylla, and the gentle heart-