DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.1312#0017
THE GREAT EXHIBITION
CHAPTER II.
SCULPTURE—concluded.
«TT
THE "FIRST SORROW, BT MACDOWELL—LINES BY ALARIC WATTS—TTTANIA, ARIEL, PUCK-, BY
LOUGH—THE MOURNERS—FOLEY'S "WANDERER—PANORMO'S CARACTACUS----VILLA'S HAGAR AND
ISMAEL—JEHOTTE'S MADONNA—ANCIENT BRITON, BY ADAMS—THE ADORATION OF THE TIRGIN,
BY GEERTS—SHIPWRECKED SAILOR BOY, BY SIBSON----RETURN OF THE PET DOVE, BY FARRELL
—ANDROMEDA, BY BELL—SABRINA, ETC.
" Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
I come to pluck your berries---------."—Milton.
And here we pause in our quotation: with the "harsh" and the "crude," we desire no
acquaintance. In our last chapter on sculpture, in taking a temporary leave of the
interesting topic, we promised our readers a final examination of the sculptor's labours in
the Crystal Palace, a last survey of the ground from which we had already gathered so
many bright and beautiful flowers. We now, therefore, propose to conduct them, for the
last time, into the hallowed field, and, like the careful gleaner, collect the remaining
produce of the cultivated soil, in order to transplant it into our valuable pages; wherein,
through the combined efforts of the pen and the burin, the gifted artist may reasonably
hope to escape the yawning gulf of oblivion, and be enabled to exclaim with the Roman
poet—
" Non omnis moriar."
"With this idea before us, we ask our readers to accompany us in an imaginative ramble
through the vast fabric which it is our province to describe, and once more bestow their
attention on the various specimens of the plastic art, which, within its fairy precincts,
creative genius, from every clime, had so profusely lavished. Let us enter, therefore, on
our held of observation, and use, as Pope advises, our critical acumen discreetly.
"We will begin with MacdowelFs beautiful portraiture of "The First Sorrow" of a
lovely girl weeping over her dead bird, a production which we have already briefly noticed
in these pages. On bestowing a second glance upon it, the following touching lines,
called forth from the gentle muse of Alaric Watts, ever ready to sympathise in the finer
feelings of the heart, returned to our remembrance:—
" 'Tis her first sorrow; but to her as deep
As the great griefs maturer hearts that wring,
"When some strong wrench, undreamed of bids us weep
O'er the lost hope to which we loved to cling I
The Bird is dead;—the nursling of her hand,
That from her cup the honied dew would sip,—
That on her finger used to take his stand,
And peck the mimic cherry on her lip.
The "willing captive that her eye could chain,
Her voice arrest, howe'er inclined to roam,
The household god (worshipped, alas! in vain),
Whose radiant wings Hashed sunshine through her home,—
Pressed to her bosom, now can feel no more
The genial warmth of old he used to love j
His sportive wiles and truant flights are o'er:—
"When was the falcon tender to the dove ?
CHAPTER II.
SCULPTURE—concluded.
«TT
THE "FIRST SORROW, BT MACDOWELL—LINES BY ALARIC WATTS—TTTANIA, ARIEL, PUCK-, BY
LOUGH—THE MOURNERS—FOLEY'S "WANDERER—PANORMO'S CARACTACUS----VILLA'S HAGAR AND
ISMAEL—JEHOTTE'S MADONNA—ANCIENT BRITON, BY ADAMS—THE ADORATION OF THE TIRGIN,
BY GEERTS—SHIPWRECKED SAILOR BOY, BY SIBSON----RETURN OF THE PET DOVE, BY FARRELL
—ANDROMEDA, BY BELL—SABRINA, ETC.
" Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
I come to pluck your berries---------."—Milton.
And here we pause in our quotation: with the "harsh" and the "crude," we desire no
acquaintance. In our last chapter on sculpture, in taking a temporary leave of the
interesting topic, we promised our readers a final examination of the sculptor's labours in
the Crystal Palace, a last survey of the ground from which we had already gathered so
many bright and beautiful flowers. We now, therefore, propose to conduct them, for the
last time, into the hallowed field, and, like the careful gleaner, collect the remaining
produce of the cultivated soil, in order to transplant it into our valuable pages; wherein,
through the combined efforts of the pen and the burin, the gifted artist may reasonably
hope to escape the yawning gulf of oblivion, and be enabled to exclaim with the Roman
poet—
" Non omnis moriar."
"With this idea before us, we ask our readers to accompany us in an imaginative ramble
through the vast fabric which it is our province to describe, and once more bestow their
attention on the various specimens of the plastic art, which, within its fairy precincts,
creative genius, from every clime, had so profusely lavished. Let us enter, therefore, on
our held of observation, and use, as Pope advises, our critical acumen discreetly.
"We will begin with MacdowelFs beautiful portraiture of "The First Sorrow" of a
lovely girl weeping over her dead bird, a production which we have already briefly noticed
in these pages. On bestowing a second glance upon it, the following touching lines,
called forth from the gentle muse of Alaric Watts, ever ready to sympathise in the finer
feelings of the heart, returned to our remembrance:—
" 'Tis her first sorrow; but to her as deep
As the great griefs maturer hearts that wring,
"When some strong wrench, undreamed of bids us weep
O'er the lost hope to which we loved to cling I
The Bird is dead;—the nursling of her hand,
That from her cup the honied dew would sip,—
That on her finger used to take his stand,
And peck the mimic cherry on her lip.
The "willing captive that her eye could chain,
Her voice arrest, howe'er inclined to roam,
The household god (worshipped, alas! in vain),
Whose radiant wings Hashed sunshine through her home,—
Pressed to her bosom, now can feel no more
The genial warmth of old he used to love j
His sportive wiles and truant flights are o'er:—
"When was the falcon tender to the dove ?