the mind pursuing it. But, on the other hand, it is to be noted that entire scorn of this purist ideal is the sign of a far greater weakness. Multitudes of petty artists, incapable of any noble sensation whatever, but acquainted, in a dim way, with the technicalities of the schools, mock at the art whose depths they cannot fathom, and whose motives they cannot comprehend, but of which they can easily detect the imperfections, and deride the simplicities. Thus poor fumigatory Fuseli, with an art composed of the tinsel of the stage and the panics of the nursery, speaks contemptuously of the name of Angelico as "dearer to sanctity than to art." And a large portion of the resistance to the noble Pre-Raphaelite movement of our own days has been offered by men who suppose the entire function of the artist in this world to consist in laying on colour with a large brush, and surrounding dashes of flake white with bituminous brown; men whose entire capacities of brain, soul, and sympathy, applied industriously to the end of their lives, would not enable them, at last, to paint so much as one of the leaves of the nettles, at the bottom of Hunt's picture of the Light of the World.8

contrary, less than his fellows, and in always
striving, so far as he can find it in his heart,
to extend his delicate narrowness toward the
great naturalist ideal.
The whole group of
modern German purists have lost themselves,
because they founded their work not on humil-
ity, nor on religion, but on small self-conceit.
Incapable of understanding the great Venetians,
or any other masters of true imaginative power,
and having fed what mind they had with weak
poetry and false philosophy, they thought them-
selves the best and greatest of artistic mankind,
and expected to found a new school of painting
in pious plagiarism and delicate pride. It is
difficult at first to decide which is the more
worthless, the spiritual affectation of the petty
German, or the composition and chiaroscuro of
the petty Englishman; on the whole, however,
the latter have lightest weight, for the pseudo-
religious painter must, at all events, pass much
of his time in meditation upon solemn subjects,
and in examining venerable models; and may
sometimes even cast a little useful reflected
light, or touch the heart with a pleasant echo.

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI

(1828-1882)

THE BLESSED DAMOZEL*
The blessed damozel leaned out
From the gold bar of Heaven;
Her eyes were deeper than the depth
Of waters stilled at even;

She had three lilies in her hand,
And the stars in her hair were seven.

It is finally to be remembered, therefore, that Purism is always noble when it is instinctive. It is not the greatest thing that can be done, but it is probably the greatest thing that the man who does it can do, provided it comes from his heart. True, it is a sign of weakness, but it is not in our choice whether we will be weak. or strong; and there is a certain strength which can only he made perfect in weakness. If he is working in humility, fear of evil, desire of beauty, and sincere purity of purpose and | Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, thought, he will produce good and helpful No wrought flowers did adorn, things; but he must be much on his guard against supposing himself to be greater than his fellows, because he has shut himself into this calm and cloistered sphere. His only safety lies in knowing himself to be, on the

6 A Swiss-English painter and art-critic (17411825). He had a powerful but ill-regulated fancy, being both a fantastic designer and a reckless colorist. Perhaps Ruskin means something like this by calling him “fumigatory," but his meaning is not very clear.

But a white rose of Mary's gift,

For service meetly worn;
Her hair that lay along her back
Was yellow like ripe corn.

Herseemed she scarce had been a day
One of God's choristers;
The wonder was not yet quite gone
From that still look of hers;

7 The movement led by Rossetti, Millais, and flunt. Albeit, to them she left, her day

See Eng. Lit., pp. 369, 370. Holman Hunt's well-known "Light of the World" (now at Keble College, Oxford) is a painting representing Christ, with a lantern in his hand, standing at a door and knocking.

8 "Not that the Pre-Raphaelite is a purist movement, it is stern naturalist; but its unfortunate opposers, who neither know what nature is, nor what purism is, have mistaken the simple nature for morbid purism, and therefore cried out against it."-Ruskin's

note.

Had counted as ten years.

12

18

* Slight in substance as this poem is, it has two unusual sources of charm-a very definite pictorial character which stamps it as the work of a poet who was also a painter, and a mystical quality springing from an imagination that dared to portray earthly love in heavenly surroundings. Those who are interested in sources may consult Virgil, Eclogue v. 56; and Petrarch, Sonnets In Morte, 74.

Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove The soul whose likeness with thy soul

by the which means it should have come to
pass that when the wax was once clean con-
sumed, the death of the king should imme- Three horsemen that ride terribly.''
diately follow."

"The wind is loud, but I hear him cry,
Sister Helen,
That Keith of Ewern's like to die."
"And he and thou, and thou and I,

Little brother.''

For I know the white plume on the blast."' "The hour, the sweet hour I forecast,

130

Little brother!"' (0 Mother, Mary Mother, Is the hour sweet, between Hell and Heaven?)

"He stops to speak, and he stills his horse, Sister Helen;

But his words are drowned in the wind's
""
course.

(0 Mother, Mary Mother, 90Nay hear, nay hear, you must hear perforce,

And they and we, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Three days ago, on his marriage-morn,

Sister Helen,

What word now
Heaven?)

Little brother!'' (0 Mother, Mary Mother, heard, between Hell and 140

He sickened, and lies since then forlorn.''
"For bridegroom's side is the bride a thorn, "Oh he says that Keith of Ewern's cry,

Little brother?''

Sister Helen,

(0 Mother, Mary Mother, Is ever to see you ere he die." Cold bridal cheer, between Hell and Heaven!)"In all that his soul sees, there am I,

(0 Mother, Mary Mother,

"He sends a ring and a broken coin,
Sister Helen,

If he have prayed, between Hell and Heaven!) And bids you mind the banks of Boyne.'' 150

Sister Helen,

But oh! his voice is sad and weak!"'
"What here should the mighty Baron seek,

Little brother?''

180

(0 Mother, Mary Mother, Is this the end, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Oh his son still cries, if you forgive,

Sister Helen, The body dies, but the soul shall live." "Fire shall forgive me as I forgive,

97 220

"Pale, pale her cheeks, that in pride did glow,
Sister Helen,
'Neath the bridal-wreath three days ago.
"One morn for pride and three days for woe,
Little brother!''

Three days, three
Heaven!)

(0 Mother, Mary Mother, nights, between Hell and

"Her clasped hands stretch from her bending
head,
Sister Helen;
With the loud wind's wail her sobs are wed."
"What wedding-strains hath her bridal-bed,
Little brother?'' 229
(0 Mother, Mary Mother,
What strain but death's, between Hell and
Heaven?)

"She may not speak, she sinks in a swoon,
Sister Helen,
Little brother!''
She lifts her lips and gasps on the moon.
(0 Mother, Mary Mother," "Oh! might I but hear her soul's blithe tune,

As she forgives, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Oh he prays you, as his heart would rive, 190 Her woe's dumb

Sister Helen,

To save his dear son's soul alive."
"Fire cannot slay it, it shall thrive,

Little brother!"
(0 Mother, Mary Mother,
Alas, alas, between Hell and Heaven!)

"He cries to you, kneeling in the road, Sister Helen,

Heaven!)

Little brother!"' (0 Mother, Mary Mother, cry, between Hell and