which Canova declared to be well worth a journey from Rome-I could not help exclaiming, "With what delight must the ancients, with their exquisite relish for sculpture, have pored upon this chef-d'œuvre of Phidias !" "Alas!" replied the figure, "you forget that, although now the noblest fragment left, I then occupied, as a deified hero, but a very subordinate station among the deities of his majestic group. My recumbent posture was destined to fill up the angle of one pediment, as the Ilissus did of the other; and there was nothing but the celebrated horse's head between my figure and the extremity of the building. This back, over which sculptors and anatomists now hang enraptured, might as well have been an unchiselled block; it was turned to the wall of the building, never meant to be seen; and, in fact, no human eyes rested upon it for more than twenty-two centuries, when violence tore it from its position, and exhibited it to the applauses of the world. It was thus elaborately wrought, because it would have been held sacrilege to dedicate any thing imperfect to the gods; and because, in the exuberant opulence of his art, Phidias could afford to be extravagant, and throw away a masterpiece upon a blind wall. Judge hence of the superior majesty, of the more celestial grace and sublimity, by which the central figures were made glorious to the eyes; but judge not, even from them, of the pinnacle to which Phidias could exalt his art. All these were fashioned for exposure to the injuries of the weather, and, from the great height at which they were to be viewed, were meant to excite admiration by the grandeur of general effect, rather than the exquisiteness of minute detail. Imagine the awful beauty of the statues within the temple, where both were to be .combined! Conceive the stupendous symmetry of the Minerva, thirty-nine feet high-the still more majestic proportions of the Olympian Jupiter, executed for the Eleans!" How long this enumeration might have continued it is impossible to say; but it was rudelybroken, and the whole fabric of my reverie demolished, by the voice of the Museum porter,-" Sir, you're the only gemman left, and we always locks the doors at six."Once more I surveyed the marble upon which the living eyes of all the illustrious persons I have mentioned had been formerly fixed, as well as those of Cicero, Pliny, Pausanias, and Plutarch, who have recorded their visits to the Parthenon; and then, with slow steps, I quitted the building. On reaching the street, I still doubted whether I was in the Acropolis, the Agora, or before the theatre of Bacchus ; when a lanıplighter, scampering by me, skipped up his ladder, and, by the light of his link, I discovered, printed on a black board, "GREAT RUSSELL STREET, BLOOMSBURY." NEHEMIAH MUGGS. Most courteous Reader, pray permit the Fool Ours shall be usher'd by a pompous proem. INTRODUCTION. No sweet Arcadian pipe is mine— Whose wild and magic melodies, And myrtle bowers, Bade nymphs and sylvan boys arise, To form, with laughing loves, an earthly Paradise. I may not, with the classic few," Snatch inspiration from the Muses' hill; Nor, raptured, quaff poetic dew From Aganippe's rill. Vales and mountains, Grots and fountains, The haunt of heroes, and the poet's theme- Burst on my vision like a glorious dream.— D But, ah! as soon to fade away, For Christian knights demand my lay. Not steel-clad Crusaders, with lances and shields, On the sands of Damascus and Nazareth. Whose helmeted leaders gave charge through the cedars, Down to the waters of Galilee's fount. Fearless were they, by night or by day, Of the infidel legions that barr'd the way; Who, with turban and beard, and scymitars rear'd, Through whirlwinds of sand on their enemies dash'd; And gloried to fall on the breach of the wall, Where the crescented flag o'er the battlements flash'd.— Nor sing I of the knights whose fame And claim'd the blushing bride. Alas! no fancy-woven wreaths Their perfume o'er my pathway shed, And no melodious spirit breathes Wild inspiration o'er my head. Here we must close our proem (what a pity!) And tumble from Parnassus to THE CITY. Bright broke the morning in the blaze Of London's own romantic traits. And now (so great Hippona pleased) Two coaches rattled past ; Their bugle-horns the guardmen seized, Now let the reader take a view As sculls like his are apt to be. O reader, fix your eyes where I have said; A name that would inspirit slugs! Leap from his cheese of Stilton, And every native oyster write So I'll prepare to do the same, His pedigree was old, no doubt, That he might boast a great descent.- |