Page:A tribute to W. W. Corcoran, of Washington City (IA tributetowwcorco00boul).pdf/43

 transcendentalism. Oft the subject or the theme inspires to such a great degree that the outside world is forgotten, the very being or existence becomes entranced, and the hand that traces deftly and wondrously, seems almost an unconscious instrument sent from heaven itself to accomplish something grand and noble. It is not all fiction when we hear or read of some worshiping spirit gazing at a beautiful model, and as each moment of inspiration, if not adoration, goes on, a dangerous delight takes possession of the mind. There may bre some hidden influence, some association or link that has either made life beautiful or sad; but the heart is moved, and its tension so exquisitely strained, that to die is but a little thing weighed against the happiness or delirium of the moment.

At the famous Louvre in Paris, they tell of a young girl who day by day wended her way to one of the galleries, where was exhibited a most splendid stature, and after an idolatrous worship, which seemed to sap and weaken with every visit the very springs of life, her soul yielding its all to this fair counterfeit, she finally closed her eyes in death, content to bear off as a last remembrance this beloved image to the invisible land. The marble looked rigidly down on the unconscious form that was assuming a hue as peerless as its own. Like the flowers she bore to wreathe its base, will sweet pansies of thought garland her name, and pay votive tribute to the life that faded away under an influence which the world may not dare to question. A poet in one of his most gifted strains, depicts the history of an artist, who, upon executing the portrait of the woman he had faithfully loved during her brief, sorrowful life, said to the spectre death, in words that rendered not only his art immortal, but the subject:―