Page:Biographical and critical studies by James Thomson ("B.V.").djvu/325

Rh lust and intense selfish passion have long dissipated what was animal and vital, leaving stony limbs and countenances expressive of despair and stupid cruelty.

"In many of the characters of his mind, Blake resembled Shelley. From the opposite extremes of Christianity and materialism, they both seem, at length, to have converged towards Pantheism, or natural-spiritualism; and it is probable that a somewhat similar self-intelligence, or Ego-theism, possessed them both. Writing in 1839, Dr. Wilkinson had to trust for his biographical statements to the sketch in Allan Cunningham's 'Lives of British Painters." In Gilchrist's Life (1863) there are many passages counter to this opinion of the Doctor's, "Thus the accounts of Blake's death (i. 361, 362): "On the day of his death," writes Smith [J. T., the biographer of Nollekens, and a very old friend of Blake], who had his account from the widow, "he composed and uttered songs to his Maker, so sweetly to the ear of his Catherine [his wife—they had no children], that when she stood to hear him, he, looking upon her most affectionately, said, 'My beloved, they are ''not mine. No! they are not'' mine!' He told her they would not be parted; he should always be about her to take care of her As 'father, mother, aunt, and brother were buried in Bunhill Row, perhaps it would be better to lie there. As to service, he should wish for that of the Church of England.' He lay chanting songs to melodies, both the inspiration of the moment, but no longer as of old to be noted down. To the pious songs followed, about six in the summer evening [it was a Sunday], a calm and painless withdrawal of breath, the exact moment almost unperceived by his wife, who sat by his side. A humble female neighbour, her only other companion, said afterwards: 'I have been at the death, not of a man, but of a blessed angel.' On the Wednesday evening one of the small band of his enthusiastic young disciples, in a letter asking another to the funeral, writes: 'He died on Sunday night at six o'clock, in a most glorious manner. He said he was going to that country he had all his life wished to see, and expressed himself happy, hoping for salvation through Jesus Christ. Just before he died his countenance became fair [he was on the verge of the threescore and ten], his eyes brightened, and he burst out into singing of the things he saw in heaven. In truth, he died like a saint, as a person who was standing by him observed. They agreed in mistaking the forms of truth for the truth itself, and consequently, drew the materials of their works from the ages of type and shadow which preceded the