# Scenes and Hymns of Life, with Other Religious Poems/The Painter's Last Work

THE PAINTER'S LAST WORK.
Clasp me a little longer on the brink Of life, while I can feel thy dear caress; And when this heart hath ceas'd to beat, oh! think, And let it mitigate thy woe's excess, That thou hast been to me all tenderness, And friend to more than human friendship just— Oh! by that retrospect of happiness, And by the hope of an immortal trust, God shall assuage thy pangs when I am laid in dust! Campbell.
The scene is in an English cottage. The lattice opens upon a landscape at sunset.
Eugene—Teresa.
Teresa. The fever's hue hath left thy cheek, belov'd! Thine eyes, that make the day-spring in my heart,
Are clear and still once more!—Wilt thou look forth? Now, while the sunset, with low streaming light— The light thou lov'st—hath made the elm-wood stems All burning bronze, the river molten gold! Wilt thou be rais'd upon thy couch, to meet The rich air fill'd with wandering scents and sounds? Or shall I lay thy dear, dear head once more On this true bosom, lulling thee to rest With our own evening hymn?
Eugene.Not now, dear love, My soul is wakeful—lingering to look forth, Not on the sun, but thee!—Doth the light sleep On the stream tenderly? and are the stems Of our own elm trees, by its alchemy, So richly chang'd? and is the sweet-brier scent Floating around?—But I have said farewell, Farewell to earth, Teresa!—not to thee; Nor yet to our deep love, nor yet awhile
Unto the spirit of mine art, which flows Back on my soul in mastery.—One last work! And I will shrine my wealth of glowing thoughts, Clinging affections, and undying hopes, All, all in that memorial!
Teresa.O, what dream Is this, mine own Eugene?—Waste thou not thus Thy scarce returning strength; keep thy rich thoughts For happier days! they will not melt away Like passing music from the lute—dear friend! Dearest of friends! thou canst win back at will The glorious visions.
Eugene.Yes! the unseen land Of glorious visions hath sent forth a voice To call me hence.—Oh! be thou not deceived! Bind to thy heart no earthly hope, Teresa! I must, must leave thee!—Yet be strong, my love, As thou hast still been gentle.
Teresa.O Eugene! What will this dim world be to me, Eugene,
When wanting thy bright soul, the life of all? My only sunshine!—How can I bear on? How can we part? We that have loved so well, With clasping spirits linked so long by grief, By tears, by prayer?
Eugene.E'en therefore we can part, With an immortal trust, that such high love Is not of things to perish. Let me leave One record still of its ethereal flame Brightening thro' death's cold shadow. Once again, Stand with thy meek hands folded on thy breast, And eyes half veiled, in thine own soul absorbed, As in thy watchings, e'er I sink to sleep; And I will give the bending flower-like grace Of that soft form, and the still sweetness throned On that pale brow, and in that quivering smile Of voiceless love, a life that shall outlast Their delicate earthly being. There! thy head Bowed down with beauty, and with tenderness,
And lowly thought—even thus—my own Teresa! Oh! the quick glancing radiance and bright bloom That once around thee hung, have melted now Into more solemn light—but holier far, And dearer, and yet lovelier in mine eyes, Than all that summer flush! For by my couch, In patient and serene devotedness, Thou hast made those rich hues and sunny smiles Thine offering unto me. Oh! I may give Those pensive lips, that clear Madonna brow, And the sweet earnestness of that dark eye, Unto the canvass;—I may catch the flow Of all those drooping locks, and glorify With a soft halo what is imaged thus— But how much rests unbreathed! my faithful one! What thou hast been to me! This bitter world, This cold unanswering world, that hath no voice To greet the gentle spirit, that drives back All birds of Eden, which would sojourn here A little while—how have I turned away
From its keen soulless air, and in thy heart, Found ever the sweet fountain of response, To quench my thirst for home! The dear work grows Beneath my hand,—the last!
Teresa, (falling on his neck in tears.) Eugene, Eugene! Break not my heart with thine excess of love!— Oh! must I lose thee—thou that hast been still The tenderest—best—
Eugene. Weep, weep not thus, belov'd! Let my true heart o'er thine retain its power Of soothing to the last!—Mine own Teresa! Take strength from strong affection!—Let our souls, Ere this brief parting, mingle in one strain Of deep, full thanksgiving, for God's rich boon— Our perfect love!—Oh ! blessed have we been In that high gift! Thousands o'er earth may pass With hearts unfreshen'd by the heavenly dew,
Which hath kept ours from withering.—Kneel, true wife! And lay thy hands in mine.— [She kneels beside the couch; he prays. O, thus receive Thy children's thanks, Creator! for the love Which thou hast granted, through all earthly woes, To spread heaven's peace around them; which hath bound Their spirits to each other and to thee, With links whereon unkindness ne'er hath breathed, Nor wandering thought. We thank thee, gracious God! For all its treasured memories! tender cares, Fond words, bright, bright sustaining looks unchanged Through tears and joy. O Father! most of all We thank, we bless Thee, for the priceless trust, Through Thy redeeming Son vouchsafed, to those That love in Thee, of union, in Thy sight,
And in Thy heavens, immortal!—Hear our prayer! Take home our fond affections, purified To spirit-radiance from all earthly stain; Exalted, solemnized, made fit to dwell, Father! where all things that are lovely meet, And all things that are pure—for evermore, With Thee and Thine!