Phenix gazette. [volume] (Alexandria [D.C.]) 1825-1833, 1833-11-04
ALEXANDRIA, I'd. CO.
MONDAY MORNING, NOuEMBER 4. 1883.

MONDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 4, 1883.
According to the explanation Of our friend OF
the Virginia Free Press, there ishardiy shade OF
difference as to our opinions relative to the pro.
priety Of Mr.. Leigh's making his political sent''
ments known. All we ever contended for was,
that "prompt responses" should always be made
to IS fair and candid inquiries
The idea of our friend that ere may favor Mr..
Van Buren's interest. by our course on this sub
ject, is erroneous, because founded upon mis-
conception Of our views. We expect that. when
the proper time comes for action, the editor Of
the Free Press will find himself alongside Of US,
that is, if he intends to promote a "union
and harmony" movement against the Regency
candidate.
Our wishes, our feelings, our interests, are with
the South. We would gladly, If We could.
make one Of her citizens the next President.
The steam packet Royal William. which sailed
from Quebec for London. the early part of Au-
gust, via Pctou, made her passage from the lat.
ter port n 10 days, two Of which she was detain-
ed in making some alterations in her machinery.
Poetry and Sculpture. james Montgomery,
in his Lectures on Poetry aud General Litera-
ture, contends for the pre-eminence Of Poetry
over Sculpture. The lecturer selects the follow
ing fine illustration Of his argument from Childe
Harold:-
Let US bring-not into gladiatorial conflict,
but into honorable competition, where neither
can suffer disparagement-one OF the master-p pie
ces Of ancient sculpture, and two stanZas from
Childe Harold in which that very statue 10
turned into verse which seems almost to make it
visible:
"7hs Dying Gladiator.
"'I see before me the gladiator lie;
He leans upon his handi his manly brow
Consents to death, but conquers agOny3
And his droop'd head sinks gradually low;
And through his side, the lsst drops. ebbing slow
From the red cash, fall heavy one by one.
Like the fist of a thunder shower; and now
The arena swms around him-he is gone,
Ere ceased the inhuman shout that haid the wretch
who won."
g. Now all this sculpture has embodied in per.
petuaI marble, and every association touched up.
on in the description might spring up in a well.
instructed mind while contemplating the insulat.
ed figure which persOniies the expiring champion.
Painting might take up the same subject, and re-
present the amphitheatre thronsed to the height
with ferocious faces, all bent upon the eyulting
eonqueror and his PROSTATE antagonist-a thou
sand for one Of them sympathizing rather with
the transport of the former than the agony Of the
latter. Here, then, sculpture and painting have
reached their climax; neither OF them can give
the actual thoughts Of the personages whom they
exhibit so pal pabIy to the outward sense that the
character OF those thoughts cannot be mistaken.
Poetry goes further than both, and when one of
the sisters had laid down her chsel. the other her
pencil, she continues her strain, wherein, having
already sung what each have pictured, she thus
reveals the secret Of the sufferers breaking heart,
which neither of them could intimate BY any vi
sibIe sign But, We must return to the swoon Of
the dying man:-
'"The arena swims around him-he is gone.
Ere ceased the inhumsn shout ths, haPd the wretch
who won.
az lie heard ii, and he needed nos,-lis eyes
Were with his heart, and that was far away;
He rocked not Of the life he lost, nor prize
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay,
There were his young bsrbarians all at play;
There was their Dacian mother;-he, their sire,
Butcher'd to make Roman holiday;
All this gusli'd with his blood ,"
"Myriads Of eyes had gazed upon that statue;
through mgriads Of minds all the images and
ideas connected with the combat and the fall,
the spectators and the scene, had passed in the
presence Of that unconscious marble, which has
given Immortality to the pangs Of death; but not
a soul among all the behoIders through eighteen
centuries, mot one had ever before thought
Of the rude hut the Dacan MOTHER the
young barbarians.' At length came the poet Of
passion; aud looking down upon the dying gla.
diator,' (less as it was than what it represent
ed,) turned the marble into man, and endowed !
1t with human affections; then away over the
Apennnes, and over the Alps, away, on the
wings of irrepresslble sympathy, flew his spirit
to the banks Of the Danube, where, with bis
heart were the eyes of the victim. under the
night-fall of death;' for there were his young
at play. and there their Dacian mo.
ther.' This is nature, this is truth. While the
conflict continued, the combatant thought Of him