The weekly Thibodaux sentinel and journal of the 8th Senatorial District. [volume] (Thibodaux, Lna. [i.e. La.]) 1875-1898, 1883-01-20
THE SPIRIT OF BEAUTY.

Is IRON il work OF Marietta Ioi,ey:
"What is this spirit .of beauty
there is something, some hidden
spirit, some soul Inspiration. III Ill
beautiful things, pictures, poetry.
melody-a spirit that forever eludes
us, lilies before us, aud yes smiles
down into u souls forever will,
haunting. glorious eyes. What is
this wonderful spirit, this iuspira
ton that thrills us SD in all sweet
est and sa!dest melodies, in lovely
landscapes, in the soft song Of the
summer wind, and the wonderful
refrain ofocean waves, in sunset.
and.the weird Stiffness of Il Starry
midnight? That thrills us SO in all
gloritied legends CT heroism-and
in that divinest poem of a noble
life. That haun;s us, and so fills
II souls with longing that some
times we imagine we can catch Il
glimpse of it in the clear book of
some inspired eye; but almost eser
we behold it, it is gone. Some feet
ing echo of whose voice we fancy
we have caught in the lofty refrain
OF some heavenly melody - but
e'er our soul could hardly listen.
the sweet strain was drowned in,
the discord OF human voices. All.
sometimes the veil has seemed but
thin between us, as We stood for
brief, blissful moments on the
mountain tops of our best aud no
blest emotions, sc transparent, and
glowing with inner brightness, that
we could almost behold the face of
an angel behind the shining bars
rlers. But the mists swept coldly
up, and the sweet face was lost in
the cloudy, earthly vapors.
If We could reach it, if we could
once reach out our loving arms,
and touch that wonderful, Elusive
soul of beauty, if We could hold it
with our weak, mortal grasp, and
look upon it face to face-can YOU
tell me, Kellup, what it would be-!
Can You tell me how pure, md no
", and divine a shape it would be :
The Ideal of Beauty that forever
rises before us-this longing for
perfection implanted in our souls ?
We cannot believe by bad spirits.
but by the Ever Good. This ideal
that every poet and artist soul has
ionged for, prayed for, but never
reached-this ideal of purity which
we strive to mould in clay; poor,
crumbling, imperfect clay, that will
not' however earnestly we Toll, !
take the clear shape OF our Dreams.
Gan you tell me, Kellup, that it is
not the longing Of the mortal for
the immortal, the deathless cry Of
the human for the divine!
To me, it is the surest nroof of
immortality. For we know that
our God is not cruel, and we cannot
think He could hold out to Us q
lovely gift only to mock us with
Of its glory, and then
it from us forever.
And this ideal Of perfection that
We nave so striven and prayed to
- perhaps these !ongincs
and strivings are p~erfecting hat
lmagein our lives, unbeknown tous:
and when the clay that wraps it
round drops off, hall we behold it =.
glad wonder j.. the land of the t
Shall we see that the dull
stroke of care and the keen blow of
'otferlng helped most 20 mould il ,
nto beauty! Surely. surely. He !:
will one day give the desire of our +.
souls. Surely there is a land of i'm /:
Mortal purity, immortal beauty. /.
Vhere to the souls of all who truly "
'splre the dim shadow light of our
lope will be lost in the bright glo-