The angel host of King and Saint, o'er the Minster's western door, Shone radiant in the blessed light- so radiant ne'er before, As now began the airy chimes in the cathedral tower To chant, as with a lingering grief, the dirges of the hour. That day at sunset there had come a voice unto this man, And said as plain as Devil-voice or friendly spirit 66 can, 'Go, Memling, dig beneath the base of the statue in the square, The Secret of all Secrets 's hid beneath the earth-heaps there." He shook his hand at stars and moon, then shut his furnace up, First draining off a magic draught from an Egyptian cup, For he dreamt he saw his room piled full of solid bars of gold, Great bags of jewels, diamond-blocks, spoil of the kings of old. The fitting hour was just at hand, the alchemist arose; Upon the eaves the rain-drop tears in ice-jags shining froze ; His starry lantern duly lit, with cold he crept and shook, As with his pickaxe and his spade his stealthy way he took. The shadow marked the fitting place, King Saturn ruled the hour, The Devil, floating o'er his slave, smiled at his puny power; Hans Memling plied his crowbar fast, blow he gave, the thirteenth The ponderous statue fell, and crushed the brains out of the knave. Then clear and still the moonshine pure upon the lone square lay, No shadow left to sully it, it spread as bright as day; At dawn they found Hans Memling, crushed, dead-cold beneath the stone, But what he saw and what he found has never yet been known. Walter Thornbury. INTRODUCTORY. HOLLAND. A S when, impetuous from the snow-heaped Alps, To vernal suns relenting pours the Rhine; While, undivided, oft, with wasteful sweep, He foams along; but through Batavian meads, Branched into fair canals, indulgent flows; Waters a thousand fields; and culture, trade, Towns, meadows, gliding ships, and villas mixed, A rich, a wondrous landscape rises round. James Thomson. HOLLAND. WHERE the Rhine Branched out in many a long canal extends, James Thomson. |