HIS HEART IS OLD[1]
Chrystoblepharos—Elikoblepharos,—eyelids grace-kissed,—the eyes of Leucothea,—the dreaming marble head of the Capitoline Museum,—the face of the girl-nurse of the wine-god, with a spray of wine-leaves filleting her sweet hair,—that inexpressible, inexplicable, petrified dream of loveliness, which well enables us to comprehend old monkish tales regarding the infernal powers of enchantment possessed by the antique statues of those gods who Tertullian affirmed were demons. For in howsoever thoughtless a mood one may be when he first visits the archaeological shrine in which the holiness of antique beauty reposes, the first glorious view of such a marble miracle compels the heart to slacken its motion in the awful wonder of that moment. One breathes low, as in sacred fear lest the vision might dissolve into nothingness—as though the witchery might be broken were living breath to touch with its warm moisture that wonderful marble cheek. Vainly may you strive to solve
- ↑ Times-Democrat, May 7, 1882.
