The Knickerbocker Gallery/Massaccio

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Masaccio.

BRANCACCI CHAPEL, FLORENCE.

By James Russell Lowell.

He came to Florence long ago,And painted here these walls, which shoneFor Raphael and for AngeloWith secrets deeper than his own;Then shrank into the dark again,And died, we know not how or when.
The shadows deepened, and I turnedHalf-sadly from the fresco grand;And is this, mused I, all ye earned,High-vaunted brain and cunning hand,That we who wonder here should knowThis single word—Masaccio?
And who were they, I mused, that wroughtThrough pathless wilds, through hate and wrong,The highways of our daily thought?Who built those towers of eldest songThat lift us o'er the world to peace,Remote, 'mid starry silences?
Out clangod the Ave-Mary bells,And to my heart this message came:"Each clamorous throat among us tellsWhat strong-souled martyrs died in flameTo make it possible that thouShouldst here with brother-sinners bow.
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"Thoughts that great hearts once brake for, yeBreathe painless now as common air; The dust ye trample heedlesslyIs that of saints and heroes rareWho perished, opening for their racePaths now so tame and common-place."
Henceforth, when rings the health to thoseWho live in story and in song,O nameless dead, that now reposeSafe in Oblivion's chambers strong,One cup of recognition trueShall silently be drained to you!
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