Barye; Life and Works of Antoine Louis Barye, Sculptor: With Eight-six Wood Cuts Artotypes and Prints, in Memory of an Exhibition of His Bronzes, Paintings, and Water-colors Held at New-York in Aid of the Fund of His Monument at Paris

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Barye Monument Association at New York, 1889 - Artists - 158 pages
The volume offered by the Barye Monument Association to those interested in the fund for a monumnet to Antoine Louis Barye at Paris is the memorial of a very uncommon event. The United States has no sentimental feeling with regard to France as the fatherland, like that which a large number of American cherish toward Great Britain and Ireland. Bonds of amity were knit in the past, and others have been formed since France became a republic ; but the difference of tongue more than offsets these. Therefore great merit must exist in the artist whose work exercises enough fascination to set Americans on the task of gathering funds for a monument that is to stand three thousand miles away across the ocean. It is often said that art has no country. But when, before this, has a foreign land raised a monument to a sculptor of modern times? -- Preface note.

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Page 90 - ... fearful symmetry ? In what distant deeps or skies Burned that fire within thine eyes ? On what wings dared he aspire ? What the hand dared seize the fire ? And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinew;s of thy heart ? When thy heart began to beat, What dread hand formed thy dread feet ? What the hammer, what the chain, Knit thy strength and forged thy brain ? What the anvil ? What dread grasp Dared thy deadly terrors clasp ? When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with...
Page 90 - Tiger, Tiger, burning bright In the forest of the night, What immortal hand or eye Framed thy fearful symmetry?
Page 90 - And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? and what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
Page 41 - Bound with cords the magic bundle; With the chains of gold she bound it To the pine-tree's topmost branches. There she rocked the thing of magic, Rocked to life the tender baby, Mid the blossoms of the pine-tree, On the fir-top set with needles; Thus the young bear well was nurtured, Thus was sacred Otso cradled On the honey-tree of Northland, In the middle of the forest. "Sacred Otso grew and flourished, Quickly grew with graceful movements, Short of feet, with crooked ankles, Wide of mouth and...
Page 41 - Not the mountain lynx, nor serpent, Comes, however, to our dwellings; The Illustrious is coming, Pride and beauty of the forest, 'Tis the Master comes among us, Covered with his friendly fur-robe. Welcome, Otso, welcome, Light-foot, Welcome, Loved-one from the glenwood! If the mountain guest is welcome, Open wide the gates of entry; If the bear is thought unworthy, Bar the doors against the stranger.
Page 71 - Ruggier si va volgendo, e mille baci figge nel petto e negli occhi vivaci. 113. Non pił tenne la via, come propose prima, di circundar tutta la Spagna; ma nel propinquo lito il destrier pose, dove entra in mar pił la minor Bretagna. Sul lito un bosco era di querce ombrose, dove ognor par che Filomena piagna...
Page 86 - he wrote ; ' one of those also who have been most roughly tried in the course of a life fertile in masterpieces of a deep and enduring character.
Page 118 - They knew of course that Barye was well thought of under the Napoleonic revival of 1852. But they were also certain that as in the origin he had sprung from the people, so to the last he had remained a people's, without ever becoming a popular, man. His head had never been turned by honors and favors from the great.
Page 83 - Had this group," writes Mr. De Kay, "been dug up at Pompeii or Olympia every art magazine in the world would have had its portrait and expatiated on its magnificent Greekness; every museum would have sent for casts, and lecturers would have pointed out wherein the modern lagged far behind the ancients; namely, in the wonderfully fresh way the real was blended with the ideal. It falls short of the very greatest sculpture known only by having in a less degree that bright and godlike serenity we find...

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