As soon as the arts had arrived at their highest pitch of excellency in Greece, the country was laid waste by the invading power of the Romans. All the Greek cities which contained the greatest treasures were demolished, and all the pictures[5] and statues fell into the hands of the victorious general, who had them carefully preserved and conveyed from the land where they had been adored. Of the estimation in which these great works were held by the Romans, we may form some idea by the general assuring a soldier, to whose charge he gave a statue by Praxiteles, that if he broke it, he should get another as well made in its place. War is a very destructive enemy to painting and sculpture; the intestine quarrels which ensued after the Romans had conquered the country, rendered the exercise of the art impracticable.
The arts were neglected in Rome until the introduction of the popish religion. At that eventful era, statues and pictures were eagerly sought for; the admirable Grecian works were appropriated to purposes quite contrary to their pagan origin, for in many cases heathen deities were converted into apostles. The labours of Phidias, Myron, Praxiteles, Lysippus, and Scopas,[6] were highly valued by the Romans, who became the correct imitators, and in time the rivals, of those celebrated sculptors. G.W.N.
[5] The pictures alluded to were the works of Apelles, Apollodorus, and Protogenes.
[6] These sculptors, according to Pliny, were the most reputed among the ancients.
She left her own warm home To tempt the frozen waste, What time the traveller fear'd to roam, And hunter shunn'd the blast, Love pour'd his strength into her soul-- Could peril e'er his power controul!
She left her own warm home. When stone, and herb, and tree, And all beneath heaven's lurid dome By wintry majesty, In his stern age, were clad with snow, And human hearts beat chill and slow.
It was a fearful hour For one so young and fair: The woods had not one sheltering bower, The earth was trackless there, The very boughs in silver slept, As the sea-foam had o'er them swept.
Snow after snow came down, The sky look'd fix'd in ice; She deem'd amid the season's power, Her love would all suffice To keep the source of being warm, And mock the terrors of the storm.