To the Unknown Sculptor of the Apollo.

Wert thou a mortal in whose mortal mind1
The lightnings of conceptions flash’d and wrought,2
Till by the genius of creative thought ;3
A god sprang forth, the mightiest of his kind ?4
What visions were within thee, when the stone5
Took that most splendid shape ;— when all the gods6
Saw thee, thou heaven-scaler of abodes7
Till then held sacred unto them alone,8
Climb, and with sudden grasp drag down and bind9
Their mightiest in marble ? Was it shame10
Burning like fire upon their brows to see.11
Their grand Immortal chain’d among our kind,12
That in their wrath they hurl’d this curse on thee,—13
The splendid glory of a nameless name ?14