Hiram Power’s Greek Slave. They say Ideal Beauty cannot enter The house of anguish. On the threshold stands This alien Image with the shackled hands, Called the Greek Slave : as if the artist meant her (The passionless perfection which he lent her, Shadowed, not darkened, where the sill expands) To, so, confront man’s crimes in different lands, With man’s ideal sense. Pierce to the centre, Art’s fiery finger ! and break up erelong The serfdom of this world. Appeal, fair stone, From God’s pure heights of beauty, against man’swrong ! Catch up, in thy divine face, not alone East griefs, but west, and strike and shame thestrong, By thunders of white silence, overthrown.