THE ANATOMIST,
Or 66 Stop him who can."
To me things are not as to vulgar eyes,
I would all nature's works anatomize;
This world a living monster seems to me,
Sporting and rolling in the aërial sea.
The soil encompasses her rocks and stones,
As flesh in animals encircles bones.
I see vast ocean like a heart in play,
Pant systole and diastole every day:
And by unnumber'd veinous springs supplied,
Up her vast rivers force the arterial tide.
The world's great lungs, monsoons, and trade-winds
From east to west, from west to east they blow,
Alternate respirations ebb and flow.
The hills are pimples which earth's face defile,
And burning Ætna an eruptive bile;
On her high mountains hoary forests grow,
And downy grass o'erspreads the vales below.
From her vast body perspirations rise,
Condense in clouds, and float along the skies :
Thus fancy, faithful servant of the heart,
Transforms all nature by her magic art.
Ev'n mighty love, whose pow'r all pow'r controls, Is not to me like love in other souls:
Yet I have lov'd, and Cupid's subtle dart,
Has through my pericardium pierc'd my heart.
Brown Cadavera did my soul ensnare,
Was all my thought by night, and daily care;
I long'd to clasp, in her transcendant charms,
A living skeleton within my arms.
Long, lank, and lean, my Cadavera stood,
Like the tall pine, the glory of the wood;
Oftimes I gaz'd with learned skill to trace
The sharp-edg'd beauties of her bony face.
There rose Os frontis, prominent and bold,
In deep-sunk orbits two large eye-balls roll'd;
Beneath these eye-balls two arch'd bones were seen,
Whereon two flaggy cheeks hung loose and lean.
Between these cheeks protuberant arose,
In form triangular her lovely nose;
Like Egypt's pyramid it seem'd to rise,
Scorn earth, and bid defiance to the skies.
Thin were her lips, and of a sallow hue,
Her open mouth expos'd her teeth to view:
Projecting strong, protuberant, and wide,
Stood incisores-and on either side.
The canine, rang'd with many a beauteous flaw,
And last the grinders, to fill up the jaw;
All in their alveole plac'd secure,
Articulated by gamphosis sure.
Around her mouth perpetual smiles had made
Wrinkles, whereon the loves and graces play'd.
There, stretch'd and rigid by continual strain,
Appear'd the Zigomatic muscles plain :
And broad montanus o'er her peaked chin,
Extended to support the heavenly grin.
In amorous dalliance oft I strok'd her arm,
Each rising muscle was a rising charm;
O'er the flexores my fond fingers play'd,
I found instruction with delight convey'd.
There Carpus, Cubitus, and Radius too,
Were plainly felt, and manifest to view.
No muscles on her lovely hand were seen,
But only bones envelop'd by a skin :
Long were her fingers, and her knuckles bare,
Much like the claw-foot of a walnut chair.
So plain was complex metacarpus shown,
It might be fairly counted, bone by bone.
Her slender phalanxes were well design'd,
And each with each by ginglymus combin'd.
Such were the charms that did my fancy fire,
And love, chaste scientific love, inspire.
If ever you come to Modena,
Where, among other relics, you may see
Tassoni's bucket; but 'tis not the true one;
Stop at a palace near the Reggio gate,
Dwelt in of old by one of the Donatia ;
Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace,
And rich in fountains, statues, cypresses,
Will long detain you. But before you go,
Enter the house; forget it not, I pray you;
And look a while upon a picture there.
'Tis of a lady in her earliest youth, The last of that illustrious family,
Done by Zampieri-but by whom I care not.
He who observes it, ere he passes on,
Gazes his fill; and comes and comes again,
That he may call it up when far away.
She sits inclining forward,
Her lips half open, as to speak;
And her finger up, as though she said, beware!
Broidered with flowers, and clasp'd from head to foot,
An emerald stone in every golden clasp ;
And on her brow, fairer than alabaster,
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
The overflowings of an innocent heart.
It haunts me still-though many a year has fled-
Like some wild melody.
Over a mouldering heir-loom-its companion,
An oaken chest, half eaten by the worm,
But richly carv'd by Antony of Trent,
With Scripture stories from the life of Christ.
A chest that came from Venice, and had held
The ducal robe of some old ancestor,
That by the way it may be true or false :
But don't forget the picture-and you will not,
When you have heard the tale they told me there.
She was an only child, her name Genevra,
The joy, the pride of an indulgent father,
And in her sixteenth year became a bride;
Marrying an only son of Francisco Doria,
Her playmate from her birth, and her first love,
Just as she looks there in her bridal robe.
She was all gentleness, all gayety;
Her pranks the favourite theme of every tongue :
But now the day was come--the day, the hour:
Now frowning, smiling, for the hundredth time.
The nurse, that ancient lady, preach'd decorum,
And in the lustre of her youth she gave
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francisco.
Great was the joy-but at the nuptial feast, When all sat down, the bride herself was wanting: Nor was she to be found. Her father cried,
"Tis but to make a trial of our love;"
And fill'd his glass to all-but his hand shook,
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.
'Twas but that instant she had left Francisco,
Laughing, and looking back, and flying still;
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger:
But now, alas! she was not to be found!
Nor from that hour could any thing be guess'd,
But that she was not. Weary of his life,
Francisco flew to Venice, and embarking,
Flung it away in battle with the Turk.
Donatia liv'd-and long might you have seen
An old man searching in quest of something;
Something he could not find-he knew not what ;
When he was gone the house remain'd awhile
Silent and tenantless-then went to strangers.
Full fifty years had pass'd, and all forgot,
When, on an idle day, a day of search
'Mid the old lumber in the gallery,
That mouldering chest was notic'd; and 'twas said
By one as young, as thoughtless as Genevra,
"Why not remove it from its lurking place?"
'Twas done, as soon as said-but on its way
It burst-it fell-and lo! a Skeleton!
With here and there a pearl, an em'rald stone;
A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold:
All else had perish'd, save a wedding ring,
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,
Engraven with a name-the name of both-
Genevra. There then she had found her
Within that chest had she conceal'd herself,
Fluttering with joy, and happiest of the happy :
When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there,
Fasten'd her down for ever.
Who fell at Stony-Point, in the Revolutionary War.
When Autumn, all humid and drear,
With darkness and storms in his train.
Announcing the death of the year,
Despoil'd of its verdure the plain.
When horrors congenial prevail'd,
And graves are with fearfulness trod.
De Hart by his sister was wail'd,
His sister thus sigh'd o'er his sod.
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