Ode on Thorwaldsen’s return to Rome. 1840
Sons of Art! in joyful lay
Proclaim aloud a festive day!
Let the songs of triumph sound
Through the classic air around!
Behold Thorwaldsen comes!
Back to the ancient honor
Of his great art,
Behold the master comes!
Again he enters Rome,
No more to part.
See, he comes, with honour crowned,
Rich in fame, adored, renowned!
Time with gentle hand has shed
Silvery tokens o’er his head;
Yet from his native shore
He bends his steps once more
To southern clime.
Pour, sons of art! then pour
O’er the propitious hour,
A strain sublime!
The glorious “City of the Soul”
Is the sculptor’s destined goal;
His adopted country, where
He may breath a native air.
Shall his free spirit own
A mortal birth alone?
No! ‘tis divine!
Genius has raised a throne,
And bid him sit thereon –
Rome! he is thine!
Apollo! tune thy sleeping lyre,
And touch the chords with raptured fire.
Spirit of beauty! join the song,
And pour the echoing notes along.
He who has worshipped thee
Thy votary still shall be,
Faithful and true!
Then shalt thou honour him, and twine
A chaplet for his brow benign
Of fadeless hue.
Rise to meet him,
Haste to greet him,
Give him welcome home!
Sons of Art! with one glad heart,
Welcome Thorwaldsen home!