Poem by Washington Allston

Sonnet. On a Falling Group in the Last Judgement of Michael Angelo, in the Cappella Sistina

How vast, how dread, overwhelming is the thought
Of Space interminable! to the soul
A circling weight that crushes into nought
Her mighty faculties! a wond'rous whole,
Without or parts, beginning, or an end!
How fearful then on desp'rate wings to send
The fancy e'en amid the waste profound!
Yet, born as if all daring to astound,
Thy giant hand, oh Angelo, hath hurl'd
E'en human forms, with all their mortal weight,
Down the dread void--fall endless as their fate!
Already now they seem from world to world
For ages thrown; yet doom'd, another past,
Another still to reach, nor e'er to reach the last!

1. Myrtilla
2. Sonnet. On the Group of the Three Angels before the Tent of Abraham, by Raffaelle, in the Vatican
3. The Paint-Kings
4. Sonnet. On the Luxembourg Gallery
5. Sonnet. On seeing the Picture of Æolus by Peligrino Tibaldi, in the Institute at Bologna

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