And thus the fate and issue of all his work were determined at once. He
must be a painter of the strength of nature, there was no beauty
elsewhere than in that; he must paint also the labour and sorrow and
passing away of men: this was the great human truth visible to him.
Their labour, their sorrow, and their death. Mark the three. Labour; by
sea and land, in field and city, at forge and furnace, helm and plough.
No pastoral indolence nor classic pride shall stand between him and the
troubling of the world; still less between him and the toil of his
country,--blind, tormented, unwearied, marvellous England.
Also their Sorrow; Ruin of all their glorious work, passing away of
their thoughts and their honour, mirage of pleasure, FALLACY OF HOPE;
gathering of weed on temple step; gaining of wave on deserted strand;
weeping of the mother for the children, desolate by her breathless
first-born in the streets of the city,[131] desolate by her last sons
slain, among the beasts of the field.[132]
And their Death. That old Greek question again;--yet unanswered. The
unconquerable spectre still flitting among the forest trees at
twilight; rising ribbed out of the sea-sand;--white, a strange
Aphrodite,--out of the sea-foam; stretching its grey, cloven wings
among the clouds; turning the light of their sunsets into blood.
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