'Naked, yet clothed with chastity, She stands;
And as a shield throws back the sun's hot rays,
Her modest mieu repels each vulgar gaze.
Her inborn purity of soul demands
Freedom from touch of sacrilegious hands,
And homage of pure thoughts. Call her not Slave;
Her soul commands what servitude would crave,
Nor feels the pressure of those iron bands
Clasping her limbs. O! god-like power of Art!—
Beneath whose touch the spirit's inward strife
Reveals itself—even as earth's tides obey
The influence of the moon, so dost thou sway
The deep and passionate waters of the heart,
R. S. C.For the unconscious marble throbs with life!'