 | Poems and prose writings |  |
59
FACTITIOUS LIFE.
The world is too much with us; late or soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon.
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon.
Wordsworth.
But if his word once teach us—shoot a ray
Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal
Truths undiscerned but by that holy light,
Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptized
In the pure fountain of eternal love,
Has eyes, indeed.
Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal
Truths undiscerned but by that holy light,
Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptized
In the pure fountain of eternal love,
Has eyes, indeed.
Cowper.
The severe schooles shall never laugh me out of the philosophy of Hermes,
that this visible world is but a picture of the invisible, wherein, as in a pourtract,
things are not truly, but in equivocal shapes, and as they counterfeit
some more real substance in that invisible Fabrick.
Sir Thomas Browne.
Scarce two score years are gone since life began,
Yet many changes have I seen in man.
But when I'm seated in my easy chair,
(My “stede of bras”) and up through viewless air,
Go flying on by generations back,
O, then, what changes pass I in my track!
Yet many changes have I seen in man.
But when I'm seated in my easy chair,
(My “stede of bras”) and up through viewless air,
Go flying on by generations back,
O, then, what changes pass I in my track!
60
“Cambuscan bold” might course o'er many a clime.
I in a moment compass earth and time,
Seeing what is and hath been; and I view
Much very old, that some think very new.
The grandam to the modern belle complains,
You've stole my waist. May you endure its pains —
Steel and the cord! — In his fine dandy son
The ghost of Squaretoes sees himself outdone.
“Pull off my boots,” he cries, with crazy Lear;
And squaretoed boots and Squaretoes disappear,—
— Fie, scant-robed ghost, to thus cut roundabout
That modest miss, and so play `Cobbler Stout.'
O, take no more than is thy own — the train;
Shame to pure eyes! — the rest give back again.
If on such errands you come back to earth,
You'll leave us all as naked as at birth.
Wife, Virgin, mother, see them, there they walk!
Dress as they may, good Sir, you must not talk.
For learn, in times like these you're not to say
What others do, though done in open day.
Our language, not our conduct, marks the mind.
Let that be pure, and this must be refined.
Ophelia's words would shock a modern belle.
— Prince Hamlet, had Ophelia's robe that swell?
Did the wind sway it thus? the janty tread?
What said Laertes at his parting, maid?
`The chariest maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauties to' — O, stuff!
I in a moment compass earth and time,
Seeing what is and hath been; and I view
Much very old, that some think very new.
The grandam to the modern belle complains,
You've stole my waist. May you endure its pains —
Steel and the cord! — In his fine dandy son
The ghost of Squaretoes sees himself outdone.
“Pull off my boots,” he cries, with crazy Lear;
And squaretoed boots and Squaretoes disappear,—
— Fie, scant-robed ghost, to thus cut roundabout
That modest miss, and so play `Cobbler Stout.'
O, take no more than is thy own — the train;
Shame to pure eyes! — the rest give back again.
If on such errands you come back to earth,
You'll leave us all as naked as at birth.
Wife, Virgin, mother, see them, there they walk!
Dress as they may, good Sir, you must not talk.
For learn, in times like these you're not to say
What others do, though done in open day.
Our language, not our conduct, marks the mind.
Let that be pure, and this must be refined.
Ophelia's words would shock a modern belle.
— Prince Hamlet, had Ophelia's robe that swell?
Did the wind sway it thus? the janty tread?
What said Laertes at his parting, maid?
`The chariest maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauties to' — O, stuff!
61
Have you no other subject for your song,
Than whether we go drest too short or long?
If such the theme on which you mean to prose,
Excuse me, while you lecture, if I doze.
Nay, I am done! and rest on this as true; —
Though Fashion's absolute, she's fickle too.
E'en while I write, a transformation strange
Is going on, and shows that all is change.
And by the time these lines shall be in press,
They'll need a learned note, in prose, on dress.
Not dress alone; opinions have their day;
That is deposed, and this awhile bears sway;
That mounts the throne in glistering robes once more:
They who adored, then scorned, again adore,
To scorn again: — in one thing constant still —
Themselves ne'er wrong, whoe'er the throne may fill.
Be it opinion, notion, fancy, whim —
E'en what you will — 't is all the same to him —
The grave philosopher; he wheels about
His system to the crowd; then wheels it out,
And shoves another in; as at a show
Trees, houses, castles, towns move to and fro;
Ransacks the lumber-room of ancient time,
The older, better, best in farthest clime;
For farthest off less likely to be known
The learned theft: — the thing is all his own!
Than whether we go drest too short or long?
If such the theme on which you mean to prose,
Excuse me, while you lecture, if I doze.
Nay, I am done! and rest on this as true; —
Though Fashion's absolute, she's fickle too.
E'en while I write, a transformation strange
Is going on, and shows that all is change.
And by the time these lines shall be in press,
They'll need a learned note, in prose, on dress.
Not dress alone; opinions have their day;
That is deposed, and this awhile bears sway;
That mounts the throne in glistering robes once more:
They who adored, then scorned, again adore,
To scorn again: — in one thing constant still —
Themselves ne'er wrong, whoe'er the throne may fill.
Be it opinion, notion, fancy, whim —
E'en what you will — 't is all the same to him —
The grave philosopher; he wheels about
His system to the crowd; then wheels it out,
And shoves another in; as at a show
Trees, houses, castles, towns move to and fro;
Ransacks the lumber-room of ancient time,
The older, better, best in farthest clime;
For farthest off less likely to be known
The learned theft: — the thing is all his own!
62
Old furniture, new varnished and new named,
Serves all his ends; the charlatan is famed.
O, simple world, well gulled! he cries, with glee;
Blest `second-hand originality!'
From Asia, Africa, from Greece behold
Rise from their antique tombs the sages old.
This modern son of light descries, with dread,
Their shadowy forms: They come, the mighty dead!
For pardon, wronged ones, at your feet I fall.
I own the theft; but strip me not of all!
Leave me my name, at least, if nothing more;
Save one from general scorn, whom men adore.
The name, dishonored, keep, they with a frown
Reply; then turn, and to their graves go down.
Although upon the shore of time we stand,
And watch the ebb and flood along the strand;
Although what is, has been, we yet may trace
A silent change upon the world's wide face.
'Mid renovated philosophic schemes,
And arts restored or lost, plans, fashions, dreams,
That idly eddying, jostle side by side,
Down through them all there runs a steady tide
Of subtile alteration, scarce perceived;
As age, of hope and youthful warmth bereaved,
But faintly notes a change so soft and slow:
So gently dropped the leaves that lie below.
Serves all his ends; the charlatan is famed.
O, simple world, well gulled! he cries, with glee;
Blest `second-hand originality!'
From Asia, Africa, from Greece behold
Rise from their antique tombs the sages old.
This modern son of light descries, with dread,
Their shadowy forms: They come, the mighty dead!
For pardon, wronged ones, at your feet I fall.
I own the theft; but strip me not of all!
Leave me my name, at least, if nothing more;
Save one from general scorn, whom men adore.
The name, dishonored, keep, they with a frown
Reply; then turn, and to their graves go down.
Although upon the shore of time we stand,
And watch the ebb and flood along the strand;
Although what is, has been, we yet may trace
A silent change upon the world's wide face.
'Mid renovated philosophic schemes,
And arts restored or lost, plans, fashions, dreams,
That idly eddying, jostle side by side,
Down through them all there runs a steady tide
Of subtile alteration, scarce perceived;
As age, of hope and youthful warmth bereaved,
But faintly notes a change so soft and slow:
So gently dropped the leaves that lie below.
63
But bring the extremes together; let them greet —
The elastic boy, and man on tottering feet.
We ask amazed, Can these indeed be one?
Yes, even so; we see what Time has done, —
That cunning craftsman, he that works alway,
Makes and unmakes, nor stops for night nor day, —
(For they his bond-men are) rules while he toils,
And laughs to think what purposes he foils
In vain, fore-casting man — that fool or knave
(All but the truly wise) he holds a slave.
Thou universal Worker, thou hast wrought
Vast changes in the world of heart and thought.
Once flowed the stream of feeling, like a brook,
In natural windings; now we feel by book.
And once, as joy or sorrow moved the man,
He laughed or wept, unguided by a plan
Of outward port; for in his riper years
The boy still lived; and anger, love, and fears
Spoke out in action vehement: 'T was strength,
Strong heart, strong thought; thought, feeling ran their length
In a wild grandeur, or they passive lay,
Like waters circled in a wooded bay,
That take from some slow cloud the quivering lights
Thrown from its snowy rifts and glittering heights.
Yes, free and ever varying played the heart;
Great Nature schooled it; life was not an art.
And as the bosom heaved, so wrought the mind;
The thought put forth in act; and unconfined,
The elastic boy, and man on tottering feet.
We ask amazed, Can these indeed be one?
Yes, even so; we see what Time has done, —
That cunning craftsman, he that works alway,
Makes and unmakes, nor stops for night nor day, —
(For they his bond-men are) rules while he toils,
And laughs to think what purposes he foils
In vain, fore-casting man — that fool or knave
(All but the truly wise) he holds a slave.
Thou universal Worker, thou hast wrought
Vast changes in the world of heart and thought.
Once flowed the stream of feeling, like a brook,
In natural windings; now we feel by book.
And once, as joy or sorrow moved the man,
He laughed or wept, unguided by a plan
Of outward port; for in his riper years
The boy still lived; and anger, love, and fears
Spoke out in action vehement: 'T was strength,
Strong heart, strong thought; thought, feeling ran their length
In a wild grandeur, or they passive lay,
Like waters circled in a wooded bay,
That take from some slow cloud the quivering lights
Thrown from its snowy rifts and glittering heights.
Yes, free and ever varying played the heart;
Great Nature schooled it; life was not an art.
And as the bosom heaved, so wrought the mind;
The thought put forth in act; and unconfined,
64
The whole man lived his feelings. Time shall say
If man's the same in this our latter day?
The same! I scarcely know my work! For when
I take my rounds among the throngs of men,
E'en he who almost rivals me in years,
Apes youth so well; his head of hair appears
So full and fresh, I fain would hide my pate,
Rub out old scores, and start with a new date.
The youth enacts the sage, contemns the dead,
Lauds his own times, and cries, Go up, bald head!
Misses and little masters read at school
Abridged accounts of governments and rule;
Word-wise, and knowing all things, nothing know;
They'd reap the harvest, e'er the ground they sow.
The world's reversed; boy politicians spout;
And age courts youth, lest youth should turn him out.
The child is grown as cautious as three score;
Admits, on proof, that two and two are four.
He to no aimless energies gives way;
No little fairy visions round him play;
He builds no towering castles in the sky,
Longing to climb, his bosom beating high;
Is told that fancy leads but to destroy;
You have five senses; follow them, my boy!
If feeling wakes, his parents' fears are such,
They cry, Don't, dearest, you will feel too much.
If man's the same in this our latter day?
The same! I scarcely know my work! For when
I take my rounds among the throngs of men,
E'en he who almost rivals me in years,
Apes youth so well; his head of hair appears
So full and fresh, I fain would hide my pate,
Rub out old scores, and start with a new date.
The youth enacts the sage, contemns the dead,
Lauds his own times, and cries, Go up, bald head!
Misses and little masters read at school
Abridged accounts of governments and rule;
Word-wise, and knowing all things, nothing know;
They'd reap the harvest, e'er the ground they sow.
The world's reversed; boy politicians spout;
And age courts youth, lest youth should turn him out.
The child is grown as cautious as three score;
Admits, on proof, that two and two are four.
He to no aimless energies gives way;
No little fairy visions round him play;
He builds no towering castles in the sky,
Longing to climb, his bosom beating high;
Is told that fancy leads but to destroy;
You have five senses; follow them, my boy!
If feeling wakes, his parents' fears are such,
They cry, Don't, dearest, you will feel too much.
65
Does Time speak truth? I think so. Let us take
A single passion, for example's sake.
They talk of love, or rather, once they did,
When I was young: I'm told 't is now forbid;
That love, with ghosts, is banished clean away,
And heads well crammed, the system of the day;
That should you beg a maid her ear incline
To your true love, she bids you love define;
Then talks of Dugald Stewart and of Brown,
And with philosophy quite puts you down;
On mood synthetical, analysis,
Descants awhile. — Most metaphysic Miss!
Who'd win thee, must not like a lover look,
But grave philosopher, and woo by book.
Gaze on her face, and swear her eyes are stars; —
She talks of Venus, Jupiter and Mars.
Speak of the moon; — its phases and eclipse
How caused, you hear from learned and ruby lips.
Vow you will pour your heart out like a flood; —
She treats on venous and arterial blood;
Drives you half mad, then talks of motive nerve,
And nerves of sense, how they their purpose serve,
And how expression to the face impart,
How all important to the painter's art,
Then wonders that our eyes had seen so well
Before we read about their nerves in Bell;
Thus, for love's mazes, leads you round about
Through arts and sciences, an endless route.
A single passion, for example's sake.
They talk of love, or rather, once they did,
When I was young: I'm told 't is now forbid;
That love, with ghosts, is banished clean away,
And heads well crammed, the system of the day;
That should you beg a maid her ear incline
To your true love, she bids you love define;
Then talks of Dugald Stewart and of Brown,
And with philosophy quite puts you down;
On mood synthetical, analysis,
Descants awhile. — Most metaphysic Miss!
Who'd win thee, must not like a lover look,
But grave philosopher, and woo by book.
Gaze on her face, and swear her eyes are stars; —
She talks of Venus, Jupiter and Mars.
Speak of the moon; — its phases and eclipse
How caused, you hear from learned and ruby lips.
Vow you will pour your heart out like a flood; —
She treats on venous and arterial blood;
Drives you half mad, then talks of motive nerve,
And nerves of sense, how they their purpose serve,
And how expression to the face impart,
How all important to the painter's art,
Then wonders that our eyes had seen so well
Before we read about their nerves in Bell;
Thus, for love's mazes, leads you round about
Through arts and sciences, an endless route.
66
O, no, it was not so when I was young;
No maiden answered love in such a tongue,
Or cared for planets in conjunction brought;
With her, 'twas heart with hand, and thought to thought.
She tell what blood her veins and arteries fill!
Enough for her to feel its burning thrill.
She gaze upon the moon, as if she took
An observation! Love was in her look
All gentle as the moon. Herself perplex
With light original, or light reflex!
Enough for her, “By thy pale beam,” to say,
“Alone and pensive, I delight to stray;
And watch thy shadow trembling in the stream.” [1] —
O, maid, thrice lovelier than thy lovely dream!
And is the race extinct? Or where is hid
She, with the blushing cheek and downcast lid,
Tremblingly delicate, and like the deer,
Gracefully shy, and beautiful in fear? —
Who wept with good La Roche, heard Harley tell
His secret love, then bid to life farewell? —
Dreamed of Venoni's cottage in the vale,
And of Sir Edward senseless, bleeding, pale?
Here guard thy heart; nor let the poison creep
Through the soul's languor, like delicious sleep.
Wake ere its rancour eats into the core:
His is not love; 'tis appetite — no more, —
A finer appetite, like love so dressed,
Thou 'd'st be its victim, pitied and distressed;
No maiden answered love in such a tongue,
Or cared for planets in conjunction brought;
With her, 'twas heart with hand, and thought to thought.
She tell what blood her veins and arteries fill!
Enough for her to feel its burning thrill.
She gaze upon the moon, as if she took
An observation! Love was in her look
All gentle as the moon. Herself perplex
With light original, or light reflex!
Enough for her, “By thy pale beam,” to say,
“Alone and pensive, I delight to stray;
And watch thy shadow trembling in the stream.” [1] —
O, maid, thrice lovelier than thy lovely dream!
And is the race extinct? Or where is hid
She, with the blushing cheek and downcast lid,
Tremblingly delicate, and like the deer,
Gracefully shy, and beautiful in fear? —
Who wept with good La Roche, heard Harley tell
His secret love, then bid to life farewell? —
Dreamed of Venoni's cottage in the vale,
And of Sir Edward senseless, bleeding, pale?
Here guard thy heart; nor let the poison creep
Through the soul's languor, like delicious sleep.
Wake ere its rancour eats into the core:
His is not love; 'tis appetite — no more, —
A finer appetite, like love so dressed,
Thou 'd'st be its victim, pitied and distressed;
67
Than smiles or innocence would'st hold more dear
A wooing sadness, soft, repentant tear: —
Tears, and dark falling locks, and snowy arm —
In aught so beautiful can there be harm?
Ah! shun Sir Edward, maiden, for thy life;
Nor, once his mistress, think to be his wife;
Or, doomed for all thy days, if wife in name,
To live thy own, thy child's, thy husband's shame,
Be taunt's, suspicion's slave; nor dare to raise
Thine eye, though wronged, nor hope a husband's praise.
There 's reverence in true love; it dreads, abhors
The tainted heart; it sues, protects, adores.
Then win thee reverence, if that thou would'st win
True love: — it holds no fellowship with sin.
But why complain romantic love is dead,
If to uncertain paths it wooes, to lead
The innocent half doubting, yet half won,
Through softening twilight — mingled shade and sun,
While slowly steal the lights away, and creep
The shadows by, till on the fearful steep
She stands awhile at pause; then looks below;
Then leaps; — the closing waves above her flow,
And down she sinks forever? Very true.
Are these the only dangers in your view? —
Or would you lay fair flowering nature bare
Because, forsooth, you fear a canker there?
If love may lure romantic minds astray,
Will shruder heads point out a surer way?
A wooing sadness, soft, repentant tear: —
Tears, and dark falling locks, and snowy arm —
In aught so beautiful can there be harm?
Ah! shun Sir Edward, maiden, for thy life;
Nor, once his mistress, think to be his wife;
Or, doomed for all thy days, if wife in name,
To live thy own, thy child's, thy husband's shame,
Be taunt's, suspicion's slave; nor dare to raise
Thine eye, though wronged, nor hope a husband's praise.
There 's reverence in true love; it dreads, abhors
The tainted heart; it sues, protects, adores.
Then win thee reverence, if that thou would'st win
True love: — it holds no fellowship with sin.
But why complain romantic love is dead,
If to uncertain paths it wooes, to lead
The innocent half doubting, yet half won,
Through softening twilight — mingled shade and sun,
While slowly steal the lights away, and creep
The shadows by, till on the fearful steep
She stands awhile at pause; then looks below;
Then leaps; — the closing waves above her flow,
And down she sinks forever? Very true.
Are these the only dangers in your view? —
Or would you lay fair flowering nature bare
Because, forsooth, you fear a canker there?
If love may lure romantic minds astray,
Will shruder heads point out a surer way?
68
— To live alone, cries one, how dull a life!
I think I'll marry; and straight takes a wife.
Soon tired of home, and finding life still dull,
He joins his club, keeps horses and a trull;
Of jokes on loving husbands cracks a score,
And coarse as heartless, votes a wife a bore.
The widow-wife secures, her loss to mend,
A kinder husband, in her husband's friend;
Or, unrestrained by love, yet held by vows,
Though scarce more fond, less faithless than her spouse.
One weds with age; and should she keep her truth,
As once she sighed for wealth, now sighs for youth;
Looks on its mantling cheek, and brown crisp hair,
Then turns to age and wrinkles, in despair: —
Her husband's harlot, feigns love's playful wiles,
So deals her bargained coaxings, and her smiles
The dotard dreams she loves: — thus acts her part,
And robbed the joys of sin, still sins in heart.
But here a youthful pair! What think you now?
The friends agreed, — say, shall they take the vow?
Connexions quite respectable all round;
With ample property, and titles sound.
Most certainly an eligible match,
Estates so fit, like patch well set to patch.
'T is strange none thought of it before!
I think I'll marry; and straight takes a wife.
Soon tired of home, and finding life still dull,
He joins his club, keeps horses and a trull;
Of jokes on loving husbands cracks a score,
And coarse as heartless, votes a wife a bore.
The widow-wife secures, her loss to mend,
A kinder husband, in her husband's friend;
Or, unrestrained by love, yet held by vows,
Though scarce more fond, less faithless than her spouse.
One weds with age; and should she keep her truth,
As once she sighed for wealth, now sighs for youth;
Looks on its mantling cheek, and brown crisp hair,
Then turns to age and wrinkles, in despair: —
Her husband's harlot, feigns love's playful wiles,
So deals her bargained coaxings, and her smiles
The dotard dreams she loves: — thus acts her part,
And robbed the joys of sin, still sins in heart.
But here a youthful pair! What think you now?
The friends agreed, — say, shall they take the vow?
Connexions quite respectable all round;
With ample property, and titles sound.
Most certainly an eligible match,
Estates so fit, like patch well set to patch.
'T is strange none thought of it before!
69
My friend,
How fit their minds? And do their feelings blend?
Why, as to these I've not as yet inquired.
What more than I have said can be desired?
They 'll learn to like each other by and by.
'T is not my business into hearts to pry
After such whims. Besides, what them contents,
Contents me too. — Come, let us sum their rents.
Houses in town — say, ten —
Nay, join their hands.
Boggle at hearts! We ne'er should join their lands!
What matters it, if rough and sharp below?
Custom and art will make the surface show
Smooth to the world on this McAdam way
To wedded life; we'll have no more delay,
But join them straight. — The pair have made a trade —
Contract in lands and stocks 'twixt man and maid:
Partners for life; club chances — weal or woe.
Hang out the sign! There, read! — A. B. & Co.!
And do unsightly weeds choke up the gush
Of early hearts? Are all the feelings hush
And lifeless now, that would have sent their sound
In unison, where young hearts throb and bound?
Tear up the weeds and let the soul have play;
Open its sunless fountains to the day;
Let them flow freely out; they'll make thy wealth.
Bathe thy whole being in these streams of health,
How fit their minds? And do their feelings blend?
Why, as to these I've not as yet inquired.
What more than I have said can be desired?
They 'll learn to like each other by and by.
'T is not my business into hearts to pry
After such whims. Besides, what them contents,
Contents me too. — Come, let us sum their rents.
Houses in town — say, ten —
Nay, join their hands.
Boggle at hearts! We ne'er should join their lands!
What matters it, if rough and sharp below?
Custom and art will make the surface show
Smooth to the world on this McAdam way
To wedded life; we'll have no more delay,
But join them straight. — The pair have made a trade —
Contract in lands and stocks 'twixt man and maid:
Partners for life; club chances — weal or woe.
Hang out the sign! There, read! — A. B. & Co.!
And do unsightly weeds choke up the gush
Of early hearts? Are all the feelings hush
And lifeless now, that would have sent their sound
In unison, where young hearts throb and bound?
Tear up the weeds and let the soul have play;
Open its sunless fountains to the day;
Let them flow freely out; they'll make thy wealth.
Bathe thy whole being in these streams of health,
70
And feel new vigor in thy frame! — A boy! —
And weigh thy pelf with love! — against a joy
That lifts the mind and speaks it noble — gives
Beauty ethereal, in which it lives
A life celestial here, on earth — e'en here!
What canst thou give for this, and call it dear?
O, it is past all count! Pray, throw thou by
Thy tables; trust thy heart; thy tables lie.
Let not thy fresh soul wither in its spring.
Water its tender shoots, and they shall bring
Shelter to age: Thou'lt sit and think how blest
Have been thy days, thank God, and take thy rest.
Sell not thy heart for gold, then, or for lands,
'T is richer far than all Pactolus' sands.
And where on earth would run the stream to lave
The curse away, and thy starved soul to save?
But all are reasoners; father, mother, child;
And every passion's numbered, labeled, filed,
And taken down, discussed, and read upon.
We read, last night, mama, through chapter one,
And left the second in the midst. Shall we
Go through with that?
The second? Let me see! —
The second treats of Grief. — Read, child!
Fourth head
Concerning grief, is sorrow for the dead.
Know, happiness is duty. Then, be wise,
You're not to grieve though one you care for dies.
And weigh thy pelf with love! — against a joy
That lifts the mind and speaks it noble — gives
Beauty ethereal, in which it lives
A life celestial here, on earth — e'en here!
What canst thou give for this, and call it dear?
O, it is past all count! Pray, throw thou by
Thy tables; trust thy heart; thy tables lie.
Let not thy fresh soul wither in its spring.
Water its tender shoots, and they shall bring
Shelter to age: Thou'lt sit and think how blest
Have been thy days, thank God, and take thy rest.
Sell not thy heart for gold, then, or for lands,
'T is richer far than all Pactolus' sands.
And where on earth would run the stream to lave
The curse away, and thy starved soul to save?
But all are reasoners; father, mother, child;
And every passion's numbered, labeled, filed,
And taken down, discussed, and read upon.
We read, last night, mama, through chapter one,
And left the second in the midst. Shall we
Go through with that?
The second? Let me see! —
The second treats of Grief. — Read, child!
Fourth head
Concerning grief, is sorrow for the dead.
Know, happiness is duty. Then, be wise,
You're not to grieve though one you care for dies.
71
Have many friends, and then you'll scarcely know
When one departs, and save a world of woe.
Nor do we now retire to mourn; we live
Only in taking pleasure, or to give.
Is sorrow, sin then, mother?
'T is a waste. —
Sin! child. How vulgar! mind me; say, bad taste.
But what is pleasure? Men have said of old,
'T is found in neither luxury, nor gold,
Nor fashion, nor the throng; but there is true
Where minds are calm, and friends are dear and few;
That life's swift whirl wears out our finer sense,
Sucks down the good, and gives out nothing thence
But a tost wreck, which, once the comely frame
Of some true joy, saves nothing but the name,
And drifts a shattered thing, upon the shore,
Where lie the unsightly wrecks of thousands more.
To flee from sorrow and alone to keep
The eye on happiness, leaves nothing deep
E'en in our joys. To put aside in haste
The cup of grief, makes vapid to the taste
The cup of pleasure. Think not, then, to spare
Thyself all sorrow, yet in joy to share.
Take up that many-stringed harp, and thrum,
On one dull chord, with one dull, heavy thumb.
Now thrill the fibres of thy soul? or flow
In sounds of varying measure, swift or slow,
When one departs, and save a world of woe.
Nor do we now retire to mourn; we live
Only in taking pleasure, or to give.
Is sorrow, sin then, mother?
'T is a waste. —
Sin! child. How vulgar! mind me; say, bad taste.
But what is pleasure? Men have said of old,
'T is found in neither luxury, nor gold,
Nor fashion, nor the throng; but there is true
Where minds are calm, and friends are dear and few;
That life's swift whirl wears out our finer sense,
Sucks down the good, and gives out nothing thence
But a tost wreck, which, once the comely frame
Of some true joy, saves nothing but the name,
And drifts a shattered thing, upon the shore,
Where lie the unsightly wrecks of thousands more.
To flee from sorrow and alone to keep
The eye on happiness, leaves nothing deep
E'en in our joys. To put aside in haste
The cup of grief, makes vapid to the taste
The cup of pleasure. Think not, then, to spare
Thyself all sorrow, yet in joy to share.
Take up that many-stringed harp, and thrum,
On one dull chord, with one dull, heavy thumb.
Now thrill the fibres of thy soul? or flow
In sounds of varying measure, swift or slow,
72
The full rich harmonies? — Nay, listen on!
Thy soul has myriad strings where this has one.
— Wearied so soon? — Then take it up and play
On all its strings, but let its notes be gay.
— Wearied again? and glad to throw it by?
Yes, tired, in faith; I long to hear it sigh:
I'm worn with very glee. O, let me give
One note to touch my heart, and feel it live!”
And thus the soul is framed; that if, alone,
We loose one chord, the harp will fail its tone,
The mighty harmonies within, around,
Die all away, or send a jarring sound.
Give over then, and wisely use thy skill
To tune each passion rightly, not to kill.
To joy thee in the living, mourn the dead;
And know, thou hast a heart, as well as head, —
A heart that needs, at times, the softening powers
Of grief, romantic love, and lonely hours,
And meditative twilight, and the balm
Of falling dews, and evening stars, and calm.
For ever in the world, there forms a crust
About thy soul, and all within's adust.
With sense beclouded, and perverted taste,
You toil abroad, and leave the heart a waste;
Dead while alive, and listless in the stir,
See all awry, deem manner, character; —
Thy soul has myriad strings where this has one.
— Wearied so soon? — Then take it up and play
On all its strings, but let its notes be gay.
— Wearied again? and glad to throw it by?
Yes, tired, in faith; I long to hear it sigh:
I'm worn with very glee. O, let me give
One note to touch my heart, and feel it live!”
And thus the soul is framed; that if, alone,
We loose one chord, the harp will fail its tone,
The mighty harmonies within, around,
Die all away, or send a jarring sound.
Give over then, and wisely use thy skill
To tune each passion rightly, not to kill.
To joy thee in the living, mourn the dead;
And know, thou hast a heart, as well as head, —
A heart that needs, at times, the softening powers
Of grief, romantic love, and lonely hours,
And meditative twilight, and the balm
Of falling dews, and evening stars, and calm.
For ever in the world, there forms a crust
About thy soul, and all within's adust.
With sense beclouded, and perverted taste,
You toil abroad, and leave the heart a waste;
Dead while alive, and listless in the stir,
See all awry, deem manner, character; —
73
Not sentient of the right, nor loathing wrong,
You smile, and call that rude, which God calls strong;
No honest indignation in your breast,
Nor ardent love, but all things well exprest:
Your manner, like your dress — a thing put on; —
The seen, not that beneath, your care alone.
The dress has made the form by nature given,
Unlike aught ever seen in earth or heaven.
Where, girl, thy flowing motion, easy sweep?
Like waves that swing, nor break the glassy deep?
All hard, and angular, and cased in steel!
And is it human? Can it breathe and feel?
The bosom beautiful of mould — alas!
Where, now, thy pillow, youth? — But let it pass. —
And shapes in freedom lovely? — I will bear
Distorted forms, leave minds but free and fair.
'T is all alike conventional; the mind
Is tortured like the body, cramped, confined;
A thing made up, by rules of art, for life;
Most perfect, when with nature most at strife;
Till the strife ceases, and the thing of art,
Forgetting nature, no more plays a part;
Sees truth in the factitious; — pleasure's slave —
Its drudge, not lord; in trifles only grave.
And with the high brought low, the little raised,
Nature forgotten, the factitious praised,
The world a gaud, life's stream a shallow brawl,
What, worldling, holds up virtue from a fall?
You smile, and call that rude, which God calls strong;
No honest indignation in your breast,
Nor ardent love, but all things well exprest:
Your manner, like your dress — a thing put on; —
The seen, not that beneath, your care alone.
The dress has made the form by nature given,
Unlike aught ever seen in earth or heaven.
Where, girl, thy flowing motion, easy sweep?
Like waves that swing, nor break the glassy deep?
All hard, and angular, and cased in steel!
And is it human? Can it breathe and feel?
The bosom beautiful of mould — alas!
Where, now, thy pillow, youth? — But let it pass. —
And shapes in freedom lovely? — I will bear
Distorted forms, leave minds but free and fair.
'T is all alike conventional; the mind
Is tortured like the body, cramped, confined;
A thing made up, by rules of art, for life;
Most perfect, when with nature most at strife;
Till the strife ceases, and the thing of art,
Forgetting nature, no more plays a part;
Sees truth in the factitious; — pleasure's slave —
Its drudge, not lord; in trifles only grave.
And with the high brought low, the little raised,
Nature forgotten, the factitious praised,
The world a gaud, life's stream a shallow brawl,
What, worldling, holds up virtue from a fall?
74
Virtue? Nay, mock it not. There sits its Form:
Thy hand upon its heart! — Does't beat? Is't warm?
No pulse! and cold as death!
Then, paint its face,
And dress it up, and give the thing a grace,
For sake of decency. — Why, just look there!
How like it is! And what a modish air!
How very proper! Sure, it can't but pass,
And serve in time to come, for fashion's glass.
With etiquette for virtue, heart subdued,
The right betraying, lest you should be rude,
Excusing wrong, lest you be thought precise,
In morals easy, and in manners nice;
To keep in with the world your only end,
And with the world, to censure or defend,
To bend to it each passion, thought, desire,
With it genteelly cold, or all on fire,
What have you left to call your own, I pray?
You ask, What says the world, and that obey:
Where singularity alone is sin,
Live uncondemned, and prostrate all within.
You educate the manners, not the heart;
And morals make good breeding and an art.
Though coarse within, yet polished high without,
And held by all respectable, no doubt,
You think, concealed beneath these flimsy lies,
To keep through life the set proprieties.
Thy hand upon its heart! — Does't beat? Is't warm?
No pulse! and cold as death!
Then, paint its face,
And dress it up, and give the thing a grace,
For sake of decency. — Why, just look there!
How like it is! And what a modish air!
How very proper! Sure, it can't but pass,
And serve in time to come, for fashion's glass.
With etiquette for virtue, heart subdued,
The right betraying, lest you should be rude,
Excusing wrong, lest you be thought precise,
In morals easy, and in manners nice;
To keep in with the world your only end,
And with the world, to censure or defend,
To bend to it each passion, thought, desire,
With it genteelly cold, or all on fire,
What have you left to call your own, I pray?
You ask, What says the world, and that obey:
Where singularity alone is sin,
Live uncondemned, and prostrate all within.
You educate the manners, not the heart;
And morals make good breeding and an art.
Though coarse within, yet polished high without,
And held by all respectable, no doubt,
You think, concealed beneath these flimsy lies,
To keep through life the set proprieties.
75
Ah, fool, let but a passion rise in war,
Your mighty doors of Gaza, posts and bar,
'T will wrench away. The Dalilah of old —
Your harlot virtue — thought with withes to hold
Her strong one captive. The Philistines came;
He snapped the bands as tow, and freed his frame,
And forth he went. And think you, then, to bind
With cords like these the Samsons of the mind,
When tempters from abroad beset them? Nay!
They'll out, and tread like common dust your sway.
You strive in vain against the eternal plan.
Set free the sympathies, and be a man.
And let the tear bedew thine honest eye,
When good ones suffer, and when loved ones die.
Deem not thy fellow as a creature made
To serve thy turn in pleasure or in trade,
And then thrown by. It breaks thy moral power
To wrap the eternal up in one short hour,
And ask what best will serve to help you on,
Or furnish comforts till your life is done.
And is it wise or safe to set at naught
The finer feelings in our nature wrought,
That throw a lovelier hue on innocence,
And give to things of earth a life intense,
Drawing a charmed circle round our home,
That nothing gross or sensual there may come?
Yet, what makes virtue beauty you would bend
To worldly purposes — a prudent end!
Your mighty doors of Gaza, posts and bar,
'T will wrench away. The Dalilah of old —
Your harlot virtue — thought with withes to hold
Her strong one captive. The Philistines came;
He snapped the bands as tow, and freed his frame,
And forth he went. And think you, then, to bind
With cords like these the Samsons of the mind,
When tempters from abroad beset them? Nay!
They'll out, and tread like common dust your sway.
You strive in vain against the eternal plan.
Set free the sympathies, and be a man.
And let the tear bedew thine honest eye,
When good ones suffer, and when loved ones die.
Deem not thy fellow as a creature made
To serve thy turn in pleasure or in trade,
And then thrown by. It breaks thy moral power
To wrap the eternal up in one short hour,
And ask what best will serve to help you on,
Or furnish comforts till your life is done.
And is it wise or safe to set at naught
The finer feelings in our nature wrought,
That throw a lovelier hue on innocence,
And give to things of earth a life intense,
Drawing a charmed circle round our home,
That nothing gross or sensual there may come?
Yet, what makes virtue beauty you would bend
To worldly purposes — a prudent end!
76
From virtue take this beautiful regard,
And leave her homely prudence, duty hard;
Let passions unrefined, fed appetites,
Awake and call aloud for gross delights,
Think you the paltry barriers you have built,
Will stand the tug, and keep out shame and guilt?
Then, leave your cold forecastings, sharp, close strife
For vantage; quit the whirl you call your life,
And see how God has wrought. — This earth was made,
For use of man, its lord, you've heard it said.
Yes, it is full of uses; you may see
How plainly made for use is yonder tree, —
To bear thee o'er the seas, or house thee dry,
When rains beat hard, and winds are bleak and high.
No, naught of this: But leaves, like fluttering wings,
Flash light; the gentle wind among them sings,
Then stops, and they too stop; and then the strain
Begins anew; and, then, they dance again.
I see the tinted trunk of brown and gray,
And rich, warm fungus, brighter for decay,
Whence rays of light, as from a fountain, flow;
I hear the mother robin talking low
In notes affectionate; the wide-mouthed brood
Chattering and eager for their far-sought food.
The air is spread with beauty; and the sky
Is musical with sounds that rise, and die
Till scarce the ear can catch them; then they swell;
Then send from far a low, sweet, sad farewell.
And leave her homely prudence, duty hard;
Let passions unrefined, fed appetites,
Awake and call aloud for gross delights,
Think you the paltry barriers you have built,
Will stand the tug, and keep out shame and guilt?
Then, leave your cold forecastings, sharp, close strife
For vantage; quit the whirl you call your life,
And see how God has wrought. — This earth was made,
For use of man, its lord, you've heard it said.
Yes, it is full of uses; you may see
How plainly made for use is yonder tree, —
To bear thee o'er the seas, or house thee dry,
When rains beat hard, and winds are bleak and high.
No, naught of this: But leaves, like fluttering wings,
Flash light; the gentle wind among them sings,
Then stops, and they too stop; and then the strain
Begins anew; and, then, they dance again.
I see the tinted trunk of brown and gray,
And rich, warm fungus, brighter for decay,
Whence rays of light, as from a fountain, flow;
I hear the mother robin talking low
In notes affectionate; the wide-mouthed brood
Chattering and eager for their far-sought food.
The air is spread with beauty; and the sky
Is musical with sounds that rise, and die
Till scarce the ear can catch them; then they swell;
Then send from far a low, sweet, sad farewell.
77
My mind is filled with beauty, and my heart —
With joy? Not joy, with what I would not part.
It is not sorrow, yet almost subdues
My soul to tears: it saddens while it wooes.
My spirit breathes of love: I could not hate.
O, I could match me with the lowliest state
And be content, so I might ever know
This, what? I cannot tell — not joy nor woe!
Come, look upon this stream. Now stoop and sip,
And let it gurgle round your parching lip.
It runs to slake the thirst of man and beast,
The simple beverage to great nature's feast.
My thirst is quenched; but still my spirit drinks,
And my heart lingers, and my mind — it thinks
Thoughts peaceful, thoughts upon the flow of time,
And tells the minutes by this slender chime, —
Music with which the waters gladly pay
Blossoms and shrubs that make their surface gay.
Thou little rill, why wilt thou run so fast
To mingle with rough ocean and his blast?
Thou thoughtless innocent, a world of strife
Is there! Then stay; nor quit thy peaceful life,
And all thy shining pebbles, and the song
Thou sing'st throughout the day, and all night long,
Up to the sun, the stars, the moon when she
Kisses thy face, half sadness and half glee.
With joy? Not joy, with what I would not part.
It is not sorrow, yet almost subdues
My soul to tears: it saddens while it wooes.
My spirit breathes of love: I could not hate.
O, I could match me with the lowliest state
And be content, so I might ever know
This, what? I cannot tell — not joy nor woe!
Come, look upon this stream. Now stoop and sip,
And let it gurgle round your parching lip.
It runs to slake the thirst of man and beast,
The simple beverage to great nature's feast.
My thirst is quenched; but still my spirit drinks,
And my heart lingers, and my mind — it thinks
Thoughts peaceful, thoughts upon the flow of time,
And tells the minutes by this slender chime, —
Music with which the waters gladly pay
Blossoms and shrubs that make their surface gay.
Thou little rill, why wilt thou run so fast
To mingle with rough ocean and his blast?
Thou thoughtless innocent, a world of strife
Is there! Then stay; nor quit thy peaceful life,
And all thy shining pebbles, and the song
Thou sing'st throughout the day, and all night long,
Up to the sun, the stars, the moon when she
Kisses thy face, half sadness and half glee.
78
Thus pity fills my heart, and thus I dream,
When standing caring for the unconscious stream.
Now stretch your eye off shore, o'er waters made
To cleanse the air and bear the world's great trade,
To rise, and wet the mountains near the sun,
Then back into themselves in rivers run,
Fulfilling mighty uses far and wide,
Through earth, in air, or here, as ocean-tide.
Ho! how the giant heaves himself, and strains
And flings to break his strong and viewless chains;
Foams in his wrath; and at his prison doors,
Hark! hear him! how he beats and tugs and roars,
As if he would break forth again and sweep
Each living thing within his lowest deep.
Type of the Infinite! I look away
Over thy billows, and I cannot stay
My thought upon a resting-place, or make
A shore beyond my vision, where they break;
But on my spirit stretches, till it's pain
To think; then rests, and then puts forth again.
Thou hold'st me by a spell; and on thy beach
I feel all soul; and thoughts unmeasured reach
Far back beyond all date. And, O! how old
Thou art to me. For countless years thou hast rolled.
Before an ear did hear thee, thou did'st mourn,
Prophet of sorrows, o'er a race unborn;
Waiting, thou mighty minister of death,
Lonely thy work, ere man had drawn his breath.
When standing caring for the unconscious stream.
Now stretch your eye off shore, o'er waters made
To cleanse the air and bear the world's great trade,
To rise, and wet the mountains near the sun,
Then back into themselves in rivers run,
Fulfilling mighty uses far and wide,
Through earth, in air, or here, as ocean-tide.
Ho! how the giant heaves himself, and strains
And flings to break his strong and viewless chains;
Foams in his wrath; and at his prison doors,
Hark! hear him! how he beats and tugs and roars,
As if he would break forth again and sweep
Each living thing within his lowest deep.
Type of the Infinite! I look away
Over thy billows, and I cannot stay
My thought upon a resting-place, or make
A shore beyond my vision, where they break;
But on my spirit stretches, till it's pain
To think; then rests, and then puts forth again.
Thou hold'st me by a spell; and on thy beach
I feel all soul; and thoughts unmeasured reach
Far back beyond all date. And, O! how old
Thou art to me. For countless years thou hast rolled.
Before an ear did hear thee, thou did'st mourn,
Prophet of sorrows, o'er a race unborn;
Waiting, thou mighty minister of death,
Lonely thy work, ere man had drawn his breath.
79
At last thou did'st it well! The dread command
Came, and thou swept'st to death the breathing land;
And then once more, unto the silent heaven
Thy lone and melancholy voice was given.
And though the land is thronged again, O Sea!
Strange sadness touches all that goes with thee.
The small bird's plaining note, the wild, sharp call,
Share thy own spirit: it is sadness all!
How dark and stern upon thy waves looks down
Yonder tall Cliff — he with the iron crown.
And see! those sable Pines along the steep,
Are come to join thy requiem, gloomy Deep!
Like stoled monks they stand and chant the dirge
Over the dead, with thy low beating surge.”
These are earth's uses. God has framed the whole,
Not mainly for the body, but the soul,
That it might dawn on beauty, and might grow
Noble in thought, from nature's noble show,
Might gather from the flowers a humble mind,
And on earth's ever varying surface find
Something to win to kind and fresh'ning change,
And give the powers a wide and healthful range;
To furnish man sweet company where'er
He travels on — a something to call dear,
And more his own, because it makes a part
With that fair world that dwells within the heart.
Earth yields to healthful labor meat and drink,
That man may live — for what? To feel and think;
Came, and thou swept'st to death the breathing land;
And then once more, unto the silent heaven
Thy lone and melancholy voice was given.
And though the land is thronged again, O Sea!
Strange sadness touches all that goes with thee.
The small bird's plaining note, the wild, sharp call,
Share thy own spirit: it is sadness all!
How dark and stern upon thy waves looks down
Yonder tall Cliff — he with the iron crown.
And see! those sable Pines along the steep,
Are come to join thy requiem, gloomy Deep!
Like stoled monks they stand and chant the dirge
Over the dead, with thy low beating surge.”
These are earth's uses. God has framed the whole,
Not mainly for the body, but the soul,
That it might dawn on beauty, and might grow
Noble in thought, from nature's noble show,
Might gather from the flowers a humble mind,
And on earth's ever varying surface find
Something to win to kind and fresh'ning change,
And give the powers a wide and healthful range;
To furnish man sweet company where'er
He travels on — a something to call dear,
And more his own, because it makes a part
With that fair world that dwells within the heart.
Earth yields to healthful labor meat and drink,
That man may live — for what? To feel and think;
80
And not to eat and drink, and like the beast,
Sleep, and then wake and get him to his feast.
Over these grosser uses nature throws
Beauties so delicate, the man foregoes
Awhile his low intents, to soft delights
Yields up himself; and lost in sounds and sights,
Forgets that earth was made for aught beside
His doting; and he wooes it as his bride.
— Beautiful bride! thou chaste one, innocent!
To win and make man like thee, thou wast lent.
Call with thy many pleasant voices, then;
The wanderer will turn to thee again.
Yes, now he turns! And see! the breaking day!
And in its dawn, the wanderer on his way!
Thou who art Life and Light, I see thee spread
Thy glories through these regions of the dead;
I hear Thee call the sleeper: — Up! Behold
The earth unveiled to thee, the heavens unrolled!
On thy transformed soul celestial light
Bursts; and the earth, transfigured, on thy sight
Breaks, a new sphere! Ay, stand in glad amaze,
While all its figures, opening on thy gaze,
Unfold new meanings. Thou shalt understand
Its mystic hierograph, thy God's own hand.
Ah! man shall read aright when he shall part
With human schemes, and in the new-born heart
Feel coursing new-born life; when from above
Shall flow throughout his soul joy, light and love;
Sleep, and then wake and get him to his feast.
Over these grosser uses nature throws
Beauties so delicate, the man foregoes
Awhile his low intents, to soft delights
Yields up himself; and lost in sounds and sights,
Forgets that earth was made for aught beside
His doting; and he wooes it as his bride.
— Beautiful bride! thou chaste one, innocent!
To win and make man like thee, thou wast lent.
Call with thy many pleasant voices, then;
The wanderer will turn to thee again.
Yes, now he turns! And see! the breaking day!
And in its dawn, the wanderer on his way!
Thou who art Life and Light, I see thee spread
Thy glories through these regions of the dead;
I hear Thee call the sleeper: — Up! Behold
The earth unveiled to thee, the heavens unrolled!
On thy transformed soul celestial light
Bursts; and the earth, transfigured, on thy sight
Breaks, a new sphere! Ay, stand in glad amaze,
While all its figures, opening on thy gaze,
Unfold new meanings. Thou shalt understand
Its mystic hierograph, thy God's own hand.
Ah! man shall read aright when he shall part
With human schemes, and in the new-born heart
Feel coursing new-born life; when from above
Shall flow throughout his soul joy, light and love;
81
And he shall follow up these streams, and find
The One the source of nature, grace and mind.
There, he in God and God in him, his soul
Shall look abroad and feel the world a whole —
“From nature up to nature's God,” no more
Grope out his way through parts, nor place before
The Former, the thing formed. — Man yet shall learn
The outward by the inward to discern —
The inward by the Spirit.
Here begin
Thy search, Philosopher, and thou shalt win
Thy way deep down into the soul. The light,
Shed in by God, shall open to thy sight
Vast powers of being; regions long untrod
Shall stretch before thee filled with life and God;
And faculties come forth, and put to shame
Thy vain and curious reasonings. Whence they came,
Thou shalt not ask; for they shall breathe an air
From upper worlds, around, that shall declare
Them sons of God, immortal ones; and thou,
Self-awed, in their mysterious presence bow;
And while thou listenest, with thy inward ear
The ocean of eternity shalt hear
Along its coming waves; and thou shalt see
Its spiritual waters, as they roll through thee;
Nor toil in hard abstractions of the brain,
Some guess of immortality to gain;
For far-sought truths within thy soul shall rise,
Informing visions to thine inward eyes.
The One the source of nature, grace and mind.
There, he in God and God in him, his soul
Shall look abroad and feel the world a whole —
“From nature up to nature's God,” no more
Grope out his way through parts, nor place before
The Former, the thing formed. — Man yet shall learn
The outward by the inward to discern —
The inward by the Spirit.
Here begin
Thy search, Philosopher, and thou shalt win
Thy way deep down into the soul. The light,
Shed in by God, shall open to thy sight
Vast powers of being; regions long untrod
Shall stretch before thee filled with life and God;
And faculties come forth, and put to shame
Thy vain and curious reasonings. Whence they came,
Thou shalt not ask; for they shall breathe an air
From upper worlds, around, that shall declare
Them sons of God, immortal ones; and thou,
Self-awed, in their mysterious presence bow;
And while thou listenest, with thy inward ear
The ocean of eternity shalt hear
Along its coming waves; and thou shalt see
Its spiritual waters, as they roll through thee;
Nor toil in hard abstractions of the brain,
Some guess of immortality to gain;
For far-sought truths within thy soul shall rise,
Informing visions to thine inward eyes.
82
Believe thyself immortal? Thou shalt know, —
Shalt feel thyself immortal, when shall flow
Life from the Eternal, and shall end the strife
To part philosophy and heavenly life.
The soul to its prime union then restored,
The reason humbled, and its God adored,
Inward beholdings, powers intuitive,
Shall wake that soul, and thought in feeling live,
And truth and love be one, and truth and love,
Felt like its life-blood, through the soul shall move.
But as the abstráct takes visual form, and thought
Becomes an inward sense; so man is brought
In outward forms material to find
A character in harmony with mind,
A spirit that with his may kindly blend,
And, sprung with him from One, in One to end.
Set in his true relation, he shall see
Self and surrounding things from Deity
Proceeding and supplied — that earth but shows
What, ere in outward forms they first arose,
Lived spiritual, fair forms in God's own mind,
And now revealed to him, no longer blind,
Open relations to the world within,
And feeling, truth and life in man begin.
In sympathy with God, his sympathies
Spread through the earth, and run into the skies.
Full, yet receiving; giving out, yet full;
Thoughtful in action; quiet, yet not dull,
He stands 'tween God and earth: A genial light
Dawns in his soul; and while he casts his sight
Shalt feel thyself immortal, when shall flow
Life from the Eternal, and shall end the strife
To part philosophy and heavenly life.
The soul to its prime union then restored,
The reason humbled, and its God adored,
Inward beholdings, powers intuitive,
Shall wake that soul, and thought in feeling live,
And truth and love be one, and truth and love,
Felt like its life-blood, through the soul shall move.
But as the abstráct takes visual form, and thought
Becomes an inward sense; so man is brought
In outward forms material to find
A character in harmony with mind,
A spirit that with his may kindly blend,
And, sprung with him from One, in One to end.
Set in his true relation, he shall see
Self and surrounding things from Deity
Proceeding and supplied — that earth but shows
What, ere in outward forms they first arose,
Lived spiritual, fair forms in God's own mind,
And now revealed to him, no longer blind,
Open relations to the world within,
And feeling, truth and life in man begin.
In sympathy with God, his sympathies
Spread through the earth, and run into the skies.
Full, yet receiving; giving out, yet full;
Thoughtful in action; quiet, yet not dull,
He stands 'tween God and earth: A genial light
Dawns in his soul; and while he casts his sight
83
Abroad, behold the Sun! As on its track,
It mounts high up the heavens, its fires give back
Only the effluence of that inward fire,
The reflex of the soul, and God its sire.
Where'er the soul looks forth, 't is to behold
Itself in secondary forms unfold.
Mysterious Archetype! see wide unfurled
Before thine eye, thy own, thy inner world!
Now all is thine; nor need'st thou longer fear
To take thy share in all: The far, the near
To thee are God's, so, thine; and all things live
To higher ends than earth; and thou dost give
That life which God gives thee; and to impart
Is to receive; and o'er thy new-born heart
The earth and heavens pour out a living flood;
And thou, as God at first, seest all is good.
Now, Love his life, and Truth his light alone,
His spirit even, head and heart at one,
A rule within that will no more deceive,
Man sees, to love, and loves but to believe:
With mind well balanced, sees and loathes deceit;
And loving truth, detects its counterfeit;
With all pervading truth his only guide,
Hath naught that he would feign, and naught to hide.
No selfish passion, and his vision just,
And claiming trust himself, he dares to trust;
And kind as trustful, ne'er to merit blind,
But liking widely, never fails to find,
It mounts high up the heavens, its fires give back
Only the effluence of that inward fire,
The reflex of the soul, and God its sire.
Where'er the soul looks forth, 't is to behold
Itself in secondary forms unfold.
Mysterious Archetype! see wide unfurled
Before thine eye, thy own, thy inner world!
Now all is thine; nor need'st thou longer fear
To take thy share in all: The far, the near
To thee are God's, so, thine; and all things live
To higher ends than earth; and thou dost give
That life which God gives thee; and to impart
Is to receive; and o'er thy new-born heart
The earth and heavens pour out a living flood;
And thou, as God at first, seest all is good.
Now, Love his life, and Truth his light alone,
His spirit even, head and heart at one,
A rule within that will no more deceive,
Man sees, to love, and loves but to believe:
With mind well balanced, sees and loathes deceit;
And loving truth, detects its counterfeit;
With all pervading truth his only guide,
Hath naught that he would feign, and naught to hide.
No selfish passion, and his vision just,
And claiming trust himself, he dares to trust;
And kind as trustful, ne'er to merit blind,
But liking widely, never fails to find,
84
Through all their varied forms, the good and true;
Nor seeks a substitute for narrowed view,
In fond excess; nor meanly learns to rate
His love of some, as he may others hate;
Feeds not that love with venom; nor would raise
On one man's ruin piles to others' praise; —
Through nature, through the works of art, he feels
'T is ever changing beauty subtilely steals,
Which, varying, still is one; and thus he draws
From one, delight in all, through genial laws; —
Feels that in love's expanse love's safety lies,
Nor what God proffers to himself denies; —
That every attribute, when duly used,
Is wisdom — not our being's gifts refused,
And losing self in others, nobler end
Than self-denied; to let our being blend
With general being, wakes intenser life,
And others' good our aim, ends inward strife; —
That truth binds all things by a common tie;
And Love is universal harmony;
And man, to truth and love once more restored,
Shall hold with God and nature sweet accord.
O, World, that thou wert wise! Hast thou not toiled
For seeming good enough? — enough been foiled?
How long must speak the void and aching heart?
I'm weary of my task, this player's part —
Of smiles I cannot feel, feigned courtesy,
With feigning paid again — my life a lie.
I've chased the false so long! and yet I know
The false hath naught for me but secret woe;
Nor seeks a substitute for narrowed view,
In fond excess; nor meanly learns to rate
His love of some, as he may others hate;
Feeds not that love with venom; nor would raise
On one man's ruin piles to others' praise; —
Through nature, through the works of art, he feels
'T is ever changing beauty subtilely steals,
Which, varying, still is one; and thus he draws
From one, delight in all, through genial laws; —
Feels that in love's expanse love's safety lies,
Nor what God proffers to himself denies; —
That every attribute, when duly used,
Is wisdom — not our being's gifts refused,
And losing self in others, nobler end
Than self-denied; to let our being blend
With general being, wakes intenser life,
And others' good our aim, ends inward strife; —
That truth binds all things by a common tie;
And Love is universal harmony;
And man, to truth and love once more restored,
Shall hold with God and nature sweet accord.
O, World, that thou wert wise! Hast thou not toiled
For seeming good enough? — enough been foiled?
How long must speak the void and aching heart?
I'm weary of my task, this player's part —
Of smiles I cannot feel, feigned courtesy,
With feigning paid again — my life a lie.
I've chased the false so long! and yet I know
The false hath naught for me but secret woe;
85
Yet knowing, still pursue, with blinded haste,
Through systems, morals, fashions, manners, taste; —
Have bartered love for wealth, distinction sought,
And vain and loveless cares, and envy bought;
Have climbed ambition's heights, to feel alone,
Looked down, and seen how poor a world I've won;
Have lost the simple way of right, and tried
Expedients curious, then for truth have sighed;
And weak, from energies on nothings spent,
Have sought, and then put by, what nature lent
For kind repair; — e'en like a pettish child, —
Sick of pretence, yet willingly beguiled.
Simplicity and all the fair array
Of outward forms that, varying, still obey
One law of truth, seemed tamely effortless;
I've craved conceit, sharp contrast, and excess;
Have cast my noble nature down, and all
The outward world has felt and shared the fall;
Yet, dimly conscious of my low estate,
Conscious how soon the world and senses sate,
Groveller on earth, yet wanting will to rise,
Tired of the world, unfitted for the skies,
As to the abject, helpless slave, to me
Would come, with dire import, the word, Be free!”
Poor, self-willed slave, a bondage hard is thine!
A bondage none can break but Power divine.
Spirit of Love, thou Power Divine, come down;
And where thou walk'dst a sufferer, wear thy crown;
Through systems, morals, fashions, manners, taste; —
Have bartered love for wealth, distinction sought,
And vain and loveless cares, and envy bought;
Have climbed ambition's heights, to feel alone,
Looked down, and seen how poor a world I've won;
Have lost the simple way of right, and tried
Expedients curious, then for truth have sighed;
And weak, from energies on nothings spent,
Have sought, and then put by, what nature lent
For kind repair; — e'en like a pettish child, —
Sick of pretence, yet willingly beguiled.
Simplicity and all the fair array
Of outward forms that, varying, still obey
One law of truth, seemed tamely effortless;
I've craved conceit, sharp contrast, and excess;
Have cast my noble nature down, and all
The outward world has felt and shared the fall;
Yet, dimly conscious of my low estate,
Conscious how soon the world and senses sate,
Groveller on earth, yet wanting will to rise,
Tired of the world, unfitted for the skies,
As to the abject, helpless slave, to me
Would come, with dire import, the word, Be free!”
Poor, self-willed slave, a bondage hard is thine!
A bondage none can break but Power divine.
Spirit of Love, thou Power Divine, come down;
And where thou walk'dst a sufferer, wear thy crown;
86
Bid the vexed sea be still, the tumult cease;
Prophet, fulfil thy word, reign Prince of Peace!
O, give that peace the world knows not, and throw,
Light of the world! thy light on all below;
Shine through the wildered mind that man may see,
Himself and earth restored, God, all, in Thee!
Prophet, fulfil thy word, reign Prince of Peace!
O, give that peace the world knows not, and throw,
Light of the world! thy light on all below;
Shine through the wildered mind that man may see,
Himself and earth restored, God, all, in Thee!
| Poems and prose writings | |