Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

I had a vision yesternight—
A vision shown to few;
The substance of it I will write
And show to you,
And, ten to one, you'll find the sight
Was mighty true.

Methought that near a great highway
By chances I was thrown,
Where I could see the mixed array
That travelled on;
And life seemed like a busy day
That soon was gone.

There from the “loop-hole of retreat”
Unseen I gazed abroad;
Nor could I count the dusty feet
Upon that road;
But most I wondered that so fleet
The pace they trod.

While on the scene I musing gazed,
And strove to know its aim,
Sudden a light around me blazed—
A phantom came.
Struck at the sight I stood amazed—
Wisdom her name.

She spoke, and I no more afraid,
So gentle was her voice,
Aside all apprehension laid
And heard from choice;
And Oh! her kind instruction made
My heart rejoice.

“Behold we here,” she thus began,
The varied character of man.
Here do we find the dross and worth
That shine or glimmer in the earth.
Of such as these, (be truth disclosed,)
Is this dear world of yours composed.
I'll note them as they pass along—
'T is yours to judge 'twixt right and wrong:

“There comes a fool, upon whose sight
Blest Reason never ope'd her light;
Whose vacant mind and brutish will,
Howe'er advised, are brutish still.
'T is from a blank we judge a prize;
So from a fool we know the wise.—
Were not to man the contrast given,
He 'd live for hell nor care for heaven.

“Yon trifling thing that struts and flits!
Whether he walks, or stands, or sits,
Surveys himself with pleasant eye;
So doth the gaudy butterfly.
Young man, forego thy deep disgust!
You envy not his gloss, I trust.
What tho' he flutter for a day—
The first chill breeze frights him away.”
Thou 'rt right, quoth I, and in my mind
A sage comparison I find
Between the fop and idiot—
Which is the fool and which is not?

The goddess smiled, and would reply
To my remark, but presently
Another object came so near
I could discern his roguish leer.
Whereon my fair instructress said:

“His calling is no honest trade.
There's mischief brewing in his eye;
His step is soft, his hands are sly;
His conscience is as easy, too,
As infant foot in giant shoe.
To know the rogue no second glance
Is wanting at his countenance.
Not thus with all of Adam's race
You'll find their index on the face;
Were Justice never wronged you'd see
Full often 'neath the gallows-tree
The man whose fate were ne'er delayed
Had half his crimes his looks betrayed.

“Behold this man that totters by,
With stumbling foot and maudlin eye.
He is a drunkard—let him go,
Altho' by nature worthy, too.
Perhaps misfortune bade his soul
Drown care and sorrow in the bowl;
Reasons more potent e'en might urge,
Till brought to Ruin's dizzy verge.

“Mark yonder sanctimonious wight,
‘Dissembling smooth’—the hypocrite!
He is the vilest of the vile,
Skilled in dark arts and subtle wile!
Mark how with cordial smiles he greets
His luckless neighbor whom he meets,
While hatred in his bosom lies,
And evil envy fills his eyes.
You'll mind him in the ‘house of prayer’;
Among the first he 's ever there,
And few with him in zeal compare.
Unseen of men, and worship o'er,
The hypocrite 's a saint no more!”

I 've often heard before, quoth I,
Of this thing called hypocrisy.
Wilt thou to me some power impart
By which to judge the hollow heart?
“There is a rule I freely give;
'T is simply this: learn as you live.
Mind past events with frequent eye,
And let experience profit thee.

“This is the scowling infidel,
With distant air and aspect ill.
Beware of him and trust him not—
No crime too dark for him to plot;
No kind forgiveness for his foes;
No sympathy for others' woes;
No pity for the bleeding heart;
In mercy's gifts he shares no part.
His actions Wisdom grieves to scan—
He is a dark and stranger man!

“Here comes an object worth remark,
With reckless air and visage dark.
His brow to hideous scowl is bent
As if on hellish plot intent.
Mark well that man—fiend tho' he be,
Not always thus as now you see.
Once his now dull and deafened ear
Delighted Zion's songs to hear;
Once those foul lips, to scoffing given,
Were whispering pious prayers to heaven.
Go search the page of Holy Writ,
There you will find his symbol fit.”

Next in succession came along
A serious man, apart the throng,
With lofty air and thoughtful pace,

And marked throughout with native grace.
The fire of genius lit his eye;
Upturned it fastened on the sky,
And seemed to read in floods of light
The choicest page of Fancy bright.
Both scanned this man with anxious eye,
But neither spoke—I know not why.

Then last of all the wise man came—
Some know him by a christian name.
His mind was conscious aye of right;
No threats could awe, no fears affright.
A smile was o'er his features spread,
And “sunshine settled on his head.”
With lightsome step he passed along,
And Wisdom heard his happy song.
“It is my own dear son!” she cries,
While tears of fondness filled her eyes.
He, too, the recognition owned,
And in a joyful greeting joined.

Affected at the touching scene,
The tears of jealousy
Went coursing down my cheeks, I ween,
Most copiously;
Nor did I try my grief to screen
Too zealously.

I turned to ask the goddess fair
My humble self to own;
But judge, dear sir, of my despair
To find her gone!
And as the vision endeth there,
So I have done!