Madmoments: or First Verseattempts By a Bornnatural. Addressed to the Lightheaded of Society at Large, by Henry Ellison |
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THOUGHTS
ON TRUE AND FALSE AMBITION. |
| II. |
 | Madmoments: or First Verseattempts |  |
THOUGHTS ON TRUE AND FALSE AMBITION.
1.
As is the Age, so shines Truth's heavenlit Torch,If base and troubled, o'er Time's troublous Tide
It sends avenging Brightness, Rays that scorch,
Which Hearts of earthy Temper ne'er abide;
If pure, a Dayspring raying far and wide:
A Glance of the eternal God, sent thro'
The Mists of Time, and melting in their Pride
The Thrones and Mockeries of Earth like Dew,
To teach the Nations what is False and what is True!
2.
Truth is the Vesta of the Human HeartThat hallows with immortal Spell the Shrine:
No splendid Fiction taught by Pagan Art,
But a pervading Life and Light divine!
The Flame on God's best Altar! let naught tine
Its Brightness then; once spent, it cannot by
Mere earthly Fire be relit: in thine
Own Heart then all that's Great and Good must die,
And like a Heap of Ashes cold and smouldering lie!
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3.
Say if my Tongue has erred, benignant Shade,Thou best of Greece's Sons, inspired Sage,
For Truth dwelt in thee, in her Likeness made,
Spoke with thy Lip, and lit thy Martyrage!
She made the Poison but a Drink to suage
Thy Thirst: the Draught of Immortality!
Thou Shadow of that Form not yet shaped by
Time's Womb, thus cast beforehand, as its Gage!
Let him who doubts thy Life, behold thee die;
God's Star of Promise in the Pagan's empty Sky!
4.
And Thou! whose Eye beheld Her visibly:A Host tho' single, and thy Name a Spell!
A voice from out the Past which prompts the Free,
Reechoing back from Heaven like the Swell
Of Ocean or the Thunder's Shout, that well
Might wake a sleeping World! its far off Roll
Rings on Time's ample Ear, who yet shall tell
Thy Name, when grateful Freedom wins her Goal!
Thou gav'st thine Eyes to see the better with thy Soul!
5.
Chosen of God! he dimmed thy Sight to pourA fuller Inspiration on thine Ear,
To make thee more his own: more strong to soar
Above this narrow Earth's «diurnal Sphere,»
Snatched from its Sorrows it was thine to hear,
In Commune sweeter far than Fancy dreams,
The calm, deep Voice of Truth in Accents clear
Not faint as to Earth's grosser Sense it seems;
She took thy Harp and tuned it to her chosen Themes!
6.
Methinks I see thy earnest Brow of ThoughtWith its own Glory haloed: even so
Is Moonlight soft by timetouched Ruins caught,
Thy Face is worn and pale, but not with Woe,
'Tis the frail Flesh that yields to the Mind's Flow,
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To the Worldocean flowing! but whence, oh!
Whence, on thy wan cheek, that transfiguring Beam,
Making thy faded Face, as if transparent, gleam?
7.
It is that Thought, «which thro' the World's vain Mask,Content tho' blind, hadst thou no better Guide,
Might have conducted thee,» which made thy Task
A Glory and a Blessedness — thy wide
And ample Brow is flushed with lawful Pride,
Bent gently down as if touched lightly by
The Finger of thy God; Flesh cannot hide
That Soul, which needing not the Body's Eye,
Flashes o'er Time like God's Glance o'er Eternity!
8.
Thy Tongue was tipp'd with Prophet's hallowed Fire,Melting the brazen Idols of the Earth
And Coinage false, like Heaven's far Flash of Ire,
Thy thought was mighty as an Earthquakesbirth,
And like a knell, thy Voice came on the Mirth
Of Tyrants in their Palaces, and broke
The Chains that bound man's Spirit, to new Worth
And Life reclaimed; with oftrepeated Stroke
Fell Superstition's Pile, and slumbering Nations wole'
9.
Full many are the gallant Hearts that shedTheir best Blood on the Shrine of Liberty,
Vain Sacrifice! still mourning hath she fled
From Strife and Tumult back to her own Sky.
Her true Form rare has shone on Man's dim Eye:
Their Zeal but struck the Shackles from the Limbs,
Not from the Soul: but Milton's Purpose high
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For her calm Light which still the inward Eye sublime,
10.
Far other weapons than vain Sword and SpearAre needed for her Conquests: and he who
Would these atchieve must on his bosom wear
Armour of her own Forgeing, tempered true
With Fire from which Vulcan never drew
Achilles' Mail, than that securer far:
And he, the happy warrior, must thro'
Far other schools have passed than that of War,
Mind has its Triomphs too, these only lasting are!
11.
Yea! calm and quiet Victories, won byThat best of Weapons, Man's eternal Thought,
'Gainst which all others are but Mockery:
For Thought alone can combat Thought, and aught
Less Divine with it into Contact brought,
To its own Dust, as by the Lightning's Flame,
Is straightway turned: with this our Milton wrought,
He wielded it, but only in God's name,
And still it burns and warms as when from Heaven it came!
12.
His Virtue was no gaudy, glittering FlowerThat in some sheltered Corner feebly blows,
But shone, Faith's Rainbow, o'er the stormiest Hour,
And drew, as Fire from Fuel, strength from woes:
E'en as the Giantoak untended throws
His gnarlëd Arms athwart th' injurious Blast,
As o'er his native element, and shows
Best when most tried, thus firm unto the last
Thro' him we reap the Seed which on the Storm he cast!
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13.
He ploughed the Field of Revolution, whichNo meaner Hand could or had dared to do:
He made its very Weeds the Soil enrich,
And sowed therein his mighty Thoughts, the true
And only Seed of Freedom: and they grew
In those wild Struggles when the Human Mind
Was passing from worn Customs into new
And purer Forms: amid that Chaos blind
Enlarging, like the Light, a Rainbow o'er Mankind!
14.
Milton! such Names as thine shall not go downTo the rank Dust: the Grave is not for thee:
Thro' furthest Ages, as thro' Clouds the Sun,
Thy Fame shall shine on still: with Armoury
Of Truth's own Forgeing well may it defy
The shafts of Time and Envy: tho' the land
That gave thee Birth had left thy Memory
To its own Brightness: yet e'en as a Brand
Subdued awhile 'twould burst, by Glory's full Breath fann'd.
15.
And tho' fond Veneration stood not nigh,Nor Love, nor Friendship hallowed with a Tear
The thankless Tomb, which as in Mockery,
The Nations grant to virtues which their Fear
And Envy make them hate, when they can bear
Their Sins no more, yet will not turn away
From old Abominations till they are
A selfin flicted Scourge: yet not one Ray
Of Glory should be lost to thy suredawning Day;
16.
And tho' no pious Hand in Love had sownThy Grave with Flowers, or had planted there
The Laurel, yet selfspringing it had grown
More bright than Plant of mortal Birth! so fair
A Wreath that Angels would be proud to wear
It for thy sake; the Elements are not
So slow as Man's Affections: Nature where
He has neglected sanctifies the Spot,
Nor lets the holy Bones in dull Oblivion rot!
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17.
Allselfsufficient in the GiantmightOf thine unyielding Will, whose Energy
Could mould e'en Fate and Fortune; from the Blight
Of Elements that crush a Mind less high
Thou drew'st thy Soul's Perfection, as the Sky
The Beauty of the Rainbow from the Throes
Of her celestial Bosom — dormant lie
Man's Faculties, and he himself scarce knows
That which he is, 'till Time and Circumstance disclose.
18.
There is no Ill, rightnamed, save that which springsFrom the rank Soil of Guilt, all other woes
Are evil but as borne; they leave no stings
In Bosoms which, like thine, submit the Shows
Of outward Being to the Prophetthroes
And Yearnings of the Spirit: and thus rise
By aid of that which is, to that which knows
No outward Emblem; which enshrinëd lies
In the deep Heart of Hearts, and shapes it for the Skies!
19.
Truth's best Apostle! thou from visible Things,From this vain World's most idle Pageantry
Couldst draw the Invisible: and mad'st thee Wings
To higher Aims from those which mortal be,
Turning Earth's Gifts to divine Agency!
And when unto Life's Weekdaytasks we turned
From the calm Sunset of thy Majesty,
The Sabbathpeace in thy high Converse earned,
Still 'mid its Turmoil vain, attended us once learned!
20.
As Prophets, visionrapt, we stood againOn this dull Earth: not of it, tho' upon;
But sanctified, and in Life's mortal Pain
Wiser to see the Good that may be won,
Fitter to suffer and to do: to shun
The Selfishness of Pride, and meekly wise
And with a fearful Selfrespect as one
Who knows that he may fall, to seek the Prize
The calm and Sabbathheart whence no vain murmursrise!
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21.
Divinest Bard! thou stand'st alone and asThe earthoergazing Peak, whereon the Ray
Of Heaven's glory lingers when its Base
Clouds and thick Darkness mantle: when the Day
Rises and sets in Beauty 'tis to lay
His first, last Tribute there, the Mountainsbrow
With Glories wreathing: how can we repay
The Debt of Gratitude or fitly show
Thy Praises forth, unless we strive like thee to grow?
22.
How few among Ambition's dazzled TrainMay claim the lofty Homage of that Mind
Which seeks but in eternal Things its Gain,
And from whose Eyes Truth blows the mists that blind.
From a fixed Point 'tis his to view Mankind,
While past his Rock of Safety sweep Life's Tides
Disturbed by Quicksands and each crossing Wind!
While his own Bark at Anchor calmly rides
He sees Ambition's Wrecks, sad Tokens! on all Sides!
23.
He hears the Avalanche destructive fallFrom its too dizzy Height: that very Height
And Bulk but hasten its Decay, and call
Th 'expectant Elements, whose envious Might
Sweeps the long growth of Ages from our sight
To its first Nothingness — he sees how mad
(For far above himself, he judges right,)
Are those who climb; that most with Tempest clad
And Cloud, the highest Moutains are most bleak and sad!
24.
And he who would ascend their airy BrowMust leave Earth's peaceful Pleasures far behind,
No more may pluck the simple Flowers that grow
Around the Base, but in their stead will find
The shrieking Eagle and the opposing Wind;
Too late the rash Intruder with faint Breath
And beating Heart will learn, all Hope resigned,
That to turn is to fall, to climb on Death,
And Heaven no nearer tho scorn'd Earth lie far beueath!
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25.
Such is Ambition's fatal Path! and thoseWho win his maddening Goal are like the Wave
Which at its topmost Height o'erbalanced grows,
Bursting in Foam and Emptiness, the slave,
The brieflived Agent of the Storm which gave
It Birth, to which its borrowed strength it owes,
Which ceasing, then it sinks back to its Grave,
The Ocean of the Past from whence it rose,
Spent in vain struggles with a thousand meaner Foes!
26.
Ambition feeds upon opinion, livesBut in the Breath of Men: he makes his Mind
The Mirror of Men's Hopes and Fears, and strives
To swell his daring Wing with fickle Wind
Of Admiration, but, poor Fool, will find
Worse Lot than Icarus! vain Pomp and State
Make the weak Eye to its own Ruin blind,
Till either o'erstrain'd Favor turns to Hate,
Or master of himself no more, he courts his Fate!
27.
He is a Proteus, and his Form will shapeTo suit Men's Fancies be they what they may,
Evil or good, nought in himself, the Ape
Of human Nature: — let the mad World say,
He changes straight, false Actor in Life's Play,
O'erstepping ever Nature's Modesty
'Till the fooled crowd itself at length repay
With Scorn such Bombast and vile Travesty;
Forstill to all that's false Man's Heart soon gives the Lie!
28.
Whence is Ambition's strength? ask thine own Heart:The Weakness and the Vice, the Crimes of Man,
These are the Steppingstones and this the Art
By which he soars aloft, beyond the Span
Of dull Imaginations — if he can
But reach the Goal, it matters little by
What means: tho' discord be called on to fan
The Embers of Dissention, or God's high
And holy Name itself be used to cloak a Lie!
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29.
In him the vices of Mankind grow toA Head: and as the Body chance to be
More or less sound, so still in measure true,
A less or greater Scourge to it will he
Be also found; so beautifully the
Great God makes Vice to punish itself here,
And that precisely too in the Degree
It merits! to a Hair the Balance clear
He keeps, or if tis swayed, 'tis but by Mercy's Tear!
30.
Hence is Ambition strong, for few are weakWho cast off Conscience — he on high will soar,
Higher from being blindfold, and must break
His neck to prove his charmëd Life no more.
He deems not that the fitful Blast which bore
His Wing thus high can fail or dash to Earth,
Nor doubts when Passion's stormy Billows roar
His voice can quiet them or give them Birth,
Poor Tool in God's high Hand, worthless, save as of worth
31.
Thro' that which the Allwise works out with it,Turning it to far higher Ministry
Than any unto which itself seemed fit.
For all Things work in the Taskmaster's Eye,
Yet knowing not of what they do the Why.
The How or Wherefore; and the narrow Ends
They had in view are turned to Mockery,
In Spite of their Foxwisdom: for God mends
With the Destroyer's Hands the Evil he intends!
32.
Thus often Heaven, in Forbearance wise,Will curse with full Success, and gratify
The wildest Wishes which from Man's Heart rise
With impious Flight to desecrate the Skies.
For boundless Wishing must be Misery!
Each Prayer, as granted, doth itself belie,
Thus wishing still for more we see in vain
The full, deep Stream of Fortune flowing by:
Like Tantalus, we taste and taste again,
Yet still the Thirst returns, and still our Lips we straial
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33.
To be the Fool of Fools or Knave of Knaves,A Puppet on Life's Stage, an acted Lie,
A Bubble tossing upon Passion's waves,
A name which loud, yet echoless must die;
To be a Byword thro' all History,
To knead the Bread of Sin with human Blood,
To be forgot, or dogged by Infamy,
Which like the Spectrebloodhound, Conscience, should
Track Guilt throughout all Time, this is Ambition's Mood!
34.
And yet how many in their Folly deemThis Broad daynightmare of the Soul a Sign
Of Strength and Greatness, not a troublous Dream
Of mere Disease begot, such as was thine
Napoleon! thou Drunk, but not with Wine!
With vain Imaginations and with Blood!
Full Scope was given to each mad Design,
And like a petted child, each changing mood
Permitted, 'till thy mind to Poison turned its Food'!
35.
Thou wouldst have been far more than Man, yet wastFar less: for he who oversteps that Sphere
Is a false Being; around him are cast
His own Devices, like a net, whence ne'er
His Soul itself can disentangle; Fear,
And Care and Doubt and selftormenting Thought,
These fill his Hourglass: its sole Sands here;
And Mockeries wild from wilder Day dreams wrought,
Watch o'er his Pillow with the thorns of conscience fraught;
36.
And by him stands the Past, dim Shape of Dread,The Shadow of his Soul, which still moves on
With him, still more gigantic, nor when dead
Forsakes him, like that by his Body thrown.
To its Medusa's glance which turned to stone,
Is but a Fiction; Like a Murderer's
Its stealthy Step, and in one Hand, scarceshown,
It holds the Poison which wheree'er he stirs
It mixes with his Food, an allembittering Curse!
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37.
His Conquests only who has taught MankindA Truth can be enduring, for he by
The Godlike works the Godlike: to the Blind
He gives clear Sight, and still the more their Eye
Looks thro' him and his Works, to test and try,
The grander they appear: he rules men thro'
That which is noblest in them, and to high
And sublime Ends, and therefore as is due,
The nobler they become the wider his Sway too!
38.
Oh! Man, then seek not to be pointed outBy the World's Finger, for all that is so
Is monstrous or unhappy, let its Shout
Intoxicate thee not: build thou below
On the firm Ground of Nature: there is no
Foundation for true Greatness like to this:
Thus will thy Works, like hers, be lasting, grow
A Portion of herself: for all that is
True to its End can its best Greatness never miss!
39.
But wouldst thou be the greatest of thy KindThen make thyself its Servant, for the more
Thou art a Man with thy whole Heart and Mind,
Yea! even to the kneeling down before
The greyhaired Beggar from him to implore
A Blessing: even to the feeling Awe,
Yea! in the Presence of a common Whore,
Or the most Outcast Being Eye e'er saw,
So much art thou more godlike, great, and free from Flaw
40.
For he who feels what 'tis to be a Man,He will respect Man's Nature, howsoe'er
Degtaded it may seem: he only can
E'en in the fallen Angel trace, still clear,
The godlike Outline: then be quick to hear
And serve the meanest of thy kind, for so
Since all Things are far more than they appear,
And whom it is thou serv'st thou dost not know,
Thou mayst assist an Angel, for in Garb as low
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41.
As the poor Beggar's they oft meet thee here:Yea! such their Form unto the inward Eye
If it see right will thro' their Rags appear:
And be assured that whosoever by
Thy Hand be benefitted, 'tis a high
And godlike Being: God Himself! for He
In all that lives and breathes is ever nigh:
And if thou with Indifference couldst see
The poor lame Hound, great would thy Father's Sorrow be!
42.
The Mite thy Hand unto the Beggar gaveShall be repay'd: not after that brute kind
In which it was bestowed, no! thou shalt have
A full Reward! unto thy Heart and Mind,
Not to thy Hand, in Feelings sweet and kind-
Ly Reminiscence shall it be repayed,
And thousandfold: ob! be not then so blind
As to deny to aught that lives thine Aid,
For thee the Good is done, the Sacrifice is made!
43.
And God who in that Beggar begged of you,Repays Earth's Treasures with those of the Sky,
And earthly Things with Things divine! so do
Thou likewise! repay thou with Charity,
Ill will: and Hate with Love: and Treachery
With Selfdevotion: even tho' the Snake
Thy Bosom warmed to life should at thee fly!
For what thou dost, thou dost for Christ's dear Sake,
He suffered at the Cross, why not thou at the Stake!
44.
And if thou hast thus schooled thy Heart, then thouArt fit to enter into Heaven, nay!
Art in it, and dost taste its Joys e'en now:
This, this Ambition e'en a Christian may
Indulge in: for who on this Stage would play
The foremost Part, must make of Sacrifice
Enjoyment: of Denial Pleasure: yea!
And of the Crown of Thorns Life's highest Prize,
For the world hates all than itself more good or wise!
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45.
It easily forgives what in the SightOf God is hateful, to obtain thereby
Like Freedom unto Sin, but its worst spite
Is visited on Virtues which imply
A tacit Reprehension stern and high:
E'en when the Thunders of such Eloquence
As thine, oh Milton! do not terrify:
Yet hast thou triomphed, for the Source from whence
Thou drew'st thy Strength, was perfect Truth and Innocence!
46.
Thy Laurelcrown blooms on, and shall untilTransplanted to that happier clime to be
Like severed branch united to the tree
Of Immortality: for hearts that still,
In spite of cold Neglect, Adversity,
And unrequited Zeal, ne'er deign to lie
Unto their being's noblest End and Aim:
That in the service of the Deity
Unswerving live and die, scorning all Fame
Save that of acting well, thro' every change the same:
47.
Unbribed by Interest, unawed by fear,Seeking reward but in the consciousness
Of being that they should be: and howe'er
Fate mar, with zeal that knows no weariness
Working their Maker's Glory, and not less
Their fellowcreatures Good: tho' oft it be
That the ungrateful herd they would but bless,
Turns on and rends them, for it will not see,
Tho' Truth should hold the glass, its own deformity!
48.
For what they have on Earth they do but holdIn trust for him who gives and takes away
At his good pleasure: be it health, or gold,
The cheering smile of Friends, the Joys that play
By homesfireside, that make the gradual gray
Of Age sit kindly on the wrinkled brow:
The one true heart on which their own can lay
Its beating pulse at rest: all these they know
Are God's to give and take, and to his will they bow.
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49.
Shall he not ask his own when it seems Good?Shall he not try his servants ere he place
His trust in them? the temper and the mood
In which they take the gifts of his high Grace?
Is not a heart which earthly thoughts debase
An unfit Vessel for celestial things?
So think they, else of the Allmighty's face
To their nightvisions come no visitings,
No harpstouched to high themes, nor passingangel's wings!
50.
Such hearts as these are not of common Earth,But fashioned with the best Promethean fire
That can etherealize our Clay: their birth
Is high and holy, and they must aspire
To their first origin: for in the mire
Of earthly thoughts and hopes they cannot live:
They have no peace until th' intense desire,
That o'erinforms its tenement, arrive
At its true destination, and for aye they strive
51.
To lift their Eaglewings above this lowAnd stinted atmosphere, once more to gain
That Amplitude of Ether where they grow
Unto the shape of Gods: and when again
They stoop to Earth, 'tis with a deep disdain
For all the nothingness, the fret and care
That fevergnaw Man's heart: and there in pain,
Likest disguisëd Angels, will they bear
His sinworn semblance: heal his wounds, his sorrows share!
52.
Th' Eternal Spirit watches o'er the goodAnd faithful few, who in the narrow way
Still undisheartened seek him: in the mood
Of holy Contemplation, when Earth's sway
Is felt not, with an uncreated ray
Of Truth their Souls are gladdened: oft at night,
When the World sleeps, they see the future day
Dawn in its glory on their weary sight
And hear the songs of Angels, and their hearts grow light:
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53.
Light as the young Leaves that on some fair TreeThe early Breath of Spring stirs soft and sweet,
Instinct with Freshness and the Boyancy
Of a new Being: spite of Scorn, Defeat
Itself, and Persecution, they complete
Their Mission, for to that they live alone:
And tho' the Earth reject them, as is meet:
For what is not of it it will not own,
Their God still welcomes them unto the Martyrscrown!
54.
Oh God! what tho' the sons of men should dareTo say that Virtue reaps but grief below,
These have not worshipped her, their spirits bear
No stamp of her high Presence, they have no
Belief in her, and therefore cannot know
How with all divine gifts her votaries
She can enrich: to her own Nature so
Subdue them, that from Life's worst Agonies,
Like Gold from out the Flame, their Hearts but purer rise!
55.
Oh let not Virtue seek Reward or FameFor what she is; for either she must be
False to herself and prostitute her Name
By serving God and Mammon, or with free
And fearless steps pursue her Destiny,
Tho' to a scaffold: looking not to Right
Nor Left, but with firm glance fixed on the sky,
Calm as if gazing down from its far Height:
And ever when most tried the more divine her Light!
56.
For what is Virtue if man's fickle breathCan make or mar? a bubble! is her Power
So mean, forsooth, that she must stoop beneath
The vile yoke of Opinion? deign to lower
Her godlike brow to win for one brief hour
The spurious Wreath which as in Mockery,
The tempting Harlot, Fame, dares offer her,
The price of Prostitution, Infamy?
She is her own reward or else an empty Lie!
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57.
Oh! let her seek not for the praise of men;in her uncom prehended Beauty she
Must move amid the mass, and allinvain
The herd would pierce her veil of mystery
With glance profane; in their own majesty
And radiance are her features hid, e'en as
The middaysun in glory: sindim eye
Cannot look on her, spotless doth she pass,
And the World leaves on her less stain than breath on Glass!
58.
What is the Name of Glory unto her,Opinion's empty bubble, in whose breast
Its purest Essence dwells? what outward spur
Can motive aught she does? Time is her best,
Her sure avenger, for he puts to test
All meaner essences and with the dust
Remingles them, yet wars not on her blest
And serene Being; of all Ills the worst
That can befall her, is, to yield to Fame's vain Lust!
59.
She may not please the multitude, whose bruteAnd earthward glance sees but the palpable:
Worships but that which to its State doth suit;
Think ye the mole could bear the Sunlight well,
Or that the Nightowl would not sooner dwell
In Mists and Darkness than in Truth's Broadday?
Think ye that Envy, chained in selfmade Hell,
Can love that which he hates? alas! none may
The Godlike know but those warmed by a kindred ray!
60.
Then ye, Apostles of Humanity,Pass on, and take your labour for your pains,
In sublime selfcontentedness still ply
Your noble task, and seek no other gains
Than the approval of the God who reigns
In your own bosoms; if the Harlot, Fame,
Tempts ye to her Embraces, but once strains
Ye to her breast, then are ye sold to shame,
Your divine birthright's bartered for an idle Name!
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61.
Pass on, pass on, as tho' ye were no moreThan the poor daydrudge with earthbended brow
To Mammon's service bound, as tho' ye bore
No seal of the Divinity: as tho'
The voice which soundeth through all times were no
More than the Democrat's whose fortune lies
In the fool's ear; pass on, for here below
On the Worldsstage, not to the good and wise,
But to the Jugglers still the crowd awards the prize!
62.
Pass on, and when ye hear the People shoutAnd magnify your names, give ye no heed,
But think that all this uproar must die out,
Like the vain sounds contending billows breed
When fickle Winds are for a moment freed,
Selfwearied soon, in Time's capacious ear
Shall be no longer heard; your Master's meed
Is all that ye can earn or hope for here,
A crown of thorns, to fit ye for an early Bier!
63.
Toil on, toil on, and Angels selves shall bringTo ye the bread of Immortality,
As unto Christ: with heavenly ministring
Console and cheer ye in your agony,
If in the hour of temptation by
The World ye unseduced remain; toil on!
Your Light beneath the Bushel shall not lie:
Sow, sow the Waste, 'twill quicken 'neath the Sun,
The Lord has blessed your Work, and made it as his own!
64.
What tho' amid the Clarion's noisy blast,The warpomp and the panoply of state,
Your quiet names be heard not, they outlast
The Conqueror's trophies, and defy the hate
Of Time and dull Oblivion: if late,
Yet sure your triomph comes: a lofty Power
And Influence on your Labours still doth wait,
Ye from afar shape out the coming hour,
And sow the seed of Peace when Faction's tempests loaer!
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65.
Tho' little at the surface seen amongThe noisier Elements which struggle there
And pass and are forgot, to ye belong
The deeper springs which at the centre are
Of all life's agitation, whence all fair
And blessëd growths are fed; thence silently
Wisdom's deep undercurrents ever bear
On towards the Ocean of Eternity
Their tribute of clear waters, nourished from the sky!
66.
Then pass, pass on, content to be forgotBy those ye toil for, tho' the statue rise
To Undesert and ye be numbered not
Among Earth's benefactors; lift your eyes
From this dim spot and fix them on the skies,
And ye shall see some Angel's radiant wing
Sever the darkling clouds, as down he flies,
With a long Wake of spherelight, see him bring
The crown of Immortality, and triomphing
67.
Place it upon your brows; then on in JoyAnd sublime confidence, faint not nor fear;
Let no brute mistrust mingle to alloy
This perfect Victory, this bliss as clear
And pure from earthly stain as is the tear
An Angel sheds above the Sinner's Doom:
Let axe, or sword, or stake await ye here,
The happy realms ye see e'en thro' Death's Gloom,
And a bright Spirit opes the Portals of the tomb!
See Milton's XVII Sonnet, where he alludes with unspeakable noblemindedness to his Blindness, and finds his Solace in a lofty contempt of present things. and in his own conscience: it is truly refreshing to turr from the Impotence that whines over imaginary Grief, to Milton's Godlike Patience under the severest calamity.
Milton was still greater as a man than as a Poet, and his services to that Freedom which is the most valuable; may, which alone deserves the Name, are incalculable. be directed his profound Intellect not against the everchanging outward shape of Tyranny, but against its Sources in the human mind, Prejudice and Intolerance.
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