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184
CAMEOS.
I. THACKERAY.
With satire's poignant spear he loved to fight,
And flocks of scampering falsehoods to disband,
So sinewy were the savage blows he planned,
So sweeping yet so accurate his keen sight!
Than he no man more loyally loved the right,
No man could wrong more valiantly withstand,
Who shook the old human web with such fierce hand
That half fraud's ambushed vermin swarmed to light!
And flocks of scampering falsehoods to disband,
So sinewy were the savage blows he planned,
So sweeping yet so accurate his keen sight!
Than he no man more loyally loved the right,
No man could wrong more valiantly withstand,
Who shook the old human web with such fierce hand
That half fraud's ambushed vermin swarmed to light!
How forcefully could he paint the proud grandee;
The skilled adventuress, with her game sly-played;
The toadying snob, in triple brass arrayed;
The dissolute fop; the callous debauchee;
And dowagers, in rouge, feathers and brocade,
Sneering at life across their cards and tea!
The skilled adventuress, with her game sly-played;
The toadying snob, in triple brass arrayed;
The dissolute fop; the callous debauchee;
And dowagers, in rouge, feathers and brocade,
Sneering at life across their cards and tea!
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II. DICKENS.
As one who flings large hospitable doors
Wide to a world of masquers whom he has bade
Sweep hurrying onward with their paces mad,
And gaily flood the vacant chamber-floors,
Even so with him about whose form in scores
Humanity's eager passions, blithe or sad,
Rush revelling, and however strangely clad,
Are still the old rascals, bigots, fools and bores!
Wide to a world of masquers whom he has bade
Sweep hurrying onward with their paces mad,
And gaily flood the vacant chamber-floors,
Even so with him about whose form in scores
Humanity's eager passions, blithe or sad,
Rush revelling, and however strangely clad,
Are still the old rascals, bigots, fools and bores!
Ah! what a riotous witch-dance they prolong
Of avarice, hatred, hope, revenge, despair!
How right flies timorous from the clutch of wrong!
How pleasure and ease take hands with toil and care!
While humor, that wild harlequin, here and there
Dashes in spangled somersaults through the throng!
Of avarice, hatred, hope, revenge, despair!
How right flies timorous from the clutch of wrong!
How pleasure and ease take hands with toil and care!
While humor, that wild harlequin, here and there
Dashes in spangled somersaults through the throng!
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III. KEATS.
It fell, in youthful hours, that he should stray
To some enchanted garden's magic gate,
And being elect that he should pass elate
Where long parterres of blossoming splendor lay.
But while he gathered many a fragrant spray,
In passionate rapture and in wonder great,
Death, gliding up to him with eyes like fate
And cold implacable hand, led him away!
To some enchanted garden's magic gate,
And being elect that he should pass elate
Where long parterres of blossoming splendor lay.
But while he gathered many a fragrant spray,
In passionate rapture and in wonder great,
Death, gliding up to him with eyes like fate
And cold implacable hand, led him away!
Yet later, lingering briefly among men,
He dropt before the world's feet those few flowers
Whose color and odor brave all blight of years,
And the rare radiance of whose bloom, since then,
Pathos, their sweet attendant, ever dowers
With the soft silver dews of pitying tears!
He dropt before the world's feet those few flowers
Whose color and odor brave all blight of years,
And the rare radiance of whose bloom, since then,
Pathos, their sweet attendant, ever dowers
With the soft silver dews of pitying tears!
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IV. DUMAS, PÈRE.
Born heir-presumptive to Boccaccio's bays,
What generous genial art this man possessed,
Pillaging history's mighty treasure-chest,
Loving the most her most adventurous days;
Painting, in such adroit and happy phrase,
King, priest, cavalier, the jester with his jest,
Or D'Artagnan, big Porthos and the rest,
Who fought so valorously for Louis Treize!
What generous genial art this man possessed,
Pillaging history's mighty treasure-chest,
Loving the most her most adventurous days;
Painting, in such adroit and happy phrase,
King, priest, cavalier, the jester with his jest,
Or D'Artagnan, big Porthos and the rest,
Who fought so valorously for Louis Treize!
No morbid analyst, healthful, honest, bland,
How he adored all perilous deeds and wild!
Romance's monarch, story-teller grand,
How long he made, by halcyon spells beguiled,
Great haughty France, with head upon her hand,
Crouch at his feet and listen like a child!
How he adored all perilous deeds and wild!
Romance's monarch, story-teller grand,
How long he made, by halcyon spells beguiled,
Great haughty France, with head upon her hand,
Crouch at his feet and listen like a child!
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V. HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.
Now that we know him dead, conjecture brings
The marvelling fancies it can ill control;
We picture in some last fair dreamy goal
Him round whose name such dreamy influence clings.
In some strange land that teems with butterfly-wings,
Flower-cradled fairies, elf-shapes grimly droll,
We see his calm and incontaminate soul
Walk with delight amid miraculous things!
The marvelling fancies it can ill control;
We picture in some last fair dreamy goal
Him round whose name such dreamy influence clings.
In some strange land that teems with butterfly-wings,
Flower-cradled fairies, elf-shapes grimly droll,
We see his calm and incontaminate soul
Walk with delight amid miraculous things!
And yet, although his dear Valhalla lies
At happiest distance from all earthly harms,
We are sure he will not love its choicest charms
Unless, however opulent, these comprise
Children, with shining hair, with limpid eyes,
To enwreathe him in their balmy rosy arms!
At happiest distance from all earthly harms,
We are sure he will not love its choicest charms
Unless, however opulent, these comprise
Children, with shining hair, with limpid eyes,
To enwreathe him in their balmy rosy arms!
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VI. HERBERT SPENCER.
A spacious-brained arch-enemy of lies,
For years he has followed, with sure pace and fleet,
The stainless robe and radiant-sandalled feet
That truth makes vaguely visible as she flies.
For years he has searched, with undiscouraged eyes,
Deep at the roots of life, eager to meet
One law beneath whose sovereignty complete
Each vast and fateful century dawns or dies!
For years he has followed, with sure pace and fleet,
The stainless robe and radiant-sandalled feet
That truth makes vaguely visible as she flies.
For years he has searched, with undiscouraged eyes,
Deep at the roots of life, eager to meet
One law beneath whose sovereignty complete
Each vast and fateful century dawns or dies!
His intellect is a palace, on whose walls
Great rich historic frescoes may be seen,
And where, in matron dignity of mien,
Meeting perpetually amid its halls
Messages from victorious generals,
Calm Science walks, like some majestic queen!
Great rich historic frescoes may be seen,
And where, in matron dignity of mien,
Meeting perpetually amid its halls
Messages from victorious generals,
Calm Science walks, like some majestic queen!
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VII. GUSTAVE DORÉ.
How rare the audacious spirit that invokes
These shadowy grandeurs, and can bid appear
All horror's genii, awful and austere,
And paint infinity with a few strong strokes!
That steals where mortal suffering writhes and chokes,
Where sorrow has wept her last hot heavy tear,
And where, while moans of misery smite the ear,
Some great calamitous battle roars and smokes!
These shadowy grandeurs, and can bid appear
All horror's genii, awful and austere,
And paint infinity with a few strong strokes!
That steals where mortal suffering writhes and chokes,
Where sorrow has wept her last hot heavy tear,
And where, while moans of misery smite the ear,
Some great calamitous battle roars and smokes!
Now are we fain to applaud him,—and anon
To shrink from power of such uncanny spell;
We tire of death's chill touch and visage wan;
Of agony; of corruption's rank sick smell;
Of this strange soul that seems to have gazed upon
Terrific things in the red heart of hell!
To shrink from power of such uncanny spell;
We tire of death's chill touch and visage wan;
Of agony; of corruption's rank sick smell;
Of this strange soul that seems to have gazed upon
Terrific things in the red heart of hell!
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VIII. BAUDELAIRE.
O poet of such unique fantastic rhyme,
Lover of some strange muse who bound her hair
With poisonous myrtles, grown in no Greek air
But fostered of some feverous Gothic clime;
Degenerate god, half loathsome, half sublime,
By what fatality wert thou led to fare
Through haunts that all corruption's colors wear,
Through pestilent noisome paths of woe and crime?
Lover of some strange muse who bound her hair
With poisonous myrtles, grown in no Greek air
But fostered of some feverous Gothic clime;
Degenerate god, half loathsome, half sublime,
By what fatality wert thou led to fare
Through haunts that all corruption's colors wear,
Through pestilent noisome paths of woe and crime?
For me thy poesy's morbid splendors wake
A thought of how, in close miasmatic gloom,
Deep amid some toad-haunted humid brake
That dark moss clothes or flexuous fern-leaves plume,
Some rank red fungus, dappled like a snake,
Spots the black dampness with its clammy bloom!
A thought of how, in close miasmatic gloom,
Deep amid some toad-haunted humid brake
That dark moss clothes or flexuous fern-leaves plume,
Some rank red fungus, dappled like a snake,
Spots the black dampness with its clammy bloom!
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