The Writings of Bret Harte :: :: University of Virginia Library

A student sat in his easy-chair;
Around him many a pond'rous tome
Of antiquarian lore was there,
And the classic wealth of Greece and Rome.
The light that swings 'twixt the oaken beams,
Around and about him fitfully gleams
In a pale prophetic shower;
And the line on which he ponders and dreams,
Is written—“Knowledge is Power.”

He dreams—his vision expansive grows,
And on either side the wall recedes,
And from out that misty chaos rose
A pile of mortgages, bonds, and deeds,
And gold in glittering columns heaped.
A nation's debt might be reclaimed,
A nation's honor be sustained,
Or countries might in blood be steeped
At the pen-and-ink stroke of this mighty lord
Of Mammon, who sat by his treasured hoard.

But the vision fled as he raised his head;
He shrugged his shoulders, and, muttering, said:
“Riches will change—they flee in an hour;
To know, is eternal—‘Knowledge is Power.’”

He bow'd his head in his book again,
And sighed, but it was not a sigh of pain.
Was it an echo that, lingering nigh,
Caught and repeated that long-drawn sigh?

287

Or was it the lady sitting by?
Oh, she was fair!—her presence there
Suddenly, sweetly filled the air
Like the scent of some opening flower rare,
And Heaven was in her eye;
Or such a glimpse as might have slid
From under the tenderly guarded lid,
Had none been there to spy.
In the lap of her satin robe, she bore
Of gems and jewels a precious store,
For all that lavish wealth might spare,
At beauty's shrine but offerings were.

But the vision fled as he raised his head;
He watched her departing, and sighing, said:
“Beauty is bought—it fades like a flower;
Who can buy knowledge?—‘Knowledge is Power.’”

In a robe antique, and of mien profound,
Came a well-known face his own to greet,
And he knew the pale brow that the laurel bound
Was the sacred symbol of knowledge meet.
In her eyes the ray of a soul divine
Glowed like a gem in the pale moonshine
With a radiance constant, quiet, and sweet.
Her stature was slight, majestic and tall,
Yet proudly erect she towered, withal,
To homage used, for she knew that all
The world was at her feet;
Yet a silence kept as the student slept,
And nearer she drew; by his side she stept;
She spoke, and as clear her accents rung
As a silver bell or an angel's tongue.
He woke with a start, for his secret heart
Felt that which bade all his dreams depart.

288

“Neophyte, dreamer, slumberer, fool!
Wouldst measure my power by musty rule?
Or, say, dost thou seek what thou 'lt hardly own,
The Alchemist's prize, or Philosopher's stone?
For 't is not in sophist's or sage's thought,
Is the mighty power of knowledge wrought;
It is seen in the practiced deed,
Not of musty scrolls, but of living men;
The hearts, the passions, the motives ye ken,
Should thy knowledge be, and its ‘power’ then
Can turn them to thy need;
For money is mighty, money is power,
And beauty is strong in camp and bower;
But money's the proof that knowledge is power,
And beauty its slave, indeed;
And, remember, that knowledge all alone
May still be a fatal dower,
And the strongest lever the world has known
Is where beauty's the might that's to be shown
And gold 's the prop that all may own,
And ‘knowledge is the power!’”