 | The Demon of Destiny |  |
86
EPISTLE THIRD. MANNERS.
Though cherish'd feelings of high-mindedness
Be the firm basis of all true success,
And health far better than much-envied gold,
They are not all which the rich heart should hold.
Be the firm basis of all true success,
And health far better than much-envied gold,
They are not all which the rich heart should hold.
In every contest, almost in the van,
Place the calm manners of the gentleman,—
Mask the reserve,—I only say almost,
When in the field defiles your marshall'd host;
For in the warfare man is doom'd to wage,
Promiscuous all his forces must engage.
Place the calm manners of the gentleman,—
Mask the reserve,—I only say almost,
When in the field defiles your marshall'd host;
For in the warfare man is doom'd to wage,
Promiscuous all his forces must engage.
In action simple, frank, and firmly bold,
Brave not superiors, nor inferiors scold:
The first is ever but a vain attempt,—
The last from scorn is not always exempt.
An equal course serenely still pursue,
And do to others, not what they to you
Will sometimes practice, but still, like the sun,
High, bright and openly your journey run.
Dark clouds, remember, often interpose
Between the world, and where on high he glows;
But still, like him, impartial be to all—
Nor heed the consequence. Man is a thrall—
The thrall of Heaven, though—whose great tasks are still
To search for good—that fossil found in ill;
But what the owner with the good—the gold—
Is pleas'd to do, to slaves is never told;
To form an idol, or to help the poor,
Let Heaven determine, mortals but procure.
Brave not superiors, nor inferiors scold:
The first is ever but a vain attempt,—
The last from scorn is not always exempt.
An equal course serenely still pursue,
And do to others, not what they to you
Will sometimes practice, but still, like the sun,
High, bright and openly your journey run.
Dark clouds, remember, often interpose
Between the world, and where on high he glows;
But still, like him, impartial be to all—
Nor heed the consequence. Man is a thrall—
The thrall of Heaven, though—whose great tasks are still
To search for good—that fossil found in ill;
But what the owner with the good—the gold—
Is pleas'd to do, to slaves is never told;
87
Let Heaven determine, mortals but procure.
Some may deride my sermon and my text,
And say that manners are but the effects
Of heart-lov'd principles, the which, if true,
Becoming manners will of course ensue.
Yes, but not always,—many a noble mind
Is to the faults of early habits blind;
And strangers oft the style of manners scan
The tailor's work, before they trust the man.
And say that manners are but the effects
Of heart-lov'd principles, the which, if true,
Becoming manners will of course ensue.
Yes, but not always,—many a noble mind
Is to the faults of early habits blind;
And strangers oft the style of manners scan
The tailor's work, before they trust the man.
“Do I advise,” you then perhaps may say,
“The meek, the dry, the placid or the gay?”
Neither, I answer, but what best accords
With pleasing intercourse, as sheaths to swords:
So shall you, with the confidence and love
Of those you deal with, and of Him above,
As genial breezes, in the vernal hours,
Unclose the roughest buds to sweetest flowers,
“The meek, the dry, the placid or the gay?”
Neither, I answer, but what best accords
With pleasing intercourse, as sheaths to swords:
So shall you, with the confidence and love
Of those you deal with, and of Him above,
As genial breezes, in the vernal hours,
Unclose the roughest buds to sweetest flowers,
“But every station,” you again may add,
“Needs different styles, the vivid or the sad.”
No: every station but the mood requires,
Which Reason gives to mod'rated desires.
All err in masqueing, as the shrewd discern—
Subdue yourselves, and you will manners learn.
“Needs different styles, the vivid or the sad.”
No: every station but the mood requires,
Which Reason gives to mod'rated desires.
All err in masqueing, as the shrewd discern—
Subdue yourselves, and you will manners learn.
Beware of form, 'tis but a thing of files,—
A posture-master, with a player's smiles;
Nor think the world may take ignoble ice
For those bright jewels which but monarchs price.
But, after all, my lecture comes to this,—
Unbridl'd passion will correct amiss.
A posture-master, with a player's smiles;
Nor think the world may take ignoble ice
For those bright jewels which but monarchs price.
But, after all, my lecture comes to this,—
Unbridl'd passion will correct amiss.
Nor is it wise to deem the scene of life
A throng'd arena of continual strife.
No: rather, lads, regard it as a stage,
Where, though sometimes proud tyrants strut and rage,
The varied show, the music and the lights,
Make Earth a theatre of wond'rous nights.
A throng'd arena of continual strife.
No: rather, lads, regard it as a stage,
Where, though sometimes proud tyrants strut and rage,
The varied show, the music and the lights,
Make Earth a theatre of wond'rous nights.
If in the drama you sustain a part,
And seek resounding recompense for art,
But fail, depend on't you mistake your powers,
The fault is not the managers, but yours.
Thus laugh-compelling Liston, pensive swain,
In Hamlet prov'd the Danish prince insane.
And seek resounding recompense for art,
But fail, depend on't you mistake your powers,
The fault is not the managers, but yours.
Thus laugh-compelling Liston, pensive swain,
In Hamlet prov'd the Danish prince insane.
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To know the difference of desire and can,
Makes half the talent of the ablest man;
With aims effortless he is doom'd to pine,
Who strives for triumphs, without power to shine;
And yet how often in the world appear
Men urg'd by Hope, who should be held by Fear.
Makes half the talent of the ablest man;
With aims effortless he is doom'd to pine,
Who strives for triumphs, without power to shine;
And yet how often in the world appear
Men urg'd by Hope, who should be held by Fear.
How calm, how firm, how cheerful, too, is he
Who knows himself, and feels his just degree,
Not of his Fortune,—that he oft may rue,—
But what with confidence he well may do.
For though he, shipwreck'd, on the bed be cast,
And wild around him howl th' impassion'd blast,
Still proudly conscious of a right intent,
He smiles at Fate amidst the element,
And undismay'd by darkness and the storm,
Resumes the purpose that he would perform;
Yea, e'en the harms that made him, wounded, yield,
Become as trophies of a well-fought field.
Who knows himself, and feels his just degree,
Not of his Fortune,—that he oft may rue,—
But what with confidence he well may do.
For though he, shipwreck'd, on the bed be cast,
And wild around him howl th' impassion'd blast,
Still proudly conscious of a right intent,
He smiles at Fate amidst the element,
And undismay'd by darkness and the storm,
Resumes the purpose that he would perform;
Yea, e'en the harms that made him, wounded, yield,
Become as trophies of a well-fought field.
Success can ne'er a wise design denote,
If success come from what could not be thought.
Nor can disasters prove a scheme unwise,
Unless from things men could foresee they rise.
For accidents the mystic Heavens award,
And mortals may but wonted courses guard.
One truth we know—the man, howe'er distress'd,
That seeks the beautiful, will see the best.
If success come from what could not be thought.
Nor can disasters prove a scheme unwise,
Unless from things men could foresee they rise.
For accidents the mystic Heavens award,
And mortals may but wonted courses guard.
One truth we know—the man, howe'er distress'd,
That seeks the beautiful, will see the best.
| The Demon of Destiny | |