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167
FOURTEEN SONNETS.
I.AMBITION.
To rise up step by step from hall to dais;To take the best seat at the best repast,
While adulating eyes are toward him cast
By the upstanding hungry; to have praise
From those he scorns: to see the base hand raise
The limp hat to him as he hastens by
Not deigning to return the courtesy;
To ride while others tramp the miry ways.
These are the honours of a hot-breathed world,
These the civilian honours, these the prize
In church or bar. Behold that wig deep-curled,
Great prize of a long life's toil, and those eyes
Below it like dead oysters:—shut thine own,
And think of Christ or of the sky star-sown!
168
II.TO DAVID SCOTT,
ON PUBLISHING HIS “MEMOIR, ETC.”
Brother of mine, the last of many, passedInto the shipless dark sea, where we all
Must follow, as our days and hours are cast:
I speak to thee, I touch the dreadful pall,
To lay thine own bay leaves upon thy bier.
It may be in the arcane truths of God,
Thou still dost feel this touch, dost feel and hear,
And recognizest still the cold green sod,
Immensely far yet infinitely near!
Thou who hast shown how much the stedfast soul
Bears abnegation, how an ideal goal
Robs life, how singleness of heart hopes long,
And how by suffering sanctified, the song
From the inner shrine becomes more wonderful and strong.
170
V.ON READING HAYDON'S AUTOBIOGRAHY.
The coarse-voiced peacock spreads his starry tail,
And wheels about that all the world may see,
Of all God's creatures, I am first, quoth he,
Meanwhile the part that nature meant to vail
Winks curiously beneath that radiant sail.
Vanity must have her eclat, show
Of clapping hands, boast of grand aims,—and so
The blessed functions of the artist fail.
And wheels about that all the world may see,
Of all God's creatures, I am first, quoth he,
Meanwhile the part that nature meant to vail
Winks curiously beneath that radiant sail.
Vanity must have her eclat, show
Of clapping hands, boast of grand aims,—and so
The blessed functions of the artist fail.
Not thus the greatly gifted use their wealth!
The good man gives nor usurous interest claims;
The poet craved fit audience only; health
Works without boasting; Shakspere turned again
To the sunset in Stratford:—here, in flames,
The begging Art-apostle dies insane!
The good man gives nor usurous interest claims;
The poet craved fit audience only; health
Works without boasting; Shakspere turned again
To the sunset in Stratford:—here, in flames,
The begging Art-apostle dies insane!
172
VI.WORDSWORTH. ON READING THE MEMOIRS BY DR. C. WORDSWORTH.
FIRST SONNET.
Too much of “Tours,” productive more or less;
Too much of “Nature,” meaning thereby hills,
Trees, hedges, landscapes rich with woods and rills;
Too little of the dark divine recess
Beneath the white shirt,—nothing of the press
Of our own age so full of glorious cares,
And men that call, new lamps for old! good wares
For potsherds given! in this book I confess.
Too much of “Nature,” meaning thereby hills,
Trees, hedges, landscapes rich with woods and rills;
Too little of the dark divine recess
Beneath the white shirt,—nothing of the press
Of our own age so full of glorious cares,
And men that call, new lamps for old! good wares
For potsherds given! in this book I confess.
Yet through it evermore appears in sight
A poet travelling homeward who was still
A poet every day, with common tread
Who walked on common shoes up Life's high hill
Self-center'd, God-directed, till the light
Of this world and the next met round his head.
A poet travelling homeward who was still
A poet every day, with common tread
Who walked on common shoes up Life's high hill
Self-center'd, God-directed, till the light
Of this world and the next met round his head.
173
VII.WORDSWORTH.
SECOND SONNET.
Cumberland was the world to him and art
Was landscape-gardening. Most sententiously
A truism or a common-place could he
Announce, and by his grave large voice impart
Value thereto. Steered by the simplest heart
'Tis said he never doubted, but held on
Bible o'erpowered: in these our days alone
Of all sane men perhaps in learning's mart!
Was landscape-gardening. Most sententiously
A truism or a common-place could he
Announce, and by his grave large voice impart
Value thereto. Steered by the simplest heart
'Tis said he never doubted, but held on
Bible o'erpowered: in these our days alone
Of all sane men perhaps in learning's mart!
But he of all men planned his life with care:
Fast by the wells of sadness walked he on
O'er fortunate meads with chilly flowers made fair,
Till on his right hand and his left were won
The waving wheatears of a just success;
A man whose praise rejoice we to express!
Fast by the wells of sadness walked he on
O'er fortunate meads with chilly flowers made fair,
Till on his right hand and his left were won
The waving wheatears of a just success;
A man whose praise rejoice we to express!
174
VIII.WORDSWORTH.
THIRD SONNET.
Each medal hath its reverse; every dayIts cloud; each house its skeleton; so here,
Sum up this philosophic poet's year,
And we shall find within his mental way,
Few threads of vital poet-wisdom stray.
Instead; philanthrophy with hand withheld,
A caution selfward turned, the muse compell'd
To chew the cud, to sift the sand and clay
Left by chance hill-winds, lest some grains of gold
Without assiduous sieve might there be lost.
A bald soul awkward with his lyre, both cold
And over-anxious, find we to our cost:
And this the moral of the whole; that man
Is great who simply doth the best he can.
175
IX.THE FIRE AT EVENING.
To one who looks but seldom on the stars,Whose lode-star is a certain dear bright eye
Kind fortune sent him; who not frequently
Among the tarns and streams, the hills and scars
Of nature uninformed with life would roam:
To one who loves the haunts of men, there bound
By chance and choice: here pitching still his home
Where Art the most abides; to such a man
The hearth is this world's centre, holy ground
On which the daily sandals are untied:
And in the caverned fire he learns to scan
The day just past new picture-historied.
Aye, ev'n all life restored and striven again,
And a new sun-rise breaks o'er heart and brain!
176
X.THE WIND IN THE CASEMENT:
WRITTEN IN ILL HEALTH.
Silence, oh North-East wind thy saddening cry,Silence, oh wind thine everlasting moan!
Is the child Innocence all naked thrown
Out on the freezing earth, is the great sky
Now made of lead for ever, nor again
May the heart cheer up nor sweet lips be curled?
Silence oh deadly wind! most sure the rain
That an indifferent and exacting world
Showers on us, the cold blast that ever blows
On one who wears no ermine, sings no song,
And finds no holidays, are enough strong
To give us daily aches and overthrows:
But with thy ceaseless inorganic wail
Like parting Providence,—who would not fail?
178
XII.TO THE MUSICIAN.
Music transcends conception; God in heaven
Is the musician's father. Wond'rous child!
Instinct above the intellect is given
To him the wordless and unlearned: wild
Fancies of heart are his realities,
And over them as o'er firm ground he flies
Towards absorption in the unknown skies
Of spirit-land.
Is the musician's father. Wond'rous child!
Instinct above the intellect is given
To him the wordless and unlearned: wild
Fancies of heart are his realities,
And over them as o'er firm ground he flies
Towards absorption in the unknown skies
Of spirit-land.
Alas! within the maze
Of the actual world, hills, cattle, ships, and town,
Knowledge accumulative, mace and gown,
Wealth, science, law, he like a blind man strays.
Yet be thou proud, poor child! be not cast down,
Men hear thee like the voice of the dead risen,
And feel they are immortal, souls in prison!
Of the actual world, hills, cattle, ships, and town,
Knowledge accumulative, mace and gown,
Wealth, science, law, he like a blind man strays.
Yet be thou proud, poor child! be not cast down,
Men hear thee like the voice of the dead risen,
And feel they are immortal, souls in prison!
179
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