The Desolation of Eyam The Emigrant, a Tale of the American Woods: and other poems. By William and Mary Howitt |
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THE POET'S DOOM. |
 | The Desolation of Eyam |  |
239
THE POET'S DOOM.
Oh fatal gift of poesy!
In every clime, in every age,
Sorrow and blight are leagued with thee;
Grief is the poet's heritage.
For him, his love, hopes, passions wage
War on the cold world's sordid schemes;
Life is not, as he fondly dreams,
Warm, like his heart's ecstatic thrill;
But cruel as the vagrant blaze,
That lures the traveller and betrays
With lustre false and chill.
In every clime, in every age,
Sorrow and blight are leagued with thee;
Grief is the poet's heritage.
For him, his love, hopes, passions wage
War on the cold world's sordid schemes;
Life is not, as he fondly dreams,
Warm, like his heart's ecstatic thrill;
But cruel as the vagrant blaze,
That lures the traveller and betrays
With lustre false and chill.
240
Quench—quench the spark of genius;—know,
The light but tempts to evil fate.
Why follow on to certain woe?
See thou, beyond that prison grate,
A cell, a captive desolate.
Year after year, wrong upon wrong,
He suffers. He had cherished song,
And lived in its bright world, 'till fame
Brought immortality; then rushed
Power's coward hate on him, and crushed
His mighty spirit's aim.
The light but tempts to evil fate.
Why follow on to certain woe?
See thou, beyond that prison grate,
A cell, a captive desolate.
Year after year, wrong upon wrong,
He suffers. He had cherished song,
And lived in its bright world, 'till fame
Brought immortality; then rushed
Power's coward hate on him, and crushed
His mighty spirit's aim.
Over the Indian sea one went,—
A Lusian mariner,—away
From the green banks of Tagus, bent
By sorrow in his youth;—the prey
Of cheating hopes which, like decay
Of mortal sickness, had cast o'er
His heart a mildew,—still he bore,
Over the sea, his splendid curse;
And it was on him as he hung
O'er high Macao's steep, and sung
His rich, immortal verse.
A Lusian mariner,—away
From the green banks of Tagus, bent
By sorrow in his youth;—the prey
Of cheating hopes which, like decay
Of mortal sickness, had cast o'er
His heart a mildew,—still he bore,
Over the sea, his splendid curse;
And it was on him as he hung
O'er high Macao's steep, and sung
His rich, immortal verse.
241
Woe ever tracks the poet's path;
Storm on the land, and wreck by sea.
Hope blasts him, like the lightning's scath,
Neglect, and scorn, and poverty.
Oh fatal gift of poesy!—
Snap then the chord—and quench the light,
And strive, as the world strives;—raise bright
And lasting monuments of gold;
Toil in the mine—and land and sea
Compass, to build thy fame!—and be
On pyramids enrolled.
Storm on the land, and wreck by sea.
Hope blasts him, like the lightning's scath,
Neglect, and scorn, and poverty.
Oh fatal gift of poesy!—
Snap then the chord—and quench the light,
And strive, as the world strives;—raise bright
And lasting monuments of gold;
Toil in the mine—and land and sea
Compass, to build thy fame!—and be
On pyramids enrolled.
But will thy name survive thy clay?
Shalt thou thy age ennoble?—bring
Men of all other realms to lay,
On thy rich shrine, an offering?
Go to—what pilgrim wends to fling
A wild flower on Ferrara's tomb?
His victim lives—his laurels bloom;
And the world honours Tasso's grave.—
The Lusian mariner doth lie
More splendidly than royalty
That bowed him like a slave.
Shalt thou thy age ennoble?—bring
Men of all other realms to lay,
On thy rich shrine, an offering?
Go to—what pilgrim wends to fling
A wild flower on Ferrara's tomb?
His victim lives—his laurels bloom;
And the world honours Tasso's grave.—
The Lusian mariner doth lie
More splendidly than royalty
That bowed him like a slave.
| The Desolation of Eyam | |