University of Virginia Library

THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS.

Genius Triumphant must have courted Truth,
Through toil and trouble. Men may dare the steep,
And start in boy-hood up the long ascent,
But few will reach the summit of renown.
How many try, but go not heart and soul,
Undaunted, fearless; more encouraged far
By frequent opposition, than by praise.
How many, at the onset, lift the hand,
And point to honor, and courageous seem,
Not thinking of the steps they have to take.
At first advancing, see the youths begin,
The toilsome journey. One with quiet mien,
Another with a hasty awkward gait;
One but few steps advanc'd, bethinks himself,
How foolish to proceed, when house and home,
Heriditary mansion, and estate,
Await his coming at the age of man:—
Honor is pleasant, but it seems to him,
That all who seek it, aim at present good—
Possession of the competence he has—
And so content, he seats himself at ease,
In promise of the title in his view.
One farther goes: by unexpected gift,
A legacy, a wind-fall by a will,
A hundred thousand, or, as much as seems
Sufficient for the purposes of pride,
To make him parallel with magnitude;
He soon grows giddy, and descends again
To base beneath him. See, another falls!
O not unpitied, but beloved by all;—
In midst of honorable, steady course,
Cut off by death, when parents, friends, and kin,
Were watching his ascent. Too anxious they,
Too ardent he, beyond the strength of youth.
The soldier spirit, genius of war,
With sword uplift, aspiring to the height
Of conquest and conceit; in cannon's roar,
Conceives the victory gain'd. Alas! how soon
His triumph passes; though his hand be stain'd
With blood of enemies; he falls to earth,
A victim to the chance, and ills of war.
Another sits, with jealously cast down,
Disturb'd at other's merit. Not one step
In firm pursuit of industry, he takes;
But low and sullen, broods upon his lot,
Dissatisfied, disgusted, and deceived.
An author, lawyer, orator, or one
Who acts for praise, and cannot brook the Truth.
Pass on:—The libertine, who cares for nought
But selfish fame, no matter how attain'd,
With no regard for rectitude, falls down
With books, pens, pencils, pallet, and his works,
His genius unable to proceed
Beyond deception. Ladies too of fame,
Fine talents, promising, accomplish'd, fair,
Aspirant, seeking to oustep their Lords,
By splendor dazzled, or the pride of dress,
Too confident in midst of their career,
Fall victims to their vanity.—The tar
Leaps from the pier, but taking step too short,
Falls to the ocean; Priest at mitre aims
And finds himself mistaken.—Swindler too,
Of talents most uncommon; had but truth
And strict integrity preserv'd his feet,
Instead of gibbet, might have found a height
Most honourable, creditable, just,
A rich reward of industry. Alas!
What numbers fall, when almost every eye
Is watching their success.—What numbers sit,
In contemplative eminence, content;
As if the world were all to be desired.
But truth, above them, fix'd upon the height,
Has no such votaries.—Go higher thou,
Who fond of eminence in perfect Love,
Art ardent, indefatigable, firm,
Regarding truth more brilliant than the world;
More bright than Human Wisdom. There Sir, pause,
And breathe most freely, and behold the past,
The dangers, and the distance thou hast gone:
Thence looking out, the promis'd land of bliss,
May happily be seen:—Be thine with eyes
Of Genius Triumphant, to behold the Prize.