 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
131
THE HERO WORKER.
Alas! how low he lies,
Whose spirit, through his eyes,
Was ever aiming upward to the skies!
Whose spirit, through his eyes,
Was ever aiming upward to the skies!
How silent that deep voice,
That ever cried: “Rejoice!
We soon shall reach the mountains of our choice!”
That ever cried: “Rejoice!
We soon shall reach the mountains of our choice!”
How cold the heart whose glow
Made sunshine in the snow,
And warmed his people's faith when fires burnt low
Made sunshine in the snow,
And warmed his people's faith when fires burnt low
We see no more that aim,
That, like a shaft, all flame,
Ever shot upward to the heights of Fame!
That, like a shaft, all flame,
Ever shot upward to the heights of Fame!
Will be no more aspire,
With his great soul's desire,
To sway, to soar, highest, and ever higher?
With his great soul's desire,
To sway, to soar, highest, and ever higher?
Will he not pluck his wreath
Even from the realm of death,
For realms which know no forfeiture of breath?
Even from the realm of death,
For realms which know no forfeiture of breath?
Shall all that brave desert,
That will, that regal heart,
Magnanimous in passion, all depart?
That will, that regal heart,
Magnanimous in passion, all depart?
His purposes of might,
His grasp, beyond the light,
Of things, and thoughts, left shrouded now in night?
His grasp, beyond the light,
Of things, and thoughts, left shrouded now in night?
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The grand ideals of good
And beauty, watch'd and woo'd
While other men lay sleeping, stuff'd with food?
And beauty, watch'd and woo'd
While other men lay sleeping, stuff'd with food?
The faith—the courage—will
To work and conquer still,
Assured 'gainst every prophecy of ill?
To work and conquer still,
Assured 'gainst every prophecy of ill?
Shall these great aims, this power,
Be quell'd in one brief hour?
These goodly growths of virtue have no flow'r?
Be quell'd in one brief hour?
These goodly growths of virtue have no flow'r?
Was the fond toil in vain,
Pursued through mock and pain;
Grief in the heart, while grandeur ruled the brain?
Pursued through mock and pain;
Grief in the heart, while grandeur ruled the brain?
Cut short each noble toil,
Ere yet was won the spoil,
That would have crowned with fruit the natal soil?
Ere yet was won the spoil,
That would have crowned with fruit the natal soil?
There, at the quarry, lies
The half-hewn block—your eyes
See that in vain each meaner workman tries.
The half-hewn block—your eyes
See that in vain each meaner workman tries.
And shall the great soul keep,
Henceforth, unbroken sleep,
Nor ply the subtle thought, nor work the problem deep?
Henceforth, unbroken sleep,
Nor ply the subtle thought, nor work the problem deep?
Is he, who now lies mute,
Denied each fond pursuit,
Nor let to work until his toils bring proper fruit?
Denied each fond pursuit,
Nor let to work until his toils bring proper fruit?
Doth the transition break
The progress? Shall it take
The master from the fields where he had learn'd to make?
The progress? Shall it take
The master from the fields where he had learn'd to make?
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Shall he not still pursue
The favorite plan—though new,
Field and material be—imperishable too?
The favorite plan—though new,
Field and material be—imperishable too?
Not to dull earth he clings,
And now he puts on wings,
Shall he not rise to yet sublimer things?
And now he puts on wings,
Shall he not rise to yet sublimer things?
Perféct each sovereign thought,
Which he so fondly sought?
Achieve the ideal good on which he long hath wrought?
Which he so fondly sought?
Achieve the ideal good on which he long hath wrought?
To consummation fine,
Work out the grand design,
Elaborate beauty born and blooming in each line?
Work out the grand design,
Elaborate beauty born and blooming in each line?
Life, here, was but a term
Of ordeal, whence the germ,
Training, to lift the angel from the worm;
Of ordeal, whence the germ,
Training, to lift the angel from the worm;
And, with his growth of soul,
Prepared for loftier goal,
He but flings off the bonds that would control.
Prepared for loftier goal,
He but flings off the bonds that would control.
His task was but to leave
Grand models, which should grieve,
And make the emulous race with nobler births conceive.
Grand models, which should grieve,
And make the emulous race with nobler births conceive.
This done—himself endowed
For toils beyond the crowd,
He makes his way to spheres more pure and proud;
For toils beyond the crowd,
He makes his way to spheres more pure and proud;
Where nobler, better spoils,
Await superior toils,
And Art at will creates, and Nature never moils.
Await superior toils,
And Art at will creates, and Nature never moils.
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New spheres, new stars await
His presence—and a state,
That lives in beauty, and that mocks at fate!
His presence—and a state,
That lives in beauty, and that mocks at fate!
A grander model grows
Before his soul—he glows
With ideals far beyond the all he knows.
Before his soul—he glows
With ideals far beyond the all he knows.
His wisdom, in great aim,
Makes mortal knowledge tame,
And finds a motive far beyond all mortal fame.
Makes mortal knowledge tame,
And finds a motive far beyond all mortal fame.
For fame, the human lure,
Though, in degree, most pure,
Is yet of mortal birth, not purposed to endure.
Though, in degree, most pure,
Is yet of mortal birth, not purposed to endure.
When higher flights we take,
Then loftier motives wake,
The horizon spreads—new suns upon the vision break.
Then loftier motives wake,
The horizon spreads—new suns upon the vision break.
The ambition then dilates,
Nor soon with conquest sates
That soul which learns to move 'mongst spirits, stars, and fates.
Nor soon with conquest sates
That soul which learns to move 'mongst spirits, stars, and fates.
Itself a Fate—a God—
It flings itself abroad—
All thought, and will—nor asks if men and stars applaud.
It flings itself abroad—
All thought, and will—nor asks if men and stars applaud.
The “Still Beyond,” alone
Appeals with heavenly tone
To souls that, ne'er content, o'er each achievement moan.
Appeals with heavenly tone
To souls that, ne'er content, o'er each achievement moan.
Not their's, with drowsy thought,
To brood above the wrought,
Nor deem aught won, with something yet unsought.
To brood above the wrought,
Nor deem aught won, with something yet unsought.
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This woos, while baffling will;
The ideal mocks them still,
The wing must soar, the eye see yet a loftier hill.
The ideal mocks them still,
The wing must soar, the eye see yet a loftier hill.
And every summit won,
Unveils a “farther on!”
Alps rise o'er alps, and more must yet be done.
Unveils a “farther on!”
Alps rise o'er alps, and more must yet be done.
This is the eternal round
Of nature; and the found,
Makes nothing for the soul that knows no bound.
Of nature; and the found,
Makes nothing for the soul that knows no bound.
From star to star it speeds,
Each flight a flight of deeds,
And every night in holier pasture feeds.
Each flight a flight of deeds,
And every night in holier pasture feeds.
Ah! vainly we pursue,
The eternal progress through,
God, the Ideal that woos, yet ever keeps from view.
The eternal progress through,
God, the Ideal that woos, yet ever keeps from view.
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |