 | Days and Hours |  |
304
TO THE POET.
I
O Gentle Poet, whosoe'er thou art,Whom God hath gifted with a loving eye,
A sweet, and mournful voice, a tender heart,
Pass by the world, and let it pass thee by;
Be thou to Nature faithful still, and she
Will be for ever faithful unto thee.
II
Let them disdain thee for thy just disdain;Shield thou thy heart against the world accurst,
Where they discourse of joy, and ache with pain,
And babble of good deeds, and do the worst;
Shed dews of mercy on their wither'd scorn,
And touch their midnight darkness with thy morn.
305
III
There blind Ambition barters peace for praise:There Pride ne'er sleeps, nor Hatred waxeth old;
And dwarfish Folly can his cubit raise
To godlike stature on a little gold;
There Madness is a king, and ev'n the wise
Sell truth to simpletons, and live on lies;
IV
There Pleasure is a sickly meteor-light,A star above—a pestilence below;
There Knowledge is a cup of aconite,
That chills the heart, and makes the pulses slow;
Remorse, a scorpion's self-destroying sting,
Sorrow, a Winter without hope of spring.
V
There Love's clear torch is quench'd as in a tomb,Or bound for ever in a golden band
He drags, with eyes fix'd on his early doom,
Behind lean Avarice with the iron hand:
Fancy, that fill'd the woodlands with his glee,
Scorns at himself, and murmurs to be free.
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VI
There Justice mindless of her holy name,Creeps o'er the slime with adder's ears and eyes,
Stirs with dark hand the World-involving flame,
Thirsteth for tears, and hungers after sighs;
There Honor is a game to lose or win;
And Sanctity a softer name for Sin.
VII
For thee 'tis better to remain apart,Like one who dwells beneath the forest green,
And listens far off to the beating heart
Of the wide world, all-seeing, though unseen;
In a cool cavern on a mountain side
With rare, sweet flowers, and virgin springs supplied.
VIII
Hark thou the voices from the peopled plainIn tuneful echoes murmuring in thine ears,
Watch thou the sunshine mingle with the rain,
And mark how gladness interweaves with tears,
And ply thy secret, holy alchemy,
Like God, who gives thee work, when none are by.
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IX
And from the twilight of thy solitudeNote thou the lights and shadows of the sky,
And cast the mighty shapes of Evil and Good
In perfect moulds of Immortality,
Till they are seen from far, like mountain-light,
That burns on high, when all below is night.
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