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6
THE POET AND THE SPIRIT OF THE TIMES.
'T is the tree my father planted,—
Cut not down that goodly tree!
Let its precious life be granted
To his memory, and to me.
Close he placed it by our dwelling,
His green keepsake long to bide,
Just before he braved the swelling
Of the Jordan's gloomy tide.
Cut not down that goodly tree!
Let its precious life be granted
To his memory, and to me.
Close he placed it by our dwelling,
His green keepsake long to bide,
Just before he braved the swelling
Of the Jordan's gloomy tide.
Full of years, his form was bending,
Crowned with locks of silvery hair,—
To the grave he seemed descending,—
When he set the sapling there.
Still, methinks, his presence lingers
Round it, with mysterious power,
Watching, and, with spirit fingers,
Counting every leaf and flower.
Crowned with locks of silvery hair,—
To the grave he seemed descending,—
When he set the sapling there.
Still, methinks, his presence lingers
Round it, with mysterious power,
Watching, and, with spirit fingers,
Counting every leaf and flower.
Thou mayst feel the green it weareth
Shield thee from the sultry heat;
Thine may be the bloom it beareth,—
Thine, the fruitage ripe and sweet.
Yet, O, mar it not, nor fell it;
See it bear no wound from thee;
Lest in heaven the angels tell it,
Thou hast killed my Father's Tree!
Shield thee from the sultry heat;
Thine may be the bloom it beareth,—
Thine, the fruitage ripe and sweet.
Yet, O, mar it not, nor fell it;
See it bear no wound from thee;
Lest in heaven the angels tell it,
Thou hast killed my Father's Tree!
I asked the ruling Spirit of the Times
To be my theme; with music, feet, and rhymes:
I prayed the master-Spirit of the Age
To make my numbers full, sublime, and sage;
—To win for me the envied laurel crown,
And let my name to future days go down!
With vehemence, and seeming half-aside,
Impatient and sarcastic, he replied:—
To be my theme; with music, feet, and rhymes:
I prayed the master-Spirit of the Age
To make my numbers full, sublime, and sage;
—To win for me the envied laurel crown,
And let my name to future days go down!
With vehemence, and seeming half-aside,
Impatient and sarcastic, he replied:—
7
“Think'st thou that I can pause to be the theme,
Or form the figure, of a Poet's dream?
—That I my flying, fiery train can stay,
To crown a minstrel piping by the way;
Or my swift agencies restrain, to know
What merit is, or where its laurels grow;
When WE forego all measure—concord—feet,
—We move by shooting, and subsist by heat?
Or form the figure, of a Poet's dream?
—That I my flying, fiery train can stay,
To crown a minstrel piping by the way;
Or my swift agencies restrain, to know
What merit is, or where its laurels grow;
When WE forego all measure—concord—feet,
—We move by shooting, and subsist by heat?
“Why, my prime minister derives his life,
His being, from two elements at strife;
And is the worthy son of such a sire
As his impetuous, daring father, Fire!
We nod at forests, and they hide their heads;
We rouse the rivers, and they quit their beds;
We touch the mountain, and its heart is broke;
—The ocean, sea, and lake, and lo! they smoke.
His being, from two elements at strife;
And is the worthy son of such a sire
As his impetuous, daring father, Fire!
We nod at forests, and they hide their heads;
We rouse the rivers, and they quit their beds;
We touch the mountain, and its heart is broke;
—The ocean, sea, and lake, and lo! they smoke.
“And we propose, on our grand march of mind,
To leave no sweet, green, flowery thing behind!
Whilst those proved good, for balsam, shade, or fruit,
'T is our high pleasure rudely to uproot.
The father-home—the old ancestral tree—
Comes down, a sudden sacrifice to me.
We build no bowers, for idle bards to dream;
We plan, frame, rear, and finish off, by steam.
To leave no sweet, green, flowery thing behind!
Whilst those proved good, for balsam, shade, or fruit,
'T is our high pleasure rudely to uproot.
The father-home—the old ancestral tree—
Comes down, a sudden sacrifice to me.
We build no bowers, for idle bards to dream;
We plan, frame, rear, and finish off, by steam.
“The coolest spirits soon shall own it true,
That our hot vapors all sang-froid subdue.
Let quiet musing, sage reflection, cease!
We spare no nook, where they may bide in peace;
—No calm retreat,—no holy, silent cell,
Where Meditation with her God may dwell;
While we profess the gods of our devotion
Are Innovation, Whirl, and Locomotion.
That our hot vapors all sang-froid subdue.
Let quiet musing, sage reflection, cease!
We spare no nook, where they may bide in peace;
—No calm retreat,—no holy, silent cell,
Where Meditation with her God may dwell;
While we profess the gods of our devotion
Are Innovation, Whirl, and Locomotion.
8
“We call steam-doctors, when the nation's sick,
To fume its nostrils till the pulse is quick,—
To heal it of the fearful vertigo,—
The megrim, that may give a fatal blow.
Its body politic, kept up and going,
Will keep the vital current warm and flowing;
Its members, therefore, spar, harangue, and reason
By steam!—do honor, perfidy, and treason.
To fume its nostrils till the pulse is quick,—
To heal it of the fearful vertigo,—
The megrim, that may give a fatal blow.
Its body politic, kept up and going,
Will keep the vital current warm and flowing;
Its members, therefore, spar, harangue, and reason
By steam!—do honor, perfidy, and treason.
“By steam we legislate—displace—elect;
By steam do nearly all things, but reflect;
—We draw men on to crime and scarlet sin,
And let them there plunge one another in.
While faith, hope, wisdom, knowledge, we outstrip,
And puff devotion's prayer from off her lip;
By steam we torture—we bereave—we slay;
—Break by high-pressure, rob, and run away!
By steam do nearly all things, but reflect;
—We draw men on to crime and scarlet sin,
And let them there plunge one another in.
While faith, hope, wisdom, knowledge, we outstrip,
And puff devotion's prayer from off her lip;
By steam we torture—we bereave—we slay;
—Break by high-pressure, rob, and run away!
“By fiery engines we convince—reform;
—Take understanding, reason, heart, by storm!
We hem one's mental citadel between
Big boilers and a battering machine;
And, from their eyes who cannot see with us,
To crack the scales, we use a blunderbuss,
Whose dull and heavy bullets, as they fly,
Might give a mortal an immortal's eye!
—Take understanding, reason, heart, by storm!
We hem one's mental citadel between
Big boilers and a battering machine;
And, from their eyes who cannot see with us,
To crack the scales, we use a blunderbuss,
Whose dull and heavy bullets, as they fly,
Might give a mortal an immortal's eye!
“We leave philosophy behind, to sink
With all who have the gravity to think,
With sober forecast looking to the end,
—Whereto our whirling, rapid motions tend.
We drop the parable of Holy Writ,
To know if our new lamps are out, or lit;
Our gassy sight, our blazing air, produces
Such wholesome nonchalance for empty cruises.
With all who have the gravity to think,
With sober forecast looking to the end,
—Whereto our whirling, rapid motions tend.
We drop the parable of Holy Writ,
To know if our new lamps are out, or lit;
Our gassy sight, our blazing air, produces
Such wholesome nonchalance for empty cruises.
9
“And we've bent up the ancient Golden Rule,
That used to square the stiff old-fashioned school,
And coined it into tiny bits, to sow
In our new fields, to make whole harvests grow!
—With few reserved, to be applied as charms,
To soothe an owner, where we've pinched his arms,
Or pared his foot, or made his spirit bow,
With Discontent, to brand him in the brow.
That used to square the stiff old-fashioned school,
And coined it into tiny bits, to sow
In our new fields, to make whole harvests grow!
—With few reserved, to be applied as charms,
To soothe an owner, where we've pinched his arms,
Or pared his foot, or made his spirit bow,
With Discontent, to brand him in the brow.
“We now are aiming for the golden fleece,
Which we intend by thousands to increase:
And see our modern Argos proudly ride
The foaming deep, opposing wind and tide!
We must win gold, though we have ears as long
As Midas had! Gold-wise, the brain is strong;
And, to its chambers should the ear admit
Sublimer lore, 't would only cumber it!
Which we intend by thousands to increase:
And see our modern Argos proudly ride
The foaming deep, opposing wind and tide!
We must win gold, though we have ears as long
As Midas had! Gold-wise, the brain is strong;
And, to its chambers should the ear admit
Sublimer lore, 't would only cumber it!
“Yet, not for gold to keep—to hoard—we go,
Now up and down,—now passing to and fro;
—We grind the rocks,—earth's gaping caverns fill,
And make the dingle swallow up the hill!
We view it as the transient, yellow flower,
Whose large, round fruit we recognize in power,
However creeping, winding, coarse, and low
The hollow vine, whereon such fruit may grow.
Now up and down,—now passing to and fro;
—We grind the rocks,—earth's gaping caverns fill,
And make the dingle swallow up the hill!
We view it as the transient, yellow flower,
Whose large, round fruit we recognize in power,
However creeping, winding, coarse, and low
The hollow vine, whereon such fruit may grow.
“No,—'t is not to enshrine it in the coffer,
That peace, rest, virtue, all, for gold we offer;
'T is not the dazzling thing to deify;—
'T is but to grasp it—wing it—make it fly;
—To keep our heels, heads, wheels, or spindles whirling,
Our fuel wasting, and our vapor curling;
And this vast human tide still high and flowing,
Like river-waves that to the falls are going.
That peace, rest, virtue, all, for gold we offer;
'T is not the dazzling thing to deify;—
'T is but to grasp it—wing it—make it fly;
—To keep our heels, heads, wheels, or spindles whirling,
Our fuel wasting, and our vapor curling;
And this vast human tide still high and flowing,
Like river-waves that to the falls are going.
10
“Man moves not now in units, but en masse;
And one smooth train will make a city pass.
Where once jogged nag, with husband, spouse, and pillion,
See hundreds hie beneath one long pavilion!
Swift as a chain of lightning coursing down
Its iron road, so town goes forth to town,
In form corporeal,—county visits county,—
To honor ME by festival and bounty!
And one smooth train will make a city pass.
Where once jogged nag, with husband, spouse, and pillion,
See hundreds hie beneath one long pavilion!
Swift as a chain of lightning coursing down
Its iron road, so town goes forth to town,
In form corporeal,—county visits county,—
To honor ME by festival and bounty!
“What busy mortal now is heard to say,
Like the dull ancient, ‘I have lost a day’?
Here, to be missing every day 's too great;
And great occasions lacking, we create!
When lacking due capacity of walls,
We turn street, field, and forest into halls;
And find the grand arcana of felicity
In roofless, rural, Eden-like simplicity.
Like the dull ancient, ‘I have lost a day’?
Here, to be missing every day 's too great;
And great occasions lacking, we create!
When lacking due capacity of walls,
We turn street, field, and forest into halls;
And find the grand arcana of felicity
In roofless, rural, Eden-like simplicity.
“For, 't is so little to create the fare,
Where'er the Day is, all the world are there;—
That is, from distant sections of the Union
They gather close, in out-of-doors communion.
Though rain may pour, or scorching sunbeams shine,
All crowds are joyous, every Day is fine,
To whirling, light competitors in bliss,
Like US, content with such a heaven as this!
Where'er the Day is, all the world are there;—
That is, from distant sections of the Union
They gather close, in out-of-doors communion.
Though rain may pour, or scorching sunbeams shine,
All crowds are joyous, every Day is fine,
To whirling, light competitors in bliss,
Like US, content with such a heaven as this!
“Your cool, reflective, self-established man,—
Go, light your lantern,—find him, if you can!
We want no share of his lean mental feast,
Who are our own high-priestess and high-priest!
A calm, retiring, home-devoted woman,—
When she is found in all the genus human,—
Go, rear to her your modern Parthenon:
We'll raze it to the earth it stands upon!
Go, light your lantern,—find him, if you can!
We want no share of his lean mental feast,
Who are our own high-priestess and high-priest!
A calm, retiring, home-devoted woman,—
When she is found in all the genus human,—
Go, rear to her your modern Parthenon:
We'll raze it to the earth it stands upon!
11
“Wake! Archimedes, from the sleep of eras,
At our stupendous facts,—sublime chimeras!
Look up from dust, to witness our improvement,
And own our power of universal movement!
Awake! Bucephalus, and see the forces
For which we now proscribe curb, hoof, and horses!
Then, back to shades, plunge down with Alexander;
I am the world's superior great commander!
At our stupendous facts,—sublime chimeras!
Look up from dust, to witness our improvement,
And own our power of universal movement!
Awake! Bucephalus, and see the forces
For which we now proscribe curb, hoof, and horses!
Then, back to shades, plunge down with Alexander;
I am the world's superior great commander!
“We burn the air, we burn the solid earth,
While each new heat gives new adventure birth;
And haply we may run a steamer soon
From your antipodes to reach the moon;—
To hold conventions with the lunatics,
And waft terrestrial throngs to their picnics;
Among the moony mountains to encamp,
When night grows chill—its atmosphere is damp.
While each new heat gives new adventure birth;
And haply we may run a steamer soon
From your antipodes to reach the moon;—
To hold conventions with the lunatics,
And waft terrestrial throngs to their picnics;
Among the moony mountains to encamp,
When night grows chill—its atmosphere is damp.
“Then, catching clouds of rain as we aspire,
And with our lens condensing solar fire,
We may grow light, and so economize
As soon to run a rail across the skies;
And making depots on from star to star,
With sideral natives freight our empty car,
And speed them down to our great mundane sphere,
To learn our arts, and stare at wonders here!
And with our lens condensing solar fire,
We may grow light, and so economize
As soon to run a rail across the skies;
And making depots on from star to star,
With sideral natives freight our empty car,
And speed them down to our great mundane sphere,
To learn our arts, and stare at wonders here!
“Their foreign notions, foreign modes and airs,
May then be caught;—perhaps, too, foreign prayers.
And if by power magnetic we can keep
And charm them, like mere animals, to sleep,
The beaming creatures we may tame; and win
Celestial immigrants to glory in,
Whose glittering badges prove their birth and state
Above earth's highest, wisest potentate.
May then be caught;—perhaps, too, foreign prayers.
And if by power magnetic we can keep
And charm them, like mere animals, to sleep,
The beaming creatures we may tame; and win
Celestial immigrants to glory in,
Whose glittering badges prove their birth and state
Above earth's highest, wisest potentate.
12
“Matches Luciferous may kindle then
'Twixt sons of heaven, and daughters but of men.
Yet, O, if fickle fortune do but frown,
Ye bright celestials, how are ye cast down!
—Your glory gone, your high-born nature changed,
Your worshippers apostate or estranged,
Your little semi-Star-lings creeping seen
On earth's dark face, like fire-bugs on a green!
'Twixt sons of heaven, and daughters but of men.
Yet, O, if fickle fortune do but frown,
Ye bright celestials, how are ye cast down!
—Your glory gone, your high-born nature changed,
Your worshippers apostate or estranged,
Your little semi-Star-lings creeping seen
On earth's dark face, like fire-bugs on a green!
“O, 't is an age of wonders and of speed!
Man makes more books than man has time to read:
And well for him, if all be true that 's hinted,
—That souls sometimes take poison that is printed,
From heads and hearts, whose black and baleful vapors,
Blown through the pen, go forth in tomes and papers;
—By the deep-drinkers swallowed by the volume;
By those more temperate, by the page or column!
Man makes more books than man has time to read:
And well for him, if all be true that 's hinted,
—That souls sometimes take poison that is printed,
From heads and hearts, whose black and baleful vapors,
Blown through the pen, go forth in tomes and papers;
—By the deep-drinkers swallowed by the volume;
By those more temperate, by the page or column!
“Our travellers,—express for observation,
—To libel, puff, or scandalize a nation;
—Society's excrescences, that spread,—
Of truth and justice while they go ahead,
Will read a people—take a wide survey,
And pen their notes of all upon the way;
—Smile as they meet you, fleeting like the wind,
And, Parthian-like, hurl venomed darts behind.
—To libel, puff, or scandalize a nation;
—Society's excrescences, that spread,—
Of truth and justice while they go ahead,
Will read a people—take a wide survey,
And pen their notes of all upon the way;
—Smile as they meet you, fleeting like the wind,
And, Parthian-like, hurl venomed darts behind.
“Time was, when man must study man but slow,
And search himself with care, himself to know;
Then rose a school of sages, who defined
The hollows, heights, and narrows of the mind,
—Of head and heart could ransack every closet,
—Could weigh and measure every choice deposit,
And to their poverty or riches come,
By sapient fingers, and a feeling thumb.
And search himself with care, himself to know;
Then rose a school of sages, who defined
The hollows, heights, and narrows of the mind,
—Of head and heart could ransack every closet,
—Could weigh and measure every choice deposit,
And to their poverty or riches come,
By sapient fingers, and a feeling thumb.
13
“By practice, now, less physical, we thread
The hills and valleys of the human head;
And through the bosses of the cranium pry,
By the bright rays of our phrenetic eye!
And, still refining on the finest art,
In light and shade we sketch the moral part;
—Give stamps of spirit—figure forms of air;
Outdoing even thee, thou great Daguerre!
The hills and valleys of the human head;
And through the bosses of the cranium pry,
By the bright rays of our phrenetic eye!
And, still refining on the finest art,
In light and shade we sketch the moral part;
—Give stamps of spirit—figure forms of air;
Outdoing even thee, thou great Daguerre!
“And yet, the greatest sketch is still undone;
Not one faint outline of it is begun.
The subject's vastness—strangeness—shall defy
Thought, hand, and pencil,—vision, radiance, die!
Its form shall baffle all the light and shade,
—The lines and hues, that art has ever laid!
For who 's the wondrous artist,—where is he,
Who can produce the portraiture of Me?”
Not one faint outline of it is begun.
The subject's vastness—strangeness—shall defy
Thought, hand, and pencil,—vision, radiance, die!
Its form shall baffle all the light and shade,
—The lines and hues, that art has ever laid!
For who 's the wondrous artist,—where is he,
Who can produce the portraiture of Me?”
“Of thee?”—But lo! I spake to whiffling wind!
I looked,—no other listener could I find.
A thing without a shadow seemed to flee,—
A nondescript—an awful entity,
That with a sweeping, strong, and burning blast,
Sirocco-like, had twirled me as it passed;
And left me there, astounded and alone,
To ask if I might deem my soul my own.
I looked,—no other listener could I find.
A thing without a shadow seemed to flee,—
A nondescript—an awful entity,
That with a sweeping, strong, and burning blast,
Sirocco-like, had twirled me as it passed;
And left me there, astounded and alone,
To ask if I might deem my soul my own.
I asked if I might still possess my heart;
Or must, like myriads, cast my better part,
A pearl, to be dissolved in this world's cup
Of heated acids, and be swallowed up;
—If I must hang my sacred peace upon
The tempest pinion of Euroclydon;
Or let its ark the mighty Maelstrom enter
Whose bound seems nowhere,—everywhere, its centre!
Or must, like myriads, cast my better part,
A pearl, to be dissolved in this world's cup
Of heated acids, and be swallowed up;
—If I must hang my sacred peace upon
The tempest pinion of Euroclydon;
Or let its ark the mighty Maelstrom enter
Whose bound seems nowhere,—everywhere, its centre!
14
These alkalis and acids of mankind,
By action so fortuitous combined,—
Will they so rectify or neutralize
Each other's temper, that the spume shall rise,
Be blown away, and let the stream appear,
With placid surface, flowing sweet and clear?
Will settled, righteous principle again
Be found the basis of the works of men?
By action so fortuitous combined,—
Will they so rectify or neutralize
Each other's temper, that the spume shall rise,
Be blown away, and let the stream appear,
With placid surface, flowing sweet and clear?
Will settled, righteous principle again
Be found the basis of the works of men?
Speak, O thou God of order, justice, peace!
Command this human deluge-storm to cease.
The unsealed fountains of this troubled deep
Stay with thy hand, and smooth the surge to sleep.
Avert thy lightning arrows; and thy Bow,
A shining sceptre, to the nations show!
Let thy mild Dove, with snowy wings unfurled,
Bring one green branch, and crown a Sober World!
Command this human deluge-storm to cease.
The unsealed fountains of this troubled deep
Stay with thy hand, and smooth the surge to sleep.
Avert thy lightning arrows; and thy Bow,
A shining sceptre, to the nations show!
Let thy mild Dove, with snowy wings unfurled,
Bring one green branch, and crown a Sober World!
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