 | Lines in Pleasant Places |  |
66
THE PRESS.
A plain and unimaginative rhyme
Is all I bring to grace your festal time;
Shrinking to prelude one whose brilliant thought
Must place my drowsy platitudes at nought,
And, with the glow that eloquence inspires,
Put out or “pale my ineffectual fires.”
Bards no more dream, but for a purpose act,
And tune their harps to soberness of fact.
So pardon me if I decline to try
My Pegasus in Fancy's burning sky,
And stick to earth with earthly prudence meet,
Unlike those mad aeronauts of Crete,
Who borrowed wings of wax and dared the sun,
And came from the empyrean “by the run.”
Is all I bring to grace your festal time;
Shrinking to prelude one whose brilliant thought
Must place my drowsy platitudes at nought,
And, with the glow that eloquence inspires,
Put out or “pale my ineffectual fires.”
Bards no more dream, but for a purpose act,
And tune their harps to soberness of fact.
So pardon me if I decline to try
My Pegasus in Fancy's burning sky,
And stick to earth with earthly prudence meet,
Unlike those mad aeronauts of Crete,
Who borrowed wings of wax and dared the sun,
And came from the empyrean “by the run.”
I sing the Press—the mightiest of tools—
The scourge of tyrants and the plague of fools;
The Press, with myriad complications fraught,
The grand embodiment of current thought,
—With all the springs and cogs and wheels and cams,
Comprising the realities and shams,—
With misery or benefaction rife,
That form the passing history of life.
Like old Briareus, with his hundred hands;
—A pen in each,—it scopes all scenes and lands;
Tells us of sweeping floods and earthquakes dire;
Of wrecks by sea, and loss by raging fire;
Tells us of ruling rates in fancy stocks,
And accident that every feeling shocks;
Tells us just how the world of fashion speeds,
And the last change in politics or creeds;
Sings us sweet songs and tells us wondrous tales,
And scandals dark that fill the gossipy gales.
The Paper, like that sheet let down from heaven,
Which Peter edited,—see Acts, cap. eleven,—
Containing everything of living kind,
Holds up life's transcript to the seeking mind,
Wherein each notes the thing that best agrees
With his or her own whims and sympathies.
Thus Mr. Slow upon his stocks may feed,
And Angelina o'er the romance bleed,
And Georgie glory in the race or fight,
And Aunt Keziah in the deaths delight—
A well-spiced feast on which all love to look,
And with a grateful homage thank the cook.
The scourge of tyrants and the plague of fools;
The Press, with myriad complications fraught,
The grand embodiment of current thought,
—With all the springs and cogs and wheels and cams,
Comprising the realities and shams,—
67
That form the passing history of life.
Like old Briareus, with his hundred hands;
—A pen in each,—it scopes all scenes and lands;
Tells us of sweeping floods and earthquakes dire;
Of wrecks by sea, and loss by raging fire;
Tells us of ruling rates in fancy stocks,
And accident that every feeling shocks;
Tells us just how the world of fashion speeds,
And the last change in politics or creeds;
Sings us sweet songs and tells us wondrous tales,
And scandals dark that fill the gossipy gales.
The Paper, like that sheet let down from heaven,
Which Peter edited,—see Acts, cap. eleven,—
Containing everything of living kind,
Holds up life's transcript to the seeking mind,
Wherein each notes the thing that best agrees
With his or her own whims and sympathies.
Thus Mr. Slow upon his stocks may feed,
And Angelina o'er the romance bleed,
And Georgie glory in the race or fight,
And Aunt Keziah in the deaths delight—
A well-spiced feast on which all love to look,
And with a grateful homage thank the cook.
See the dense columns under General Trade,
Upon the public pocket bent to raid!
Through Fancy's eyes delightedly we pore
O'er trophies brought from many a distant shore,
Commended earnestly to eye and lip,
Without occasion for vexed ownership;
And wines thus quaffed are better far than those
Which through the palate jeopardize the toes!
Ah, great is Trade!—we have our every wish,
From thousand dollar shawls to pickled fish.
Upon the public pocket bent to raid!
Through Fancy's eyes delightedly we pore
O'er trophies brought from many a distant shore,
Commended earnestly to eye and lip,
Without occasion for vexed ownership;
68
Which through the palate jeopardize the toes!
Ah, great is Trade!—we have our every wish,
From thousand dollar shawls to pickled fish.
The Press is Education's dexter hand,
And wields the sceptre of a wide command.
In every hamlet 'mid our native hills,
It pours rich knowledge through a thousand rills,
—Rills, like the gentle brooks which ceaseless run
O'er pebbly beds and glisten in the sun,
Cheering the roots of herbage and of flower,
And giving freshness to the arid hour—
Sweet mental rills, whose sparkling waters wind
Along the beauteous summer meads of mind,
Quickening the precious germs of living truth
Within the warm receptive soil of youth,
Until in efflorescent splendor bright,
A Vassar gladdens the awakened sight.
And wields the sceptre of a wide command.
In every hamlet 'mid our native hills,
It pours rich knowledge through a thousand rills,
—Rills, like the gentle brooks which ceaseless run
O'er pebbly beds and glisten in the sun,
Cheering the roots of herbage and of flower,
And giving freshness to the arid hour—
Sweet mental rills, whose sparkling waters wind
Along the beauteous summer meads of mind,
Quickening the precious germs of living truth
Within the warm receptive soil of youth,
Until in efflorescent splendor bright,
A Vassar gladdens the awakened sight.
Science, once hid in dark mysterious cells,
No longer under ban or shadow dwells;
Backed by the power the power-press affords,
—More potent far than ugly-tempered swords,—
Upspringing to our view on every side,
The fruits of teeming science are descried;
The fact matured and the incipient hint
Rushing, together, on the waves of print.
No longer under ban or shadow dwells;
Backed by the power the power-press affords,
—More potent far than ugly-tempered swords,—
Upspringing to our view on every side,
The fruits of teeming science are descried;
The fact matured and the incipient hint
Rushing, together, on the waves of print.
When people party politics perplex,
And all their hearts with earnest seeking vex,
Deeming that they are called by special fate
To rush in timely and redeem the state
—And Heaven knows, and we whose pockets bleed,
How much redemption the poor state doth need!—
When party greed, whate'er its cast or name,
Sinks all pretence to honesty and shame,
The Press its interposing mission fills,
And virtuous counsel lavishly instils;
Proving white black, and honest truth a fib,
Or the reverse of this, with tactics glib,
And daily making, for our wondrous ken,
Big out of what are dreadful little men.
And all their hearts with earnest seeking vex,
69
To rush in timely and redeem the state
—And Heaven knows, and we whose pockets bleed,
How much redemption the poor state doth need!—
When party greed, whate'er its cast or name,
Sinks all pretence to honesty and shame,
The Press its interposing mission fills,
And virtuous counsel lavishly instils;
Proving white black, and honest truth a fib,
Or the reverse of this, with tactics glib,
And daily making, for our wondrous ken,
Big out of what are dreadful little men.
Soft Sentiment!—its votaries through the Press
May glut their tastes with exquisite distress,
And sweet-drawn misery, like molasses, tart,
And thrills, and throbs, and throes that rend the heart,
And pangs, and darts, and agonies that shine,
In many a fond impassioned tender line!
Not beef, by any means; that after comes,
When hunger has a place in loving homes,
And Emeline and Roy—once more awake—
Find twice the nourishment of love—in steak.
May glut their tastes with exquisite distress,
And sweet-drawn misery, like molasses, tart,
And thrills, and throbs, and throes that rend the heart,
And pangs, and darts, and agonies that shine,
In many a fond impassioned tender line!
Not beef, by any means; that after comes,
When hunger has a place in loving homes,
And Emeline and Roy—once more awake—
Find twice the nourishment of love—in steak.
Here smiles enkindle where the mad joke gleams,
Through verbal channels, bright as lightning beams,
Or the fierce tumult of a hearty laugh
Crowns the quaint climax of some paragraph,
Rousing the dull, who wonder “what's to pay,”
To make folks chuckle in that noisy way?
The Press, amid a world of care and dole,
Brushes the cobwebs from the dusty soul,
Which, brightening in the sunshine that it flings,
Sees with new eyes a thousand pleasant things;
Finding life easier by its teachings gay,
With Hope rekindled lighting up the way.
Through verbal channels, bright as lightning beams,
Or the fierce tumult of a hearty laugh
Crowns the quaint climax of some paragraph,
Rousing the dull, who wonder “what's to pay,”
To make folks chuckle in that noisy way?
70
Brushes the cobwebs from the dusty soul,
Which, brightening in the sunshine that it flings,
Sees with new eyes a thousand pleasant things;
Finding life easier by its teachings gay,
With Hope rekindled lighting up the way.
And, bright amid surrounding verbiage,
Records of loving homes illume the page,
Where fair domestic scenes their charms impart,
And with their pleasant teachings win the heart.
We see some noble duty nobly done,
We see a glorious field and victory won,
We see true Manliness to action rise,
We see Unselfishness in angel guise,
We see meek Patience waiting by the way,
We see sweet Childhood 'mid the flowers at play,
We see calm Resignation's placid brow,
We see the blessings that from Virtue flow;
The gentle spirit the recital cheers,
And smiles upon it through delighted tears.
Records of loving homes illume the page,
Where fair domestic scenes their charms impart,
And with their pleasant teachings win the heart.
We see some noble duty nobly done,
We see a glorious field and victory won,
We see true Manliness to action rise,
We see Unselfishness in angel guise,
We see meek Patience waiting by the way,
We see sweet Childhood 'mid the flowers at play,
We see calm Resignation's placid brow,
We see the blessings that from Virtue flow;
The gentle spirit the recital cheers,
And smiles upon it through delighted tears.
And when men die—as die they some time must—
The Press their glories piles above their dust,
And the freed spirits—as some say they do—
Peering with ghostly eyes the papers through,
May read, unheeding, merits of their own,
That all their life long they have never known,
And deeming some one else is praised, may pause
To say, “God bless us, what a man he was!”
The Pulpit, Physic, Law, lean on the Press
For merit that the world might never guess;
Their sermons, cases, pleadings scarcely known,
But for their reproduction broadcast thrown,
Puzzled themselves, sometimes, when they have read
Bright things imputed that were never said.
What were a sermon in a vestry's sphere
To that which all the world is glad to hear?
The Poetasters thank the Press for bays,
When they achieve their euphuistic lays,
And Lecturers look eagerly to see
The meed accorded their brain progeny,
When some industrious press-man makes a raid,
And steals and prints their entire stock in trade.
Though some fare bad where the fierce critic's art
Discerns Achilles' vulnerable part,
And, with a cruelty of venomed wits,
Gives the poor wretch unmitigated “fits.”
The Press their glories piles above their dust,
And the freed spirits—as some say they do—
Peering with ghostly eyes the papers through,
May read, unheeding, merits of their own,
That all their life long they have never known,
And deeming some one else is praised, may pause
To say, “God bless us, what a man he was!”
71
For merit that the world might never guess;
Their sermons, cases, pleadings scarcely known,
But for their reproduction broadcast thrown,
Puzzled themselves, sometimes, when they have read
Bright things imputed that were never said.
What were a sermon in a vestry's sphere
To that which all the world is glad to hear?
The Poetasters thank the Press for bays,
When they achieve their euphuistic lays,
And Lecturers look eagerly to see
The meed accorded their brain progeny,
When some industrious press-man makes a raid,
And steals and prints their entire stock in trade.
Though some fare bad where the fierce critic's art
Discerns Achilles' vulnerable part,
And, with a cruelty of venomed wits,
Gives the poor wretch unmitigated “fits.”
Thus doth the Press control with magic sway
All matters where Humanity has play.
Its power affects all earthly things and scenes;
Fixes the price of Liberty and—Beans;
Soars where the scintillating planets dwell,
And tells us who has groceries to sell;
Strives for the acme of immortal hope,
And advertises patent shaving soap!
A Prospero upon the mental plain,
It works its magic by the wand of brain;
—Some, ill-disposed, who fail its power to see,
Spell wand, in malice, with a final t---
It strikes the rock where thought's bright crystals sleep,
And bids them, like old Horeb's waters, leap,
Again to fall upon the thirsty earth
In drops of wisdom or refreshing mirth.
Its nod unchains the fierce impetuous steam
To do its bidding with exultant scream;
Compels the tide to work its sovereign will,
Compels the winds its flowing sheet to fill,
Compels the untamed lightning yield its aid,
And binds it an auxiliary to trade.
The snowy canvas specks for it the main,
For it the fleetest steeds their sinews strain,
Its wakeful Ariels scale the beaming sky
And look the fiery comets in the eye,
Dig deep in venous caverns of the earth,
And hidden wonders bring to living birth,
Ride on the ice-rim round the Boreal sea,
Or lunch on missionary in Feejee.
All matters where Humanity has play.
Its power affects all earthly things and scenes;
Fixes the price of Liberty and—Beans;
Soars where the scintillating planets dwell,
And tells us who has groceries to sell;
Strives for the acme of immortal hope,
And advertises patent shaving soap!
A Prospero upon the mental plain,
It works its magic by the wand of brain;
—Some, ill-disposed, who fail its power to see,
72
It strikes the rock where thought's bright crystals sleep,
And bids them, like old Horeb's waters, leap,
Again to fall upon the thirsty earth
In drops of wisdom or refreshing mirth.
Its nod unchains the fierce impetuous steam
To do its bidding with exultant scream;
Compels the tide to work its sovereign will,
Compels the winds its flowing sheet to fill,
Compels the untamed lightning yield its aid,
And binds it an auxiliary to trade.
The snowy canvas specks for it the main,
For it the fleetest steeds their sinews strain,
Its wakeful Ariels scale the beaming sky
And look the fiery comets in the eye,
Dig deep in venous caverns of the earth,
And hidden wonders bring to living birth,
Ride on the ice-rim round the Boreal sea,
Or lunch on missionary in Feejee.
Those Ariels of the Press, Reporters hight,
How limitless the compass of their flight!
Nor height nor depth their daring course can stay,
When some fresh item dawns upon their way.
Give Agassiz a bone, and at your wish,
He'll reproduce for you a perfect fish;
Give a reporter but a timid hint,
And, straight, a column is beheld in print.
Talk of the burning “pencils” of the sun!
What are they all to his official one,
Who, chasing Truth thro' earth, and sea, and sky,
Impales it on its point as 'twere a fly?
“Look comets in the eye,” forsooth! 'tis weak
To emblemize his quality of “cheek,”
Who, if Old Nick were near, would straight pursue,
And show him up in some shrewd “interview.”
How limitless the compass of their flight!
Nor height nor depth their daring course can stay,
When some fresh item dawns upon their way.
Give Agassiz a bone, and at your wish,
He'll reproduce for you a perfect fish;
Give a reporter but a timid hint,
And, straight, a column is beheld in print.
Talk of the burning “pencils” of the sun!
What are they all to his official one,
Who, chasing Truth thro' earth, and sea, and sky,
73
“Look comets in the eye,” forsooth! 'tis weak
To emblemize his quality of “cheek,”
Who, if Old Nick were near, would straight pursue,
And show him up in some shrewd “interview.”
“The pen in hands of men entirely great
Is mightier than the sword,” the poets state;
A fact beyond the shadow of a doubt,
That people are continually finding out.
The Editor sits proudly at his post,
In wisdom grand, in potency a host,
The world regards with glance half awe, half dread,
'Twixt doubt to deify or break his head.
Hid by the shadow of the pronoun WE,
Old Tonans thunders in epitome;
The lightning glares, in sheets inspiring fear,—
Paid in advance—so many dimes per year;
His eagles scream athwart the stormy sky,
And echo answers, “How is that for high?”
Echo, a little slangy, but repeats
That which the eye upon occasion meets,
When, bending for a moment from his state,
The editor forgets that he is great,
And, with a playfulness of tongue or pen,
Speaks, writes, or acts the same as common men.
The one by guilty qualmishness possessed,
Feels in his peril anything but blest;
Fraud with its gains indifference affects,
But winces inward, and with dread expects;
“Truth crushed to earth” and virtue in distress
Have vindication in the honest press;
And all grand effort made the world to advance,
Finds in its editor a trenchant lance.
Is mightier than the sword,” the poets state;
A fact beyond the shadow of a doubt,
That people are continually finding out.
The Editor sits proudly at his post,
In wisdom grand, in potency a host,
The world regards with glance half awe, half dread,
'Twixt doubt to deify or break his head.
Hid by the shadow of the pronoun WE,
Old Tonans thunders in epitome;
The lightning glares, in sheets inspiring fear,—
Paid in advance—so many dimes per year;
His eagles scream athwart the stormy sky,
And echo answers, “How is that for high?”
Echo, a little slangy, but repeats
That which the eye upon occasion meets,
When, bending for a moment from his state,
The editor forgets that he is great,
And, with a playfulness of tongue or pen,
Speaks, writes, or acts the same as common men.
The one by guilty qualmishness possessed,
Feels in his peril anything but blest;
Fraud with its gains indifference affects,
But winces inward, and with dread expects;
“Truth crushed to earth” and virtue in distress
74
And all grand effort made the world to advance,
Finds in its editor a trenchant lance.
Such is the fact which ideally we see,
But still imperfect is the verity.
Exceptions mar the grandeur of the rule,
For men are weak, and Virtue's fires may cool;
Pretentious mediocrity have sway,
And principle be measured as 'twill pay;
Humbug and wealth, allied, successful plead,
And impecunious virtue yield to need.
Alas! 'tis true—and pity 'tis 'tis true—
That want besets the path that men pursue;
And being merely men, the truth is plain,
They cannot bear a superhuman strain.
Rare principle alone, is not enough
To meet the claim of life with fortune rough,
Of fashion and its myriad demands,
Which more it craves, the more its scope expands,
And, therefore, yielding to the pressure stout,
They put up shutters and bar conscience out.
But still imperfect is the verity.
Exceptions mar the grandeur of the rule,
For men are weak, and Virtue's fires may cool;
Pretentious mediocrity have sway,
And principle be measured as 'twill pay;
Humbug and wealth, allied, successful plead,
And impecunious virtue yield to need.
Alas! 'tis true—and pity 'tis 'tis true—
That want besets the path that men pursue;
And being merely men, the truth is plain,
They cannot bear a superhuman strain.
Rare principle alone, is not enough
To meet the claim of life with fortune rough,
Of fashion and its myriad demands,
Which more it craves, the more its scope expands,
And, therefore, yielding to the pressure stout,
They put up shutters and bar conscience out.
Of all vocations 'neath the rolling sun,
Than this of ours there is no nobler one,
And more than King or Kaiser can impart
Is the proud title springing from our art.
To be a Printer wins a grander fame
Than is permitted more presumptuous claim,
And those who leave the name for other spheres,
Resume it proudly in their after years;
A fame wherein a Franklin's glory lies,
And tenderly a Greeley sanctifies.
Than this of ours there is no nobler one,
And more than King or Kaiser can impart
Is the proud title springing from our art.
To be a Printer wins a grander fame
Than is permitted more presumptuous claim,
And those who leave the name for other spheres,
Resume it proudly in their after years;
75
And tenderly a Greeley sanctifies.
Then, Brethren, Friends, stand proudly by the Press,
Fraught with such power to benefit and bless!
The people's guard and guide, fail not to see
The full importance of your ministry.
Though virtue be at times its own reward,
Work on in hope, nor rail at fortune hard.
Some seeds grow slowly, and the harvest, late,
May toil and trial poorly compensate,
But, with a conscience clear and motive just,
Press on and ever with unfaltering trust,
—Not the vexed trust the printer frowns upon,
That he would banish from the lexicon,—
Trust that kind Heaven, beneficent and good,
May crown your efforts with beatitude,
And bring to fruitage all the seed you've strewed.
Fraught with such power to benefit and bless!
The people's guard and guide, fail not to see
The full importance of your ministry.
Though virtue be at times its own reward,
Work on in hope, nor rail at fortune hard.
Some seeds grow slowly, and the harvest, late,
May toil and trial poorly compensate,
But, with a conscience clear and motive just,
Press on and ever with unfaltering trust,
—Not the vexed trust the printer frowns upon,
That he would banish from the lexicon,—
Trust that kind Heaven, beneficent and good,
May crown your efforts with beatitude,
And bring to fruitage all the seed you've strewed.
| Lines in Pleasant Places | |