 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
40
The TWO CANDLES.
A Fable.
Two Candles burning in a hall,
The one large-wick'd, the other small;
While Large-Wick cheerful blaz'd and bright,
The other scarce gave any light;
But in a corner on a shelf,
Just glimmer'd, as to please himself:—
Cries Small-Wick, sneering, to the other,
“You blaze away, my showy brother,
“But that superior light you boast,
“Must soon—so quick you burn—be lost;
“While, to self-preservation true,
“I shall out-live three such as you:”
Large-Wick, directed by the sound,
His dark-ey'd neighbour quickly found,
(Who else must have unnotic'd been,
And, as quite worthless, overseen)
And thus reply'd: “Thou gloomy aid
“To the dark Us'rer's baneful trade;
“Thou Darkness visible, scarce seen,
“Thou fit companion for the spleen;
“From thy poor gasconade desist,
“Your's is not life—you but exist;
“While I, the few short hours I know,
“In doing good my time bestow;
“Candles are destin'd to supply
“The want of day-shine in the sky;
“Like supplimental suns to light,
“And banish Darkness, Gloom, and Night;
“To lengthen life, and kindly shower
“That bliss of blisses, visual power:
“This, my few hours, I cheerful do,
“While such poor selfish things as you,
“Who hugger-mugger spend your rays,
“And have not soul to give a blaze,
“Are still unnotic'd by mankind,
“But when you leave a stink behind.”
The one large-wick'd, the other small;
While Large-Wick cheerful blaz'd and bright,
The other scarce gave any light;
But in a corner on a shelf,
Just glimmer'd, as to please himself:—
Cries Small-Wick, sneering, to the other,
“You blaze away, my showy brother,
“But that superior light you boast,
“Must soon—so quick you burn—be lost;
“While, to self-preservation true,
“I shall out-live three such as you:”
Large-Wick, directed by the sound,
His dark-ey'd neighbour quickly found,
(Who else must have unnotic'd been,
And, as quite worthless, overseen)
And thus reply'd: “Thou gloomy aid
“To the dark Us'rer's baneful trade;
“Thou Darkness visible, scarce seen,
“Thou fit companion for the spleen;
“From thy poor gasconade desist,
“Your's is not life—you but exist;
“While I, the few short hours I know,
“In doing good my time bestow;
“Candles are destin'd to supply
“The want of day-shine in the sky;
“Like supplimental suns to light,
“And banish Darkness, Gloom, and Night;
41
“That bliss of blisses, visual power:
“This, my few hours, I cheerful do,
“While such poor selfish things as you,
“Who hugger-mugger spend your rays,
“And have not soul to give a blaze,
“Are still unnotic'd by mankind,
“But when you leave a stink behind.”
The contest Susan heard, and took
Small-Wick from his sequester'd nook;
She thrust him in the kitchen fire,
Worthless—unheeded—to expire:
While Large-Wick, in the parlour grac'd,
And 'mid surrounding beauties plac'd,
A cheerful lustre boldly throws,
And to the last his spirit shows.
Small-Wick from his sequester'd nook;
She thrust him in the kitchen fire,
Worthless—unheeded—to expire:
While Large-Wick, in the parlour grac'd,
And 'mid surrounding beauties plac'd,
A cheerful lustre boldly throws,
And to the last his spirit shows.
Souls are like Candle-Wicks—when small,
They scarce give any light at all:
When large—they're public blessings found,
And beam their cheerful blaze around:—
And if our lives, as sages show,
Are measur'd by the Good we do,
And not by days and months—I fear
Too many Small-Wicks will appear,
Whose lives—their palsied heads tho' grey,
Are shorter than a winter's day;
Who may be said with Truth's consistence,
Barely to know the Twilight of Existence.
They scarce give any light at all:
When large—they're public blessings found,
And beam their cheerful blaze around:—
And if our lives, as sages show,
Are measur'd by the Good we do,
And not by days and months—I fear
Too many Small-Wicks will appear,
Whose lives—their palsied heads tho' grey,
Are shorter than a winter's day;
Who may be said with Truth's consistence,
Barely to know the Twilight of Existence.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |