 | Poems |  |
45
Maxima Reverentia
Quench not the children's joy!
Too soon these cavernous damps
Will dim their fairy lamps,
Too soon the haloes fall from girl and boy,
That crown their brow so innocently bright;
Too soon the garlands white
Of all their inconsiderate employ
Take sad infection from surrounding night.
Too soon these cavernous damps
Will dim their fairy lamps,
Too soon the haloes fall from girl and boy,
That crown their brow so innocently bright;
Too soon the garlands white
Of all their inconsiderate employ
Take sad infection from surrounding night.
Too soon will life's amazement
Encounter their advance,
And dubious circumstance
Make proof of their appraisement
Of charity and judgment, truth and gain!
Too soon anxiety's abhorrent shapes
Will spread like vapour o'er the splendid plain,
And all its promise of unblemished grapes;
The beckoning harvest-fields will suffer blight;
And even the sun-lit mountain's high domain
The mist will stain
Blurring its aspect of celestial light.
Encounter their advance,
And dubious circumstance
Make proof of their appraisement
Of charity and judgment, truth and gain!
Too soon anxiety's abhorrent shapes
Will spread like vapour o'er the splendid plain,
And all its promise of unblemished grapes;
The beckoning harvest-fields will suffer blight;
And even the sun-lit mountain's high domain
The mist will stain
Blurring its aspect of celestial light.
Dim not the eyes of youth
With shadowed sorrow and the ghosts of ruth;
Soon when the tracks are tangled,
And all emotion jangled,
Will fade their blessed vision of the truth;
Till then let sin and suffering keep aloof;
But come, unfeigned delight,
With music heralded, with blossom spangled!
Cordial the heart with courage for the proof!
Feed the fresh mind with mirth, the nurse of might!
Far be the horrid sight
Of lacerated souls and spirits mangled!
With shadowed sorrow and the ghosts of ruth;
Soon when the tracks are tangled,
And all emotion jangled,
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Till then let sin and suffering keep aloof;
But come, unfeigned delight,
With music heralded, with blossom spangled!
Cordial the heart with courage for the proof!
Feed the fresh mind with mirth, the nurse of might!
Far be the horrid sight
Of lacerated souls and spirits mangled!
Young souls should laugh before they laugh in vain;
First let them learn of earth
The mysteries of mirth,
Before they learn the mysteries of pain;
First let them be enriched with dance and song,
That make men strong
To face dull labour and endure the strain
Of disappointed faith and fortune's wrong.
First let them learn of earth
The mysteries of mirth,
Before they learn the mysteries of pain;
First let them be enriched with dance and song,
That make men strong
To face dull labour and endure the strain
Of disappointed faith and fortune's wrong.
Not hermit hearts, that love alone to dwell
In secret cell,
But happy hearts, that like a hive of bees
Hum, thick with busy hopes,
Nerve the weak arms and knit the feeble knees,
Winning from sunny slopes
Of mountains, from the summer woods and leas,
What sadness spends, gazing on wintry seas.
In secret cell,
But happy hearts, that like a hive of bees
Hum, thick with busy hopes,
Nerve the weak arms and knit the feeble knees,
Winning from sunny slopes
Of mountains, from the summer woods and leas,
What sadness spends, gazing on wintry seas.
Quench not the children's joy!
Let no lugubrious fantasy or tale
Their heart assail!
No morbid mirror flout their guileless faces
With hint of lurking furrows and grimaces!
Though greed and shame hereafter may destroy
The sensitive play
Let no lugubrious fantasy or tale
Their heart assail!
No morbid mirror flout their guileless faces
With hint of lurking furrows and grimaces!
Though greed and shame hereafter may destroy
The sensitive play
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Of mobile muscle, and the unconscious graces
That soon with introspection pass away,—
Though they are destined to a sure decay,
As are the lilies,—yet their lucent clay
Is offspring of the sunshine and the skies,
And their immaculate eyes
Fade at the sight of lethal miseries.
That soon with introspection pass away,—
Though they are destined to a sure decay,
As are the lilies,—yet their lucent clay
Is offspring of the sunshine and the skies,
And their immaculate eyes
Fade at the sight of lethal miseries.
With pulsing feet let children trip along
In rhythmic tumult of the dance and song,
With waving arms and cymbals held aloft,
To strains repeated oft!
Into the movement of the Doric mode
Guide passionate impulse, guide
Life's eagerness and pride!
Lead the desire that none by lash or goad
Can drive along the road!
Give them fair meads for pastime, undistraught
By ill-foreboding thought,
With balls of flowers tossed up and hardly caught,
And dells with rippling laughter overflowed!
In rhythmic tumult of the dance and song,
With waving arms and cymbals held aloft,
To strains repeated oft!
Into the movement of the Doric mode
Guide passionate impulse, guide
Life's eagerness and pride!
Lead the desire that none by lash or goad
Can drive along the road!
Give them fair meads for pastime, undistraught
By ill-foreboding thought,
With balls of flowers tossed up and hardly caught,
And dells with rippling laughter overflowed!
So let the muse indignant
Drive doleful thrummers from her sacred mount!
Her melodies benignant
Let shepherds to the dancing children count!
Who with their hands and feet
Shall to the cadence beat,
Beat to the jocund pipe and gentle lyre,
Until the anguished earth
Listen, as sick men listen to the choir
Of warbling birds at eager morning's birth.
Drive doleful thrummers from her sacred mount!
Her melodies benignant
Let shepherds to the dancing children count!
Who with their hands and feet
Shall to the cadence beat,
Beat to the jocund pipe and gentle lyre,
Until the anguished earth
Listen, as sick men listen to the choir
Of warbling birds at eager morning's birth.
For where shall perfect happiness be found
If not in careless children? Like the birds,
They pour through sullen woods a jocund sound,
A language not of words,
More native to the air than to the ground!
Who can life's unreplenished channels fill,
If children may not treasure
The untaxed waters of a bounteous pleasure?
If children may not guard the precious store
Of natural mirth, and from their vantage hill
Launch many a laughing rill
Along the valley, where men labour sore
To delve the golden ore,
The barren sands of vanity to till?
If not in careless children? Like the birds,
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A language not of words,
More native to the air than to the ground!
Who can life's unreplenished channels fill,
If children may not treasure
The untaxed waters of a bounteous pleasure?
If children may not guard the precious store
Of natural mirth, and from their vantage hill
Launch many a laughing rill
Along the valley, where men labour sore
To delve the golden ore,
The barren sands of vanity to till?
For of all creatures that on earth should be
Devote to gaiety,
Upon whose lips should oftenest be heard
Laughter's melodious bubble,
Within whose eyes should rareliest be stirred
The bitter pools of trouble,
Children to gladness are entitled most!
For they alone amid the weary host
Of warring men, that beat the phantomed air,
Frenzied, and wound each other unaware,
They only dare
Feast and make merriment. Ah! let them be!
Smirch not their white-winged hours!
They are the vestal guardians of the flame
Of happiness! Ah! sprinkle not your spice,—
Self-scorn and sacrifice,—
Nor pluck away their garlands of sweet flowers,
With desecrating fingers, hinting blame!
But watch with me and listen,
By those enchanted bowers
Where children dance with children, hand in hand;
Their eyes with gladness glisten,
Their laughter makes a marvel in the land;
They imitate no code,
They use no courtier mode
Of pleasing God; they neither toil nor haste
For righteousness; but dwell in Eden still;
And who would tempt their taintless lips to taste
The cheating fruit of conscious good and ill?
Devote to gaiety,
Upon whose lips should oftenest be heard
Laughter's melodious bubble,
Within whose eyes should rareliest be stirred
The bitter pools of trouble,
Children to gladness are entitled most!
For they alone amid the weary host
Of warring men, that beat the phantomed air,
Frenzied, and wound each other unaware,
They only dare
Feast and make merriment. Ah! let them be!
Smirch not their white-winged hours!
They are the vestal guardians of the flame
Of happiness! Ah! sprinkle not your spice,—
Self-scorn and sacrifice,—
Nor pluck away their garlands of sweet flowers,
With desecrating fingers, hinting blame!
But watch with me and listen,
By those enchanted bowers
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Their eyes with gladness glisten,
Their laughter makes a marvel in the land;
They imitate no code,
They use no courtier mode
Of pleasing God; they neither toil nor haste
For righteousness; but dwell in Eden still;
And who would tempt their taintless lips to taste
The cheating fruit of conscious good and ill?
Hail, fairy child,
Not by dissimulation yet defiled!
Hail, frolic elf,
Not yet instructed to dissect thyself!
Too soon to be beguiled
Into the gilded cage,—saint, devotee,
I know not what thou'lt be,—
But nevermore the simple, fresh, and free!
Not by dissimulation yet defiled!
Hail, frolic elf,
Not yet instructed to dissect thyself!
Too soon to be beguiled
Into the gilded cage,—saint, devotee,
I know not what thou'lt be,—
But nevermore the simple, fresh, and free!
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