Ballads and Lyrical poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Two friends were sitting in a chamber fair,
Hung round with pictures, and in every nook
Fill'd with choice tomes and busts and marbles rare.
One sat apart—and one with listless look
Turn'd o'er, unread, the pages of a book;
Both young—and one who seem'd with sadness fraught,
Thus to the other breathed his secret thought.

II

“I'm weary, Basil, of this ceaseless din:—
The world hath beat against my heart, and worn,
By the rude contact of its vice and sin,
The purity and freshness of its morn;—
Tutor'd in callousness, adept in scorn,
Virtue and Friendship, Honour, Love, and Fame,
Are things to me no more, each dwindled to a name.

III

“I'm weary of the world, and daily sigh
For some green resting-place—some forest cave,
Guarded by distance from the intruding eye
Of civil fool and sycophantic knave—
With none to flatter me, and cringe and crave
For driblets of the gold which I despise,
And all who ask it with their fawning eyes.

IV

“I'm weary of this pomp and ceaseless thrall,
And pine for peace in wild woods far away;
Though gold the fetters, still they chafe and gall;
Though jewel-hilted, still the sword will slay;
Though set with diamonds of the richest ray,
The glittering cup that held the poison-draught
Provides no antidote to him who quaff'd.

V

“I will away, and hide me in a bower;—
Or roam the forest, climb the mountain-peak,
Or muse by waterfalls at evening's hour,
Or count the blushes on the morning's cheek,
Or in deep silence of the midnight, seek
Communion with the stars, that I may know
How petty is this ball on which we come and go.

VI

“That I may learn what maggots on a crust
Are men on earth; and then, perchance, I may
Find some revival of forgotten trust,
Some flower of faith fast fading to decay.—
Here in these hollow crowds, heart-sick I stray,
And find a void—and all my days I grieve
That nothing more is left me to believe.

VII

“Love?—It is bought for miserable gold.
The fairest creature that the earth e'er saw,—
Fashion'd in beauty's most delicious mould,
Modest, accomplish'd, pure without a flaw,
Would sell herself, with proper form of law,
For half my wealth; or ogle to trepan
A Negro Crœsus, or a Mussulman.

VIII

“Friendship?—Like midges on a beam, the horde
Throng numberless; and every man pretends
My virtues only lure him to my board—
He hath no selfish interest, no ends
To serve but mine. Oh kind, oh generous friends!
What would ye do should all the ducats fail?—
Fail too—dissolving like the summer hail.

IX

“Fame?—It is pleasant—but alas! not worth
The panting and the toiling to acquire.
Is any object on this paltry earth
So great, that man should waste his soul of fire,
And carry in his heart the fierce desire
For threescore years, then die without the prize,
Which fools, meantime, have snatched before his eyes?

X

“What is there left? Long studied in the schools
Of doubt and disbelief, my faith is dead:
I've measured God by algebraic rules,
And in a maze of logic long misled,
Having no faith, have set up Chance instead;
Sought refuge in denial, to revolve
No more the problem which I cannot solve.

XI

“I'm weary, weary, and would be alone,
Away from cities and their stifling crowd,
Far from the scenes where folly on her throne,
For rich and poor, for simple and for proud,
Utters her laws and proclamations loud.
I'm weary—and will hence, and hide in woods,
And feed on quiet in their solitudes.”

XII

“What?” said his friend—“Thou, Julian! steep'd in wealth,
The young, the handsome, and the nobly born,
Endow'd with choicest gifts of strength and health—
Dost thou indulge this misanthropic scorn,
And rail at Fortune in thy youth's fair morn?
And turn disgusted from enjoyment's cup,
With its rich liquor bubbling ever up?

XIII

“Arouse thee from this lethargy of soul—
Shake off the weight that bears thy spirit down—
'Tis but the offspring of the extra bowl
We drain'd last night. Smooth from thy brow the frown.
There hangs a gloom on the expectant town
When thou art sad:—Come, be thyself again,
Nor with the lore of fools bedull thy brain.

XIV

“Hear my philosophy, and weigh with thine
The truer wisdom that my tongue shall teach:—
Not ever shall our noon of manhood shine,
Nor pleasure woo us with entrancing speech;
Nor ever shall our arms have power to reach
The golden fruit, that hangs on every bough,
In the fair garden where we wander now.

XV

“Short on the earth is our allotted time,
And short our leisure to lament and weep;
Nature, all bounteous, deems denial crime,
And sows a harvest for the wise to reap.
So fill the goblet high—but drain not deep;
And if at morn you toil, at evening rest—
To-day's denial is to-morrow's zest.

XVI

“Be temperate only to enjoy the more—
So shall no dainty on thy palate pall;
And cease with fools and bigots to deplore
That earth's no heaven, and man not perfect all:
Still make the best of whatsoe'r befall,
Nor rail at fortune, though the jade is blind,
Nor launch thy bitter scorn on human kind.

XVII

“Hope little—thou wilt be the less deceived—
In Love and Friendship be thy rule the same:
And if by Julia's cruelty aggrieved,
At Laura's altar light another flame,—
And if she scorn thee, swear by Dora's name;—
Nor cling to either with so fond a heart
That it would cause thee half a pang to part.

XVIII

“For passion is the bane of mortal bliss,
The flame that scorches—not the ray that cheers;
And every tragedy but teaches this—
Who sows in passion, reaps in blood and tears;
And he who to his soul too much endears
The sweetest, best, and fairest of her kind,
But makes a despot to enthral his mind.

XIX

“Nor let thy savage virtue take offence
If friends should love thee better rich than poor;—
It may be feeling, but it is not sense—
Ripeness of heart, but judgment immature—
To look for friendship that shall aye endure;
Or think the lamp would show the same bright ray
Should the oil fail, and riches melt away.

XX

“Nor let desire of Fame perplex thy thought—
Poor are the objects that Ambition seeks.
The applause of dunces is too dearly bought
By nerveless limbs, care-deaden'd eyes, and cheeks
Furrow'd before their time by aged streaks;
And the true wisdom never stops to weigh
A shadowy Morrow with á real To-day.

XXI

“Enjoy the present—gild the passing hour—
Nor drain the cup;—nor fill it to the brim;—
For us shall Beauty open wide her bower,
And sparkling eyes in tender languor swim;
For us shall joy awake the jubilant hymn;
And round us gather every young delight
That wealth can buy, for taste, or touch, or sight.”

XXII

“No, Basil, no—I pine for a belief;
I'm wearied with my doubts, and fain would rest.
Long have I clutch'd, in bitterness and grief,
At all these phantoms, beautifully drest
In colours brighter than the rainbow's vest.
No, my friend Basil—not in these I trust,
Begun in folly, ending in disgust.

XXIII

“My soul, long darken'd, languishes for light—
And with an utterance labours night and day.
I see a vision dawning on my sight,
I hear a music faint and far away—
I hear a voice which says, ‘Not all of clay
Thy mortal being—raise thyself, O clod!
Look up, O finite, infinite in God.’

XXIV

“Oh, that I could believe! oh, that my soul
Could trust in something, and my weary mind
Burst all unfetter'd from the dull control
Of doubt, that thinks it sees, but still is blind!
That I could cling to some one of my kind—
Some gentle soul whose love might be the ray
To lead me to belief, and brighten all the way.

XXV

“Faith shall be born of Love—oh, happy pair!
Would ye but smile upon my darkening road,
No more my heart, imprison'd by despair,
Should find its sympathies too great a load,
Doubtful alike of self, of kind, of God.—
I will away from all this pomp and jar,
And commune with my soul in solitudes afar.”