 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
TO NELSON.
Yes! thou wert not deceived: 'twas no vain dream
Which the brain makes of fumes—that orb so bright,
Which shone on thee in Disappointment's night,
When not for thee or thine the golden stream
Of Fortune flowed, and shed her star no gleam
Upon thy darkness, was the quenchless light,
The spiritual Sun, that shines in spite
Of earth-drawn clouds, and doth our steps redeem
From error, when Earth's other stars grow faint!
It was thy sun of glory, and it shone
Around thee, like the halo round a saint,
Cheering thee still thine ocean-race to run—
And urging thee, by a divine constraint,
To think that all things might, with it, be done!
Which the brain makes of fumes—that orb so bright,
Which shone on thee in Disappointment's night,
When not for thee or thine the golden stream
Of Fortune flowed, and shed her star no gleam
Upon thy darkness, was the quenchless light,
The spiritual Sun, that shines in spite
Of earth-drawn clouds, and doth our steps redeem
From error, when Earth's other stars grow faint!
It was thy sun of glory, and it shone
Around thee, like the halo round a saint,
Cheering thee still thine ocean-race to run—
And urging thee, by a divine constraint,
To think that all things might, with it, be done!
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Thou didst not need a patron, nor wast made
To cringe and smile in antechambers, or
To wait on Kings, who wast their creditor
For debts which crowns could never have repaid!
Whose single head more genuine laurels shade
Than all their kind can boast—the conqueror
Of nations, thou wast made to lay down law,
Not take: not to obey, but be obeyed!
Thou didst not need a patron—the great Land,
That suckled thee, had nursed thee with her best,
And given thee a voice which had command;
And, like a mother, sent thee forth, and blest
(Who never blest her sons in vain) thy hand
To deeds, which are a Nation's best bequest!
To cringe and smile in antechambers, or
To wait on Kings, who wast their creditor
For debts which crowns could never have repaid!
Whose single head more genuine laurels shade
Than all their kind can boast—the conqueror
Of nations, thou wast made to lay down law,
Not take: not to obey, but be obeyed!
Thou didst not need a patron—the great Land,
That suckled thee, had nursed thee with her best,
And given thee a voice which had command;
And, like a mother, sent thee forth, and blest
(Who never blest her sons in vain) thy hand
To deeds, which are a Nation's best bequest!
Thou didst not leave her riches, which soon make
Wings to themselves, nor fleeting goods of earth,
As full of change as is their place of birth:
Nor aught that Fortune, who but lends, can take
Away again, or put again to stake
Of gambling Hazard—something of more worth,
A fount of good, which never shall know dearth,
Thou'st left her, to be cherished for her sake
And thine—a name, which is a word of power,
And an example, in which thou art still,
A guardian-presence, with us, in the hour
Of danger, like an arm to ward off ill,
Thrust through the clouds that o'er thy country lour,
Like that of God, the agent of His will!
Wings to themselves, nor fleeting goods of earth,
As full of change as is their place of birth:
Nor aught that Fortune, who but lends, can take
Away again, or put again to stake
Of gambling Hazard—something of more worth,
A fount of good, which never shall know dearth,
Thou'st left her, to be cherished for her sake
And thine—a name, which is a word of power,
And an example, in which thou art still,
A guardian-presence, with us, in the hour
Of danger, like an arm to ward off ill,
Thrust through the clouds that o'er thy country lour,
Like that of God, the agent of His will!
On one occasion, Nelson despaired of rising in his profession, without interest, as he was, and embarrassed by many difficulties, but after a gloomy reverie, he felt a sudden glow of patriotism, and his country presented itself to him in the light of a patron, and, from that hour, he saw, with his mind's eye, a radiant orb suspended over him, which urged him on. See his own words.
| The Poetry of Real Life | |