Chapter V: Part 5

Absence strengthened friendship, where the last recollections were kindly; But it must be good wine at the last, or absence shall weaken it daily. A rare thing is faith, and friendship is a marvel among men, Yet strange faces call they friends, and say they believe when they doubt. Those hours are not lost that are spent in cementing affection; For a friend is above gold, precious as the stores of the mind. Be sparing of advice by words, but teach thy lesson by example: For the vanity of man may be wounded, and retort unkindly upon thee. There be some that never had a friend, because they were gross and selfish; Worldliness, and apathy, and pride, leave not many that are worthy: But one who meriteth esteem, need never lack a friend: For as thistle-down flieth abroad, and casteth its anchor in the soil, So philanthropy yearneth for a heart, where it may take root and blossom.

Yet I hear the child of sensibility moaning at the wintry cold, Wherein the mists of selfishness have wrapped the society of men: He grieveth, and hath deep reasons; for falsehood hath wronged his trust, And the breaches in his bleeding heart have been filled with the briars of suspicion. For, alas, how few be friends, of whom charity hath hoped well! How few there be among men who forget themselves for other! Each one seeketh his own, and looketh on his brethren as rivals, Masking envy with friendship, to serve his secret ends. And the world, that corrupteth all good, hath wronged that sacred name, For it calleth any man friend, who is not known for an enemy: And such be as the flies of summer, while plenty sitteth at thy board: But who can wonder at their flight from the cold denials of want? Such be as vultures round a carcase, assembled together for the feast; But a sudden noise scareth them, and forthwith are they specks among the clouds. There be few, O child of sensibility, who deserve to have thy confidence; Yet weep not, for there are some, and such some live for thee: To them is the chilling world a drear and barren scene, And gladly seek they such as thou art, for seldom find they the occasion: For, though no man excludeth himself from the high capability of friendship, Yet verily the man is a marvel whom truth can write a friend.

Of Love.

There is a fragrant blossom, that maketh glad the garden of the heart; Its root lieth deep: it is delicate, yet lasting, as the lilac crocus of autumn: Loneliness and thought are the dews that water it morn and even; Memory and Absence cherish it, as the balmy breathings of the south: Its sun is the brightness of Affection, and it bloometh in the borders of Hope; Its companions are gentle flowers, and the briar withereth by its side. I saw it budding in beauty; I felt the magic of its smile; The violet rejoiced beneath it, the rose stooped down and kissed it; And I thought some cherub had planted there a truant flower of Eden, As a bird bringeth foreign seeds, that they may flourish in a kindly soil. I saw, and asked not its name; I knew no language was so wealthy, Though every heart of every clime findeth its echo within. And yet what shall I say? Is a sordid man capable of Love? Hath a seducer known it? Can an adulterer perceive it? Or he that seeketh strange women, can he feel its purity? Or he that changeth often, can he know its truth? Longing for another's happiness, yet often destroying its own; Chaste, and looking up to God, as the fountain of tenderness and joy: Quiet, yet flowing deep, as the Rhine among rivers; Lasting, and knowing not change--it walketh with Truth and Sincerity.

Love:--what a volume in a word, an ocean in a tear, A seventh heaven in a glance, a whirlwind in a sigh, The lightning in a touch, a millennium in a moment, What concentrated joy or woe in blest or blighted love! For it is that native poetry springing up indigenous to Mind, The heart's own-country music thrilling all its chords, The story without an end that angels throng to hear, The word, the king of words, carved on Jehovah's heart! Go, call thou snake-eyed malice mercy, call envy honest praise, Count selfish craft for wisdom, and coward treachery for prudence, Do homage to blaspheming unbelief as to bold and free philosophy, And estimate the recklessness of license as the right attribute of liberty,-- But with the world, thou friend and scholar, stain not this pure name; Nor suffer the majesty of Love to be likened to the meanness of desire: For love is no more such, than seraphs' hymns are discord, And such is no more Love, than Etna's breath is summer.

Love is a sweet idolatry enslaving all the soul, A mighty spiritual force, warring with the dulness of matter, An angel-mind breathed into a mortal, though fallen yet how beautiful! All the devotion of the heart in all its depth and grandeur. Behold that pale geranium, pent within the cottage window; How yearningly it stretcheth to the light its sickly long-stalked leaves, How it straineth upward to the sun, coveting his sweet influences, How real a living sacrifice to the god of all its worship! Such is the soul that loveth; and so the rose-tree of affection Bendeth its every leaf to look on those dear eyes, Its every blushing petal basketh in their light, And all its gladness, all its life, is hanging on their love.

If the love of the heart is blighted, it buddeth not again: If that pleasant song is forgotten, it is to be learnt no more: Yet often will thought look back, and weep over early affection; And the dim notes of that pleasant song will be heard as a reproachful spirit, Moaning in Æolian strains over the desert of the heart, Where the hot siroccos of the world have withered its one oasis.

OF MARRIAGE.

Seek a good wife of thy God, for she is the best gift of His providence; Yet ask not in bold confidence that which He hath not promised: Thou knowest not His good will:--be thy prayer then submissive there-unto; And leave thy petition to His mercy, assured that He will deal well with thee. If thou art to have a wife of thy youth, she is now living on the earth; Therefore think of her, and pray for her weal; yea, though thou hast not seen her. They that love early become like-minded, and the tempter toucheth them not: They grow up leaning on each other, as the olive and the vine. Youth longeth for a kindred spirit, and yearneth for a heart that can commune with his own; He meditateth night and day, doting on the image of his fancy. Take heed that what charmeth thee is real, nor springeth of thine own imagination; And suffer not trifles to win thy love; for a wife is thine unto death. The harp and the voice may thrill thee,--sound may enchant thine ear, But consider thou, the hand will wither, and the sweet notes turn discord: The eye, so brilliant at even, may be red with sorrow in the morning; And the sylph-like form of elegance must writhe in the crampings of pain.

O happy lot, and hallowed, even as the joy of angels, Where the golden chain of godliness is entwined with the roses of love: But beware thou seem not to be holy, to win favour in the eyes of a creature, For the guilt of the hypocrite is deadly, and winneth thee wrath elsewhere. The idol of thy heart is, as thou, a probationary sojourner on earth; Therefore be chary of her soul, for that is the jewel in her casket: Let her be a child of God, that she bring with her a blessing to thy house,-- A blessing above riches, and leading contentment in its train: Let her be an heir of Heaven; so shall she help thee on thy way: For those who are one in faith, fight double-handed against evil. Take heed lest she love thee before God; that she be not an idolater: Yet see thou that she love thee well: for her heart is the heart of woman; And the triple nature of humanity must be bound by a triple chain, For soul and mind and body--godliness, esteem, and affection.

How beautiful is modesty! it winneth upon all beholders: But a word or a glance may destroy the pure love that should have been for thee. Affect not to despise beauty: no one is freed from its dominion; But regard it not a pearl of price:--it is fleeting as the bow in the clouds. If the character within be gentle, it often hath its index in the countenance: The soft smile of a loving face is better than splendour that fadeth quickly. When thou choosest a wife, think not only of thyself, But of those God may give thee of her, that they reproach thee not for their being: See that He hath given her health, lest thou lose her early and weep: See that she springeth of a wholesome stock, that thy little ones perish not before thee: For many a fair skin hath covered a mining disease, And many a laughing cheek been bright with the glare of madness.

Mark the converse of one thou lovest, that it be simple and sincere; For an artful or false woman shall set thy pillow with thorns. Observe her deportment with others, when she thinketh not that thou art nigh, For with thee will the blushes of love conceal the true colour of her mind. Hath she learning? it is good, so that modesty go with it: Hath she wisdom? it is precious, but beware that thou exceed; For woman must be subject, and the true mastery is of the mind. Be joined to thine equal in rank, or the foot of pride will kick at thee; And look not only for riches, lest thou be mated with misery: Marry not without means; for so shouldst thou tempt Providence; But wait not for more than enough; for Marriage is the DUTY of most men: Grievous indeed must be the burden that shall outweigh innocence and health, And a well-assorted marriage hath not many cares. In the day of thy joy consider the poor; thou shall reap a rich harvest of blessing; For these be the pensioners of One who filleth thy cup with pleasures: In the day of thy joy be thankful: He hath well deserved thy praise: Mean and selfish is the heart that seeketh Him only in sorrow. For her sake who leaneth on thine arm, court not the notice of the world, And remember that sober privacy is comelier than public display. If thou marriest, thou art allied unto strangers; see they be not such as shame thee: If thou marriest, thou leavest thine own; see that it be not done in anger.

Bride and bridegroom, pilgrims of life, henceforward to travel together, In this the beginning of your journey, neglect not the favour of Heaven: Let the day of hopes fulfilled be blest by many prayers, And at eventide kneel ye together, that your joy be not unhallowed: Angels that are round you shall be glad, those loving ministers of mercy, And the richest blessings of your God shall be poured on His favoured children. Marriage is a figure and an earnest of holier things unseen, And reverence well becometh the symbol of dignity and glory. Keep thy heart pure, lest thou do dishonour to thy state; Selfishness is base and hateful; but love considereth not itself. The wicked turneth good into evil, for his mind is warped within him; But the heart of the righteous is chaste: his conscience casteth off sin. If thou wilt be loved, render implicit confidence; If thou wouldst not suspect, receive full confidence in turn: For where trust is not reciprocal, the love that trusted withereth. Hide not your grief nor your gladness; be open one with the other; Let bitterness be strange unto your tongues, but sympathy a dweller in your hearts: Imparting halveth the evils, while it doubleth the pleasures of life, But sorrows breed and thicken in the gloomy bosom of Reserve.

Young wife, be not froward, nor forget that modesty becometh thee: If it be discarded now, who will not hold it feigned before? But be not as a timid girl,--there is honour due to thine estate; A matron's modesty is dignified: she blusheth not, neither is she bold. Be kind to the friends of thine husband, for the love they have to him: And gently bear with his infirmities: hast thou no need of his forbearance? Be not always in each other's company; it is often good to be alone; And if there be too much sameness, ye cannot but grow weary of each other: Ye have each a soul to be nourished, and a mind to be taught in wisdom, Therefore, as accountable for time, help one another to improve it. If ye feel love to decline, track out quickly the secret cause; Let it not rankle for a day, but confess and bewail it together: Speedily seek to be reconciled, for love is the life of marriage; And be ye co-partners in triumph, conquering the peevishness of self.

Let no one have thy confidence, O wife, saving thine husband: Have not a friend more intimate, O husband, than thy wife. In the joy of a well-ordered home be warned that this is not your rest; For the substance to come may be forgotten in the present beauty of the shadow. If ye are blessed with children, ye have a fearful pleasure, A deeper care and a higher joy, and the range of your existence is widened: If God in wisdom refuse them, thank Him for an unknown mercy: For how can ye tell if they might be a blessing or a curse? Yet ye may pray, like Hannah, simply dependent on His will: Resignation sweeteneth the cup, but impatience dasheth it with vinegar. Now this is the sum of the matter:--if ye will be happy in marriage, Confide, love, and be patient: be faithful, firm, and holy.

OF EDUCATION.

A babe in a house is a well-spring of pleasure, a messenger of peace and love: A resting place for innocence on earth; a link between angels and men: Yet is it a talent of trust, a loan to be rendered back with interest; A delight, but redolent of care; honey-sweet, but lacking not the bitter. For character groweth day by day, and all things aid it in unfolding, And the bent unto good or evil may be given in the hours of infancy: Scratch the green rind of a sapling, or wantonly twist it in the soil, The scarred and crooked oak will tell of thee for centuries to come; Even so mayst thou guide the mind to good, or lead it to the marrings of evil, For disposition is builded up by the fashioning of first impressions: Wherefore, though the voice of instruction waiteth for the ear of reason, Yet with his mother's milk the young child drinketh Education. Patience is the first great lesson; he may learn it at the breast: And the habit of obedience and trust may be grafted on his mind in the cradle: Hold the little hands in prayer, teach the weak knees their kneeling; Let him see thee speaking to thy God; he will not forget it afterward: When old and grey will he feelingly remember a mother's tender piety, And the touching recollection of her prayers shall arrest the strong man in his sin.

Select not to nurse thy darling one that may taint his innocence, For example is a constant monitor, and good seed will die among the tares. The arts of a strange servant have spoiled a gentle disposition: Mother, let him learn of thy lips, and be nourished at thy breast. Character is mainly moulded by the cast of the minds that surround it: Let then the playmates of thy little one be not other than thy judgment shall approve: For a child is in a new world, and learneth somewhat every moment, His eye is quick to observe, his memory storeth in secret, His ear is greedy of knowledge, and his mind is plastic as soft wax. Beware then that he heareth what is good, that he feedeth not on evil maxims, For the seeds of first instructions are dropped into the deepest furrows. That which immemorial use hath sanctioned, seemeth to be right and true; Therefore, let him never have to recollect the time when good things were strangers to his thought. Strive not to centre in thyself, fond mother, all his love; Nay, do not thou so selfishly, but enlarge his heart for others; Use him to sympathy betimes, that he learn to be sad with the afflicted; And check not a child in his merriment,--should not his morning be sunny? Give him not all his desire, so shalt thou strengthen him in hope; Neither stop with indulgence the fountain of his tears, so shall he fear thy firmness. Above all things graft on him subjection, yea, in the veriest trifle; Courtesy to all, reverence to some, and to thee unanswering obedience.

Read thou first, and well approve, the books thou givest to thy child; But remember the weakness of his thought, and that wisdom for him must be diluted: In the honied waters of infant tales, let him taste the strong wine of truth: Pathetic stories soften the heart; but legends of terror breed midnight misery; Fairy fictions cram the mind with folly, and knowledge of evil tempteth to like evil: Be not loth to curb imagination, nor be fearful that truths will depress it; And for evil, he will learn it soon enough; be not thou the devil's envoy. Induce not precocity of intellect, for so shouldst thou nourish vanity; Neither can a plant, forced in the hot-bed, stand against the frozen breath of winter. The mind is made wealthy by ideas, but the multitude of words is a clogging weight: Therefore be understood in thy teaching, and instruct to the measure of capacity. Analogy is milk for babes, but abstract truths are strong meat; Precepts and rules are repulsive to a child, but happy illustration winneth him: In vain shalt thou preach of industry and prudence, till he learn of the bee and the ant; Dimly will he think of his soul, till the acorn and the chrysalis have taught him; He will fear God in thunder, and worship His loveliness in flowers; And parables shall charm his heart, while doctrines seem dead mystery: Faith shall he learn of the husbandman casting good corn into the soil; And if thou train him to trust thee, he will not withhold his reliance from the Lord. Fearest thou the dark, poor child? I would not have thee left to thy terrors; Darkness is the semblance of evil, and nature regardeth it with dread: Yet know thy father's God is with thee still, to guard thee: It is a simple lesson of dependence; let thy tost mind anchor upon Him. Did a sudden noise affright thee? lo, this or that hath caused it: Things undefined are full of dread, and stagger stouter nerves. The seeds of misery and madness have been sowed in the nights of infancy; Therefore be careful that ghastly fears be not the night companions of thy child.

Lo, thou art a landmark on a hill; thy little ones copy thee in all things: Let, then, thy religion be perfect: so shalt thou be honoured in thy house. Be instructed in all wisdom, and communicate that thou knowest, Otherwise thy learning is hidden, and thus thou seemest unwise. A sluggard hath no respect; an epicure commandeth not reverence; Meanness is always despicable, and folly provoketh contempt. Those parents are best honoured whose characters best deserve it; Show me a child undutiful, I shall know where to look for a foolish father: Never hath a father done his duty, and lived to be despised of his son: But how can that son reverence an example he dare not follow? Should he imitate thee in thine evil? his scorn is thy rebuke. Nay, but bring him up aright, in obedience to God and to thee; Begin betimes, lest thou fail of his fear; and with judgment, that thou lose not his love: Herein use good discretion, and govern not all alike, Yet, perhaps, the fault will be in thee, if kindness prove not all sufficient: By kindness, the wolf and the zebra become docile as the spaniel and the horse; The kite feedeth with the starling, under the law of kindness: That law shall tame the fiercest, bring down the battlements of pride, Cherish the weak, control the strong, and win the fearful spirit. Be obeyed when thou commandest; but command not often: Let thy carriage be the gentleness of love, not the stern front of tyranny. Make not one child a warning to another; but chide the offender apart: For self-conceit and wounded pride rankle like poisons in the soul. A mild rebuke in the season of calmness, is better than a rod in the heat of passion; Nevertheless, spare not, if thy word hath passed for punishment; Let not thy child see thee humbled, nor learn to think thee false; Suffer none to reprove thee before him, and reprove not thine own purposes by change; Yet speedily turn thou again, and reward him where thou canst, For kind encouragement in good cutteth at the roots of evil.

Drive not a timid infant from his home, in the early spring-time of his life, Commit not that treasure to an hireling, nor wrench the young heart's fibres: In his helplessness leave him not alone, a stranger among strange children, Where affection longeth for thy love, counting the dreary hours; Where religion is made a terror, and innocence weepeth unheard; Where oppression grindeth without remedy, and cruelty delighteth in smiting. Wherefore comply with an evil fashion? Is it not to spare thee trouble? Can he gather no knowledge at thy mouth? Wilt thou yield thine honour to another? What can he gain in learning, to equal what he loseth in innocence? Alas! for the price above gold, by which such learning cometh! For emulative pride and envy are the specious idols of the diligent, Oaths and foul-mouthed sin burn in the language of the idle: Bolder in that mimic world of boys stareth brazen-fronted vice, Than thereafter in the haunts of men, where society doth shame her into corners. My soul, look well around thee, ere thou give thy timid infant unto sorrows. There be many that say, We were happiest in days long past, When our deepest care was an ill-conned book, And when we sported in that merry sunshine of our life, Sadness a stranger to the heart, and cheerfulness its gay inhabitant. True, ye are now less pure, and therefore are more wretched: But have ye quite forgotten how sorely ye travailed at your tasks, How childish griefs and disappointments bowed down the childish mind? How sorrow sat upon your pillow, and terror hath waked you up betimes, Dreading the strict hand of justice, that would not wait for a reason, Or the whims of petty tyrants, children like yourselves, Or the pestilent extract of evil poured into the ear of innocence? Behold the coral island, fresh from the floor of the Atlantic, It is dinted by every ripple, and a soft wave can smooth its surface; But soon its substance hardeneth in the winds and tropic sun, And weakly the foaming billows break against its adamantine wall: Even thus, though sin and care dash upon the firmness of manhood, The timid child is wasted most by his petty troubles; And seldom, when life is mature, and the strength proportioned to the burden, Will the feeling mind, that can remember, acknowledge to deeper anguish, Than when, as a stranger and a little one, the heart first ached with anxiety, And the sprouting buds of sensibility were bruised by the harshness of a school. My soul, look well around thee, ere thou give thine infant unto sorrows. Yet there be boisterous tempers, stout nerves, and stubborn hearts, And there is a riper season, when the mind is well disciplined in good, And a time, when youth may be bettered by the wholesome occasions of knowledge, Which rarely will he meet with so well, as among the congregation of his fellows. Only for infancy, fond mother, rend not those first affections; Only for the sensitive and timorous, consign not thy darling unto misery.

A man looketh on his little one, as a being of better hope; In himself ambition is dead, but it hath a resurrection in his son: That vein is yet untried,--and who can tell if it be not golden? While his, well nigh worked out, never yielded aught but lead: And thus is he hurt more sorely, if his wishes are defeated there, He has staked his all upon a throw, and lo! the dice have foiled him. All ways, and at all times, men follow on in flocks, And the rife epidemic of the day shall tincture the stream of education. Fashion is a foolish watcher posted at the tree of knowledge, Who plucketh its unripe fruit to pelt away the birds; But, for its golden apples,--they dry upon the boughs, And few have the courage or the wisdom to eat in spite of fashion. One while, the fever is to learn, what none will be wiser for knowing, Exploded errors in extinct tongues, and occasions for their use are small; And the bright morning of life, for years of misspent time, Wasted in following sounds, hath tracked up little sense, Till at noon a man is thrown upon the world, with a mind expert in trifles, Having yet everything to learn that can make him good or useful: The curious spirit of youth is crammed with unwholesome garbage, While starving for the mother's milk the breasts of nature yield; And high-coloured fables of depravity lure with their classic varnish, While truth is holding out in vain her mirror much despised.

Of olden time, the fashion was for arms, to make an accomplished slayer, And set gregarious man a-tilting with his fellows; Thereafter, occult sciences, and mystic arts, and symbols, How to exorcise a wizard, and how to lay a ghost; Anon, all for gallantry and presence, the minuet, the palfrey, and the foil, And the grand aim of education was to produce a coxcomb; Soon came scholastical dispute with hydra-headed argument, And the true philosophy of mind confounded in a labyrinth of words; Then the Pantheon, and its orgies, initiating docile childhood, While diligent youth strove hard to render his all unto Cæsar; And now is seen the passion for utility, when all things are accounted by their price, And the wisdom of the wise is busied in hatching golden eggs: Perchance, not many moons to come, and all will again be for abstrusity, Unravelling the figured veil that hideth Egypt's gods; Or in those strange Avatars seeking benignant Vishnu, Kali, and Kamala the fair, and much invoked Ganesa.

The mines of knowledge are oft laid bare through the forked hazel wand of chance, And in a mountain of quartz we find a grain of gold. Of a truth, it were well to know all things, and to learn them all at once, And what, though mortal insufficiency attain to small knowledge of any? Man loveth exclusions, delighting in the sterile trodden path, While the broad green meadow is jewelled with wild flowers: And whether is it better with the many to follow a beaten track, Or by eccentric wanderings to cull unheeded sweets?

When his reason yieldeth fruit, make thy child thy friend; For a filial friend is a double gain, a diamond set in gold. As an infant, thy mandate was enough, but now let him see thy reasons; Confide in him, but with discretion: and bend a willing ear to his questions. More to thee than to all beside, let him owe good counsel and good guidance; Let him feel his pursuits have an interest, more to thee than to all beside. Watch his native capacities; nourish that which suiteth him the readiest; And cultivate early those good inclinations wherein thou fearest he is most lacking: Is he phlegmatic and desponding? let small successes comfort his hope: Is he obstinate and sanguine? let petty crosses accustom him to life: Showeth he a sordid spirit? be quick, and teach him generosity: Inclineth he to liberal excess? prove to him how hard it is to earn. Gather to thy hearth such friends as are worthy of honour and attention; For the company a man chooseth is a visible index of his heart: But let not the pastor whom thou hearest be too much a familiar in thy house, For thy children may see his infirmities, and learn to cavil at his teaching. It is well to take hold on occasions, and render indirect instruction; It is better to teach upon a system, and reap the wisdom of books: The history of nations yieldeth grand outlines: of persons, minute details: Poetry is polish to the mind, and high abstractions cleanse it. Consider the station of thy son, and breed him to his fortune with judgment: The rich may profit in much which would bring small advantage to the poor. But with all thy care for thy son, with all thy strivings for his welfare, Expect disappointment, and look for pain: for he is of an evil stock, and will grieve thee.

OF TOLERANCE.

A wise man in a crowded street winneth his way with gentleness, Nor rudely pusheth aside the stranger that standeth in his path; He knoweth that blind hurry will but hinder, stirring up contention against him, Yet holdeth he steadily right on, with his face to the scope of his pursuit: Even so, in the congress of opinions, the bustling highway of intelligence, Each man should ask of his neighbour, and yield to him again, concession. Terms ill-defined, and forms misunderstood, and customs, where their reasons are unknown, Have stirred up many zealous souls to fight against imaginary giants: But wisdom will hear the matter out, and often, by keenness of perception, Will find in strange disguise the precious truth he seeketh; So he leaveth unto prejudice or taste the garb and the manner of her presence, Content to see so nigh the mistress of his love. There is no similitude in nature that owneth not also to a difference, Yea, no two berries are alike, though twins upon one stem; No drop in the ocean, no pebble on the beach, no leaf in the forest, hath its counterpart, No mind in its dwelling of mortality, no spirit in the world unseen: And therefore, since capacity and essence differ alike with accident, None but a bigot partizan will hope for impossible unity. Wilt thou ensue peace, nor buffet with the waters of contention, Wilt thou be counted wise and gain the love of men, Let unobtruded error escape the frown of censure, Nor lift the glass of truth alway before thy fellows: I say not, compromise the right, I would not have thee countenance the wrong, But hear with charitable heart the reasons of an honest judgment; For thou also hast erred, and knowest not when thou art most right, Nor whether to-morrow's wisdom may not prove thee simple to-day: Perchance thou art chiding in another what once thou wast thyself; Perchance thou sharply reprovest what thou wilt be hereafter. A man that can render a reason, is a man worthy of an answer; But he that argueth for victory, deserveth not the tenderness of Truth.

Whiles a man liveth he may mend: count not thy brother reprobate; When he is dead his chance is gone: remember not his faults in bitterness. A man, till he dieth, is immortal in thy sight; and then he is as nothing: Make not the living thy foe, nor take weak vengeance of the dead. For life is as a game of chess, where least causeth greatest, And an ill move bringeth loss, and a pawn may ensure victory. Dost thou suspect? seek out certainty: for now, by self-inflicted pain, Or ill-directed wrath, thou wrongest thyself or thy neighbour: Suspicion is an early lesson, taught in the school of experience, Neither shalt thou easily unlearn it, though charity ply thee with her preaching; Yet look thou well for reasons, or ever mistrust hath marred thee, Or fear curdled thy blood, or jealousy goaded thee to madness; For a look, or a word, or an act, may be taken well or ill As construed by the latitude of love, or the closeness of cold suspicion.

Better is the wrong with sincerity, rather than the right with falsehood: And a prudent man will not lay siege to the stronghold of ignorant bigotry. To unsettle a weak mind were an easy inglorious triumph, And a strong cause taketh little count of the worthless suffrage of a fool: Lightly he held to the wrong, loosely will he cling to the right; Weakness is the essence of his mind, and the reed cannot yield an acorn. Dogged obstinacy is oftentimes the buttress that proppeth an unstable spirit, But a candid man blusheth not to own, he is wiser to-day than yesterday. A man of a little wisdom is a sage among fools; But himself is chief among the fools, if he look for admiration from them. A heresy is an evil thing, for its shame is its pride: Its necessary difference of error is the character it most esteemeth: Give a man all things short of liberty, thou shalt have no thanks, And little wilt thou speed with thine opponent, by proving points he will concede. The tost sand darkeneth the waves; and clear had been the pages of truth, Had not the glosses of men obscured the simplicity of faith. In all things consider thine own ignorance, and gladly take occasion to be taught; But suffer not excess of liberality to neutralize thy mental independence.

The faults and follies of most men make their deaths a gain: But thou also art a man, full of faults and follies: Therefore sorrow for the dead, or none shall weep for thee, For the measure of charity thou dealest, shall be poured into thine own bosom. That which vexeth thee now, provoking thee to hate thy brother, Bear with it; the annoyance passeth, and may not return for ever: The same combinations and results which aggravate thy soul to-day, May not meet again for centuries in the kaleidoscope of circumstance; For men and matters change, new elements mixing in continually, And, as with chemical magic, the sour is transmuted into sweetness: A little explained, a little endured, a little passed over as a foible, And lo, the jagged atoms fit like smooth mosaic. Thou canst not shape another's mind to suit thine own body, Think not, then, to be furnishing his brain with thy special notions. Charity walketh with a high step, and stumbleth not at a trifle: Charity hath keen eyes, but the lashes half conceal them: Charity is praised of all, and fear not thou that praise, God will not love thee less, because men love thee more.

OF SORROW.

I said, I will seek out Sorrow, and minister the balm of pity; So I sought her in the house of mourning; but peace followed in her train. Then I marked her brooding silently in the gloomy cavern of Regret; But a sunbeam of heavenly hope gleamed on her folded wing. So I turned to the cabin of the poor, where famine dwelt with disease: But the bed of the sick was smoothed, and the ploughman whistled at his labour. So I stopt, and mused within myself, to remember where Sorrow dwelt, For I sought to see her alone, uncomforted, uncompanioned. I went to the prison, but penitence was there, and promise of better times; I listened at the madman's cell, but it echoed with deluded laughter. Then I turned me to the rich and noble; I noted the sons of fashion: A smile was on the languid cheek, that had no commerce with the heart; Unhallowed thoughts, like fires, gleamed from the window of the eye; And sorrow lived with those whose pleasures add unto their sins.

His infancy wanted not guilt; his life was continued evil: He drew in pride with his mother's milk, and a father's lips taught him cursing. I marked him as the wayward boy; I traced the dissolute youth: I saw him betray the innocent, and sacrifice affection to his lust; I saw him the companion of knaves, and a squanderer of ill-got gain; I heard him curse his own misery, while he hugged the chains that galled him: For well had experience declared the bitterness of guilty pleasure, But habit, with its iron net, involved him in its folds. Behind him lowered the thunder-storm, which the caldron of his wickedness had brewed; Before him was the smooth steep cliff, whose base is ruin and despair. So he rushed madly on, and tried to forget his being: The noisy revel and the low debauch, and fierce excitement of play, With dreary interchange of palling pleasures, filled the dull round of existence: Memory was to him as a foe, so he flew for false solace to the wine-cup, And stunned his enemy at even; but she rent him as a giant in the morning.

I turned aside to weep; I lost him a little while: I looked, and years had past; he was hoar with the winter of his age. And what was now his hope? where was the balm for his sadness? The memory of the past was guilt: the feeling of the present, remorse. Then he set his affections on gold, he worshipped the shrine of Mammon, And to lay richer gifts before his idol, he starved his own bowels; So, the youth spent in profligacy ended in the gripings of want: The miser grudged himself husks to take deeper vengeance of the prodigal. And I said, this is Sorrow, but pity cannot reach it; This is to be wretched indeed, to be guilty without repentance.

OF JOY.

My soul was sickened within me, so I sought the dwelling place of Joy: And I met it not in laughter; I found it not in wealth or power; But I saw it in the pleasant home, where religion smiled upon content, And the satisfied ambition of the heart rejoiced in the favour of its God. Behold the happy man, his face is rayed with pleasure, His thoughts are of calm delight, and none can know his blessedness. I have watched him from his infancy, and seen him in the grasp of death, Yet, never have I noted on his brow the cloud of desponding sorrow. He hath knelt beside his cradle; his mother's hymn lulled him to sleep: In childhood he hath loved holiness, and drank from that fountain-head of peace. Wisdom took him for her scholar, guiding his steps in purity: He lived unpolluted by the world; and his young heart hated sin. But he owned not the spurious religion engendered of faction and moroseness, Neither were the sproutings of his soul seared by the brand of superstition. His love is pure and single, sincere, and knoweth not change; For his manhood hath been blest with the pleasant choice of his youth: Behold his one beloved, she leaneth on his arm, And he looketh on the years that are past, to review the dawn of her affection. Memory is sweet unto him, as a perfect landscape to the sight; Each object is lovely in itself, but the whole is the harmony of nature. Behold his little ones around him, they bask in the warmth of his smile, And infant innocence and joy lighten their happy faces; He is holy, and they honour him: he is loving, and they love him: He is consistent, and they esteem him: he is firm, and they fear him. His friends are the excellent among men; and the bands of their friendship are strong: His house is the palace of peace: for the Prince of Peace is there. As the wearied man to his couch, as the thoughtful man to his musings, Even so, from the bustle of life, he goeth to his well-ordered home. And though he often sin, he returneth with weeping eyes: For he feeleth the mercies of forgiveness, and gloweth with warmer gratitude.

Thus did he walk in happiness, and sorrow was a stranger to his soul; The light of affection sunned his heart, the tear of the grateful bedewed his feet, He put his hand with constancy to good, and angels knew him as a brother, And the busy satellites of evil trembled as at God's ally: He used his wealth as a wise steward, making him friends for futurity: He bent his learning to religion, and religion was with him at the last: For I saw him after many days, when the time of his release was come, And I longed for a congregated world, to behold that dying saint. As the aloe is green and well-liking, till the last best summer of its age, And then hangeth out its golden bells, to mingle glory with corruption; As a meteor travelleth in splendour, but bursteth in dazzling light; Such was the end of the righteous: his death was the sun at its setting.

Look on this picture of joy, and remember that portrait of sorrow: Behold the beauty of holiness, behold the deformity of sin! How long, ye sons of men, will ye scorn the words of wisdom? How long will ye hunt for happiness in the caverns that breed despair? Will ye comfort yourselves in misery, by denying the existence of delight, And from experience in woe, will ye reason that none are happy? Joy is not in your path, for it loveth not that bleak broad road, But its flowers are hung upon the hedges that line a narrower way; And there the faint travellers of earth may wander and gather for themselves, To soothe their wounded hearts with balm from the amaranths of heaven.

ΘΕΩ ΔΟΞΑ

SECOND SERIES.

INTRODUCTORY.

Come again, and greet me as a friend, fellow-pilgrim upon life's highway, Leave awhile the hot and dusty road, to loiter in the greenwood of Reflection. Come unto my cool dim grotto, that is watered by the rivulet of truth, And over whose time-stained rock climb the fairy flowers of content; Here, upon this mossy bank of leisure fling thy load of cares, Taste my simple store, and rest one soothing hour.

Behold, I would count thee for a brother, and commune with thy charitable soul; Though wrapt within the mantle of a prophet, I stand mine own weak scholar. Heed no disciple for a teacher, if knowledge be not found upon his tongue; For vanity and folly were the lessons these lips untaught could give: The precious staple of my merchandise cometh from a better country, The harvest of my reaping sprang of foreign seed: And this poor pensioner of Mercy--should he boast of merit? The grafted stock,--should that be proud of apples not its own? Into the bubbling brook I dip my hermit shell; Man receiveth as a cup, but Wisdom is the river.

Moreover, for this fillagree of fancy, this Oriental garnish of similitude, Alas, the world is old,--and all things old within it: I walk a trodden path, I love the good old ways; Prophets, and priests, and kings have tuned the harp I faintly touch. Truth, in a garment of the past, is my choice and simple theme; No truth is new to-day: and the mantle was another's.

Still, there is an insect swarm, the buzzing cloud of imagery, Mote-like steaming on my sight, and thronging my reluctant mind; The memories of studious culling, and multiplied analogies of nature, Fresh feelings unrepressed, welling from the heart spontaneous, Facts, and comparisons, and meditative atoms, gathered on the heap of combination, Mingle in the fashion of my speech with gossamer dreams of Reverie. I need not beat the underwood for game; my pheasants flock upon the lawn, And gamboling hares disport fearless in my dewy field; I roam no heath-empurpled hills, wearily watching for a covey, But thoughts fly swift to my decoy, eager to be caught; I sit no quiet angler, lingering patiently for sport, But spread my nets for a draught, and take the glittering shoal; I chase no solitary stag, tracking it with breathless toil, But hunt with Aurung-zebe, and spear surrounded thousands.

What then,--count ye this a boast?--sweet charity, think it other, For the dog-fish and poisonous ray are captured in the mullet-haul: The crane and the kite are of my thoughts, alike with the partridge and the quail, And unclean meats as of the clean hang upon my Seric shambles. --How saith he? shall a man deceive, dressing up his jackal as a lion? Or colour in staid hues of fact the changing vest of falsehood?-- Brother, unwittingly he may; doubtless, unwillingly he doth: For men are full of fault, and how should he be righteous? Carefully my garden hath been weeded, yet shall it be foul with thistle; My grapery is diligently thinned, and yet many berries will be sour: From my nets have I flung the bad away, to my small skill and caution; Yet may some slimy snake have counted for an eel. The rudder of Man's best hope cannot always steer himself from error; The arrow of Man's straightest aim flieth short of truth. Thus, the confession of sincerity visit not as if it were presumption: Nor own me for a leader, where thy reason is not guide.

OF CHEERFULNESS.

Take courage, prisoner of time, for there be many comforts, Cease thy labour in the pit, and bask awhile with truants in the sun; Be cheerful, man of care, for great is the multitude of chances, Burst thy fetters of anxiety, and walk among the citizens of ease: Wherefore dost thou doubt? if present good is round thee, It may be well to look for change, but to trust in a continuance is better; Whilst, at the crisis of adversity, to hope for some amends were wisdom, And cheerfully to bear thy cross in patient strength is duty. I speak of common troubles, and the petty plagues of life, The phantom-spies of Unbelief, that lurk about his outposts: Sharp suspicion, dull distrust, and sullen stern moroseness Are captains in that locust swarm to lead the cloudy host. Thou hast need of fortitude and faith, for the adversaries come on thickly, And he that fled hath added wings to his pursuing foes; Fight them, and the cravens flee; thy boldness is their panic; Fear them, and thy treacherous heart hath lent the ranks a legion: Among their shouts of victory resoundeth the wail of Heraclitus, While Democrite, confident and cheerful, hath plucked up the standard of their camp.

Not few nor light are the burdens of life; then load it not with heaviness of spirit; Sicknesses, and penury, and travail,--there be real ills enow: We are wandering benighted, with a waning moon; plunge not rashly into jungles, Where cold and poisonous damps will quench the torch of hope: The tide is strong against us; good oarsmen, pull or perish,-- If your arms be slack for fear, ye shall not stem the torrent. A wise traveller goeth on cheerily, through fair weather or foul; He knoweth that his journey must be sped, so he carrieth his sunshine with him. Calamities come not as a curse,--nor prosperity for other than a trial; Struggle,--thou art better for the strife, and the very energy shall hearten thee. Good is taught in a Spartan school,--hard lessons and a rough discipline; But evil cometh idly of itself, in the luxury of Capuan holidays: And Wisdom will go bravely forth to meet the chastening scourge, Enduring with a thankful heart that punishment of Love.

There be three chief rivers of despondency: sin, sorrow, fear; Sin is the deepest, sorrow hath its shallows, and fear is a noisy rapid: But even to the darkest holes in guilt's profoundest river Hope can pierce with quickening ray, and all those depths are lightened. So long as there is mercy in a God, hope is the privilege of creatures, And so soon as there is penitence in creatures, that hope is exalted into duty. Verily, consider this for courage; that the fearful and the unbelieving Are classed with idolaters and liars, because they trusted not in God: For it is none other than selfish sin, a hard and proud ingratitude, Where seeming repentance is herald of despair, instead of hope's forerunner.

Moreover, in thy day of grief,--for friends, or fame, or fortune, Well I wot the heart shall ache, and mind be numbed in torpor; Let nature weep; leave her alone; the freshet of her sorrow must run off; And sooner will the lake be clear, relieved of turbid floodings. Yet see that her license hath a limit; with the novelty her agony is over; Hasten in that earliest calm, to tie her in the leash with Reason. For regrets are an enervating folly, and the season for energy is come, Yea rather, that the future may repair with diligence the ruins of the past.

Again, for empty fears, the harassings of possible calamity, Pray, and thou shalt prosper; trust in God, and tread them down. Yield to the phantasy,--thou sinnest; resist it, He will aid thee: Out of Him there is no help, nor any sober courage. Feeble is the comfort of the faithless, a man without a God; Who dare counsel such an one to fling away his fears? Fear is the heritage of him, a portion wise and merciful, To drive the trembler into safety, if haply he may turn and flee: Nevertheless, let him reckon an he will, that all be counteth casual May as well be for him as against him; dice have many sides: And, even as in ailments of the body, diseases follow closely upon dreads, So, with infirmities of mind, is fear the pallid harbinger of failure. It were wise to walk undaunted even in an accidental chaos, For the brave man is at peace, and free to get the mastery of circumstance. The stoutest armour of defence is that which is worn within the bosom, And the weapon that no enemy can parry, is a bold and cheerful spirit: Catapults in old war worked like Titans, crushing foes with rocks; So doth a strong-springed heart throw back every load on its assailants.

I went heavily for cares, and fell into the trance of sorrow; And behold, a vision in my trance, and my ministering angel brought it. There stood a mountain huge and steep, the awful Rock of Ages; The sun upon its summit, and storms midway, and deep ravines at foot. And, as I looked, a dense black cloud, suddenly dropping from the thunder, Filled, like a cataract with yeasty foam, a narrow smiling valley: Close and hard that vaporous mass seemed to press the ground, And lamentable sounds came up, as of some that were smothering beneath. Then, as I walked upon the mountain, clear in summer's noon, For charity I called aloud, Ho! climb up hither to the sunshine. And even like a stream of light my voice had pierced the mist; I saw below two families of men, and knew their names of old: Courage, struggling through the darkness, stout of heart and gladsome, Ran up the shining ladder which the voice of Hope had made; And tripping lightly by his side, a sweet-eyed helpmate with him, I looked upon her face to welcome pleasant Cheerfulness; And a babe was cradled in her bosom, a laughing little prattler, The child of Cheerfulness and Courage,--could his name be other than Success? So, from his happy wife, when they both stood beside me on the mountain, The fond father took that babe, and set him on his shoulder in the sunshine.

Again I peered into the valley, for I heard a gasping moan, A desolate weak cry, as muffled in the vapours. So down that crystal shaft into the poisonous mine I sped for charity to seek and save,--and those I sought fled from me. At length, I spied, far distant, a trembling withered dwarf Who crouched beneath the cloak of a tall and spectral mourner: Then I knew Cowardice and Gloom, and followed them on in darkness, Guided by their rustling robes and moans and muffled cries, Until in a suffocating pit the wretched pair had perished,-- And lo, their whitening bones were shaping out an epitaph of Failure.

So I saw that despondency was death, and flung my burdens from me, And, lightened by that effort, I was raised above the world; Yea, in the strangeness of my vision, I seemed to soar on wings, And the names they called my wings were Cheerfulness and Wisdom.

OF YESTERDAY.