OF THE UNIVERSITY OF \ / POEM DELIVERED BEFORE THE SOCIETY OF UNITED BROTHERS, AT BROWN UNIVERSITY, ON THE DAY PRKCEPINO COMMENCEMENT, SEPTEMBER 6, 1831. WITH OTHER POEMS. BY N. P. WILLIS. Jlcto^lPmrfc : PUBLISHED BY J. & J. HARPER, NO. 62 CLIFF-STREET. -OLD BY THK PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS THROUGHOUT THE UNITKP STATKS. 1831. Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and thirty- one, by J. Sf J. Harper, in the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New-York. TO ONfc- Of WHOM, IN TBI8 MOMENT Of DEPARTURE KOR A FOREIGN LAND, I TUINK, SADLY AND ONLY TO MY MOTHER, THW VOLUME 18, WITH TDK DEEPEST AFFECTION OF HER 8O, FONDLY AMD RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. fV POEM DELIVERED BEFORE THE SOCIETY OF UNITED BROTHERS, AT BROWN UNIVERSITY, Cotnm-ne.wnnf, S,*. 6, 1811, BIT K. P. WILLIS. P O E M IP in the eyes that rest upon me now I see the light of an immortal fire If in the awe of concentrated thought, The solemn presence of a multitude Breathing together, the instinctive mind Acknowledges aright a type of God If every soul that from its chambers dim Answers this summons, be a deathless spark Lit to outburn the ever constant stars, Then is the ruling spirit of tliis hour Compell d from Heaven, and if the soaring minds Usher d this day upon an untried flight Stoop not their courses, we are met to cheer Spirits of light sprung freslily on their way. 8 POEM. How strangely certain is the human mind. Godlike and gifted as it is, to err! It wakes within a frame of various powers, A stranger in a new and wondrous world. It brings an instinct from some other sphere, For its fine senses are familiar all, And, with th unconscious habit of a dream, It calls, and they obey. The priceless sight Springs to its curious organ, and the ear Learns strangely to detect the articulate air In its unseen divisions, and the tongue Gets its miraculous lesson with the rest, And in the midst of an obedient throng Of well-trained ministers, the mind goes forth To search the secrets of a new-found home. Its infancy is full of hope and joy. Knowledge is sweet, and Nature is a nurse Gentle and holy; and the light and air, And all things common, warm it like the sun. And ripen the eternal seed within. And so its youth glides on ; and still it seems A heavenward spirit, straying oftentimes, But never widely; and if Death might come And ravish it from earth as it is now, We could almost believe that it would mount. P O K M . t Spotless and radiant, from the v.-ry ( j Hut manhood conic-, and in iis IHK.UU >iis Another spirit. Stranger as it 960000] It is familiar there-, for it ha< irroxvn In the, unsearrh d recesses all unseen, Or if its shadow darkened the bright doors, "Txvas smiled upon and irently driven in; And as the spider and tin; honey-bee Feed on the same bright flownv. this mockinu soul Fed with its purer brother, and grew strong, Till now, in semblance of the soul itself, With its own mim and sceptre, and a voice Sweet as an angel s and as full of power, It sits, a bold usurper on the throne. What is. its nature? Tis a child of clay, And born of human passions. In its train Follow all things unholy Love of Gold, Ambition, Pleasure, Pride of place or name, All that we worship for itself alone, ^% All that we may not carry through the grave. We have made idols of these perishing things Till they have grown time-honored on their shrines, And all men bow to them. Yet what are they? What is AMBITION? Tis a glorious cheat! Angels of light walk not so dazzlingly The sapphire walls of Heaven. The unsearch d mine 10 POEM. Hath not such gems. Earth s constellated thrones Have not such pomp of purple and of gold. It hath no features. In its face is set A mirror, and the gazer sees his own. It looks a god, but it is like himself ! It hath a mien of empery, and smiles Majestically sweet but how like him ! It follows not with Fortune. It is seen Rarely or never in the rich man s hall. It seeks the chamber of the gifted boy, And lifts his humble window, and comes in. The narrow walls expand, and spread away Into a kingly palace, and the roof Lifts to the sky, and unseen fingers work The ceilings with rich blazonry, and write His name in burning letters over all. And ever, as he shuts his wildered eyes, The phantom comes and lays upon his lids A spell that murders sleep, and in his ear Whispers a deathless word, and on his brain Breathes a fierce thirst no water will allay. He is its slave henceforth ! His days are spent In chaining down his heart, and watching where To rise by human weaknesses. His nights Bring him no rest in all their blessed hours. His kindred are forgotten or estranged. POKM. II Unhealtlifnl fins luirn constant in \\\< <-\v. His lip grows restless, and its smile is mil d Half into scorn till the bright, liny t>oy, That was a daily blessing but to see, His spirit was so bird-like and so pure, Is frozen, in the very flush of youth, Into a cold, care-fretted, heartless man ! And what is its reward ? At best, a name ! Praise when the ear has grown too dull to hear ; Gold when the senses it should please are dead ; Wreaths when the hair they cover has grown gray ; Fame when the heart it should have thrilfd is numb : All things but love when love is all we want, And close behind comes Death, and ere we know That even these unavailing gifts are ours, He sends us, stripp d and naked, to the grave ! Is it its own reward ? Reply to it Every aspiring heart within these Avails I Summon the shadows of those bitter hours Wasted in brooding on neglect ! Recall The burning tears wrung from a throbbing brain By a proud effort foil d; and after all These agonies are number d, rack your heart Back to its own self-nurtur d wretchedness, 12 POEM. And when the pangs are crowded into one Of all life s scorpion-stings, and Death itself Is sent or stayed, as it would bless or curse, Tell me if self-misgiving torture not Unutterably more ! Yet this is all ! The world has no such glorious phantom else. The spirit that could slave itself to Gold Hath never drunk of knowledge at the well. And Pleasure, if the senses would expand And multiply with using, might delude The flesh-imprisoned fancy but not long. And earthly Love if measured, is too tame And if it drink, as in proud hearts it will, At the deep springs of life, is but a cloud Brooding with nameless sorrow on the soul A sadness a sick-heartedness a tear ! And these are the high idols of this world ! Retreating shadows caught but at the grave Mocking delusions, changing at the touch Of one false spirit the false children all. And yet, what godlike gifts neglected lie Wasting and marr d in the forgotten soul ! The finest workmanship of God is there. Tis fleeter than the wings of light and wind ; POEM. I ;; Tis subtler than the rare.-t shape of air; l- iiv and wind and water do iis \\ill : Ma rlh has no secret from its deli. -ale eye ; The air no alrhyiuy it solveth not ; The >tar- \\ril Heavens an- read and understood, And every sparry mineral hath a name. And truth is recogniz d, and beauty felt, And God s own image stamp d upon its brow. How is it so forgotten ? Will it live When the great firmament is rolled away? Hath it a voice forever audible, " I AM ETERNAL !" Can it overcome This mocking passion-fiend, and even here Live like a seraph upon truth and light I How can we ever be the slaves we are, With a sweet angel sitting in our breasts ! 1 low can we creep so lowly, when our wings Tremble and plead for freedom ! Look at him Who reads aright the image on his soul, And gives it nurture like a child of light. His life is calm and blessed, for his peace, Like a rich pearl beyond the diver s km, Lies deep in his own bosom. He is pure, For the soul s errands are not done with men. 14 POEM. His senses are subdued and serve the soul. He feels no void, for every faculty Is used, and the fine balance of desire Is perfect, and strains evenly, and on. Content dwells with him, for his mind is fed, And Temperance has driven out unrest. He heaps no gold. It cannot buy him more Of any tiling he needs. The air of Heaven Visits no freshlier the rick man s brow ; He has his portion of each silver star Sent to his eye as freely, and the light Of the blest sun pours on his book as clear As on the golden missal of a king. The spicy flowers are free to him ; the swar< And tender moss, and matted forest leaves Are as elastic to his weary feet ; The pictures in the fountains, and beneath The spreading trees, fine pencilings of light, Stay while he gazes on them ; the bright birds Know not that he is poor ; and as he comes From his low roof at morn, up goes the lark Mounting and singing to the gate of Heaven, And merrily away the little brook Trips with its feet of silver, and a voice Almost articulate, of perfect joy. Air to his forehead, water to his lips, Ural to liis ll(xxl, roinc just as faithfully. And his own families as fnvly play. Love fills his voice with musir, and the tear Springs at as light a bidding to his eye; And his free limbs obey him. and his sight Flies on its wondrous errands every where. What does he need ? Next to the works of God His friends are the rapt sages of old time ; And they impart their wisdom to his soul In lavish fulness, when and where he will. He sits in his mean dwelling and communes With Socrates and Plato, and the shades Of all great men and holy, and the words Written in fire by Milton, and the King Of Israel, and the troop of glorious bards, Ravish and steal his soul up to the sky And what is it to him, if these come in And visit him, that at his humble door There are no pillars with rich capitals And walls of curious workmanship within ? I stand not here in Wisdom s sacred stole. My lips have not been touch d with holy fire. An humbler office than a counsellor Of human duties, and an humbler place 16 POEM. Would better grace my knowledge and my years, I would not seem presuming. Yet have I Mingled a little in this earnest world. And staked upon its chances, and have learned Truths that I never gather d from my books. And though the lessons they have taught me seem Things of the wayside to the practised man^ It is a wisdom by much wandering learned; And if but one young spirit bend its wing More in the eye of Heaven because it knew The erring courses that bewildered mine, I have not suffered, nor shall teach in vain. It is a lesson oftener learned than loved All knowledge is not nourishment. The mind May pine upon its food. In reckless thirst The scholar sometimes kneels beside the stream Polluted by the lepers of the mind. The sceptic, with his doubts of all things good And faith in all things evil, has been there ; And, as the stream was mingled, he has strown The shore with all bright flowers to tempt the eye, And sloped the banks down gently for the feet ; And Genius, like a fallen child of light, Has filled the place with magic, and compell d Most beautiful creations into forms POI 17 And images of license, and they conn 1 And tempt you with bewildering <jra-e ID kneel And drink of the, wild waters; and Iteliind Stand the strong IV- ion-, pleading to o- in; And the approving \VDrld look- .-ilml mi: Till the pleased mind ron-pire< a >;iin-i it-elf. And finds a subtle reason \vhv ti- -J-MM|. We are deceived, though, even as we, drink, We taste the evil. In hi- <\\e,-ir-i ion. The lying Tempter whispers in our ear. "Tho it may sldin. twill .N-//V u jtlu n your proud winirs ; And in the wild ambition of the soul We drink anew, and dream like Lucifer To mount upon our daring draught to Heaven. I need not follow the similitude. Health is vitality, and if the mind Is fed on poison, it must !<>-.> its power. The vision that forever strains to err Soon finds its task a habit; and the ta-ie That will own nothing true or beautiful Soon finds the world distorted as itself; And the loose mind, that feed- an appetite For the enticements of licentious thought. Contracts a leprosy that oversteals Its senses, like a palsy, chill, and fust. 18 POEM. The soul must be in health to keep its powers* It must lie open to the influences Of all things pure and simple. Like a flower "Within a stifled chamber, it will droop If hidden from the pleasant sun and air ; And every delicate fibre must have room To quicken and extend, and more than all, The stream that gives it moisture must be pure. Another lesson with my manhood came. I have unlearned contempt. It is the sin That is engender d earliest in the soul, And doth beset it like a poison-worm, Feeding on all its beauty. As it steals Into the bosom you may see the light Of the clear, heavenly eye grow cold and dim, And the fine, upright glory of the brow Cloud with mistrust, and the unfettcr d lip, That was as free and changeful as the wind, Even in sadness redolent of love, Curl d with the iciness of a constant scorn. It eats into the mind till it pollutes All its pure fountains. Feeling, reason, taste Breathe of its chill corruption. Every sense That could convey a pleasure is benumb d, And the bright human being, that was made Full of all warm jilliviions, and with jnmer To look throuirh all tiling lo\rly up to God, Is changed into a cold and doubting iirnd, With but one use for reason to despise ! Oh if there is one law above the rest Written in wisdom if there is a word That I would trace as with a pen of lire Upon the unsunn d temper of a child If there is any thing that keeps the mind Open to angel visits, and repels The ministry of ill tis human love! God has made nothing worthy of contempt. The smallest pebble in the well of truth Has its peculiar meaning, and will stand When man s best monuments have passed away. The law of Heaven is love and though its name ; Has been usurp d by passion, and profaned To its unholy uses through all time, Still, the eternal principle is pure ; And in these deep affections that we feel Omnipotent within us, we but see The lavish measure in which love is given, And in the yearning tenderness of a child For every bird that sings above his head, And every creature feeding on the hills, 20 POEM. And every tree, and flower, and running brook, We see how every thing was made to love, And how they err, who, in a world like this, Find any thing to hate but human pride ! Oh, if we are not bitterly deceived If this familiar spirit that communes With yours this hour that has the power to search All things but its own compass is a spark Struck from the burning essence of its God If, as we dream, in every radiant star We see a shining gate through which the soul, In its degrees of being, will ascend If, when these weary organs drop away, We shall forget their uses, and commune With angels and each other, as the stars Mingle their light, in silence and in love Wliat is this fleshly fetter of a day That we should bind it with immortal flowers ! How, do we ever gaze upon the sky, And watch the lark soar up till he is lost, And turn to our poor perishing dreams away, Without one tear for our imprisoned wings ! THE DYING ALCIIYMIST. THE night-wind with a desolate moan swept by. And the old shutters of the turret swung Screaming upon their hinges, and the moon, As the torn edges of the clouds flew past, Struggled aslant the stained and broken panes So dimly, that the watchful eye of death Scarcely was conscious when it went and came. ******* The fire beneath his crucible was low; Yet still it burned, and ever as his thoughts Grew insupportable, he raised himself Upon his wasted arm, and stirred the coals With difficult energy, and when the rod Fell from his nerveless fingers, and his eye Felt faint within its socket, he shrunk back Upon his pallet, and with unclosed lips 22 THE DYING ALCHYMIST. Muttered a curse on death ! The silent room From its dim corners mockingly gave back His rattling breath ; the humming in the fire Had the distinctness of a knell, and when Duly the antique horologe beat one, He drew a phial from beneath his head, And drank. . And instantly his lips compressed, And with a shudder in his skeleton frame, He rose with supernatural strength, and sat Upright, and communed with himself: I did not think to die Till I had finished what I had to do; I thought to pierce th 3 eternal secret through With this my mortal eye; I felt Oh God ! it seemeth even now This cannot be the death-dew on my brow. And yet it is I feel Of this dull sickness at my heart afraid ; And in my eyes the death-sparks flash and fade; And something seems to steal Over my bosom like a frozen hand, Binding its pulses with an icy band. TIM DYING M< ITYMIST. - And this H drnth! Out why Peel I this wild recoil? Jt eammi IIP Th immortal spirit shuddrrcth to be free! Would it not leap to fly, Like a chained eaglet at its parent s call . I fear I fear that this poor life is all ! Yet thus to pass away ! To live hut for a hope that mocks at last To agonize, to strive, to watch, to fast, To waste the light of day, Night s better beauty, feeling, fancy, thought, All that we have and are for this for nought ! Grant me another year, God of my spirit ! but a day to win Something to satisfy this thirst within ! I would know something here ! Break for me but one seal that is unbroken ! Speak for me but one word that is unspoken ! Vain vain ! my brain is turning With a swift dizziness, and my heart grows sick, And these hot temple-throbs come fast and thick, 24 THE DYING ALCHYMIST. And I am freezing burning Dying! Oh God! if I might only live! My phial Ha ! it thrills me I revive. ******* Ay were not man to die He were too glorious for this narrow sphere. Had he but time to brood on knowledge here Could he but train his eye Might he but wait the mystic word and hour Only his Maker would transcend his power ! Earth has no mineral strange Th illimitable air no hidden wings Water no quality in its covert springs. And fire no power to change Seasons no mystery, and stars no spell, Which the unwasting soul might not compel. Oh, but for time to track The upper stars into the pathless sky- To see th invisible spirits, eye to eye To hurl the lightning back To tread unhurt the sea s dim-lighted halls To chase Day s chariot to the horizon walls Tin: nvixr, Ai.ru YMIST. 25 And more, much more for now The life-sealed fountains of my natmv move To nurse and purify tins Inn nan love To clear the god-like brow Of weakness and mistrust, and bow it down, Worthy and beautiful, to the much-loved one This were indeed to fn-1 The soul-thirst slakeii at the living stream- To live Oh God ! that life is but a dream! And death Aha ! I reel- Dim dim I faint darkness comes o er my eye Cover me ! save me ! God of Heaven ! I die ! Twas morning, and the old man lay alone No friend had closed his eyelids, and his lips, Open and ashy pale, th expression wore Of his death-struggle. His long silvery hair Lay on his hollow temples thin and wild. His frame was wasted, and his features wan And haggard as with want, and in his palm His nails were driven deep, as if the throe Of the last agony had wrung him sore. The storm was raging still. The shutters swung Screaming as harshly in the fitful wind, 26 THE DYING ALCHYMIST. And all without went on as aye it will Sunshine or tempest, reckless that a heart Is breaking, or has broken in its change. The fire beneath the crucible was out ; The vessels of his mystic art lay round, Useless and cold as the ambitious hand That fashioned them, and the small silver rod, Familiar to his touch for threescore years, Lay on th alembic s rim, as if it still Might vex the elements at its master s will. And thus had passed from its unequal frame A soul of fire a sun-bent eagle stricken From his high soaring down an instrument Broken with its own compass. He was born Taller than he might walk beneath the stars, And with a spirit tempered like a god s, He was sent blindfold on a path of light, And turn d aside and perished ! Oh how poor Seems the rich gift of genius, when it lies, Like the adventurous bird that hath out-flown His strength upon the sea, ambition-wrecked A thing the thrush might pity, as she sits Brooding in quiet on her lowly nest. TIIK LKl KK. " ROOM for the leper! Room!" And as he came The cry passed on " Room for the leper! Room!" Sunr M- WQB -lantinir on the < ity gates 1J..~\ ;iiul heaiiiiful. and from the hills The early risen poor were coming in Duly and cheerfully to their toil, and up Uo-f the sharp hammer s clink, and the far hum Of mo\inir whivls and multitudes astir, And all that in a city murmur swells, Unheard hut hy the watcher - \\- aiy ear, Aching with night s dull silence, or the sick Hailing the welcome light, and sounds that chase The death-like images of the dark away. " Room for the leper! 5 And aside they stood Matron, and child, and pitiless manhood all 28 THE LEPER. Who met him on his way and let him pass. And onward through the open gate he came, A leper with the ashes on his brow, Sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip A covering, stepping painfully and slow. And with a difficult utterance, like one Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down. Crying " Unclean ! Unclean ! " Twas now the depth Of the Judean summer, and the leaves Whose shadows lay so still upon his path, Had budded on the clear and flashing eye Of Judah s loftiest noble. He was young, And eminently beautiful, and life Mantled in eloquent fulness on his lip, And sparkled in his glance, and in his mien There was a gracious pride that every eye Followed with benisons and this was he ! With the soft airs of Summer there had come A torpor on his frame, which not the speed Of his best barb, nor music, nor the blast Of the bold huntsman s horn, nor aught that stirs The spirit to its bent, might drive away. The blood beat not as wont within his veins; Dimness crept o er his eye ; a drowsy sloth THI: Fettered his liniln like pal-v. and ]\\< port. \Viih all its loftinc . SIM-MUM! -truck with eld. Even his voice was changed a languid moan Taking the place of the drar. -ilvn ! And brain and sense grew faint, as if the lii^lit, And very air, were steeped in sluggishness. He strove with it awhile, as manhood will, Ever too proud for weakness, till the rein Slackened within his grasp, and in its poise The arrowy jereed like an aspen shook. Day after day he lay as if in sleep. His skin grew dry and bloodless, and white scales Circled with livid purple, covered him. And then his nails grew black, and fell away From the dull flesh about them, and the hues Deepened beneath the hard unmoistened scales, And from their edges grew the rank white hair, And Helon was a leper ! Day was breaking AVhen at the altar of the temple stood The holy priest of God. The incense lamp Burned with a struggling light, and a low chant Swelled through the hollow arches of the roof Like an articulate wail, and there, alone, Wasted to ghastly thinness, Helon knelt. 30 THE LEPER. The echoes of the melancholy strain Died in the distant aisles, and he rose up. Struggling with weakness, and bowed down his head Unto the sprinkled ashes, and put off His costly raiment for the leper s garb, And with the sackcloth round him, and his lip Hid in a loathsome covering, stood still Waiting to hear his doom: Depart! depart, O child Of Israel, from the temple of thy God, For He has smote thee with his chastening rod, And to the desert wild From all thou lov st away thy feet must flee, That from thy plague His people may be free. Depart ! and come not near The busy mart, the crowded city, more ; Nor set thy foot a human threshold o er : And stay thou not to hear Voices that call thee in the way; and fly From all who in the wilderness pass by. Wet not thy burning lip In streams that to a human dwelling glide ; Nor rest thee where the covert fountains hide, rn i. i.i ri. . Nor kneel thv dn\\ ii i. dip Tlir water where the pilgrim bnids to drink. By desert well, or river s grassy brink. And | LI thou not tetween The weary traveller and the cooling lu <</.>. And lie not down to sleep beneath tln trees Where human Hacks are seen; Nor milk the goat thai lro\\vrih on the plain. Nor pluck the standing corn, or yellow grain. And now depart ! and when Thy heart is heavy, and thine eyes are dim, Lift up thy prayer beseechingly to Him Who, from the tribes of men, Selected thee to feel his chastening rod Depart ! O leper ! and forget not God ! And he went forth alone ! not one of all The many whom he loved, nor she whose name Was woven in the fibres of the heart Breaking within him now, to come and speak Comfort unto him. Yea he went his way. Sick and heart-broken, and alone to die ! For God had cursed the leper! 31 32 THE LEPER. It was noon. And Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow, Hot with the burning leprosy, and touched The loathsome water to his fevered lips, Praying that he might be so blest to die! Footsteps approached, and with no strength to flee, He drew the covering closer on his lip, Crying " Unclean! Unclean !" and in the folds Of the coarse sackcloth shrouding up his face, He fell upon the earth till they should pass. Nearer the stranger came, and bending o er The leper s prostrate form, pronounced his name. " Helon ! " the voice was like the master-tone Of a rich instrument most strangely sweet ; And the dull pulses of disease awoke, And for a moment beat beneath the hot And leprous scales with a restoring thrill. " Helon ! arise ! " and he forgot his curse, And rose and stood before him. Love and awe Mingled in the regard of Helen s eye As he beheld the stranger. He was not In costly raiment clad, nor on his brow The symbol of a princely lineage wore; i m: i.r.rr. u. No followers at hi- hack, nor in his hand Buckler, or sword, or s|x>ar- -yet in hi- mini Command sat throned lemae, and if he smiled, A kiii-jlv conde.-ivn-ion :iracrd liis lip-. The lion would have crouched to in hi- lair. His garb was simple, and his sandal- worn; His stature modelled with a perfect grace ; His countenance, the impress of a God, Touched with the open innocence of a child; His eye was hlue and calm, as is the sky In the sercnest noon; hi* hair unshorn Fell to his shoulders; and his curling beard The fulness of perfected manhood bore. He looked on Helon earnestly awhile, As if his heart was moved, and stooping down He took a little water in his hand And laid it on his brow, and said. - He clean!" And lo! the scales fell from him, and his blood Coursed with delicious coolness through his \eiiH. And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow The dewy softness of an infant s stole. His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down Prostrate at Jesus feet, and worshipped him. PARRHASIUS. " Parrhasius, a painter of Athens, amongst those Olynthian captives Philip of Macedon brought home to sell, bought one very old man j and when he had him at his house, put him to death with extreme torture and torment, the better, by his example, to express the pains and passions of his Prome theus, whom he was then about to paint." Burton s Anat. of Mel. THERE stood an unsold captive in the mart, A gray-haired and majestical old man, Chained to a pillar. It was almost night, And the last seller from his place had gone, And not a sound was heard but of a dog Crunching beneath the stall a refuse bone, Or the dull echo from the pavement rung As the faint captive changed his weary feet. He had stood there since morning, and had borne From every eye in Athens the cold gaze Of curious scorn. The Jew had taunted him For an Olynthian slave. The buyer came And roughly struck his palm upon his breast, 1 A K R II AS I TS. 35 And touched his unhealed wounds, and with a sneer Passed on. and when, with weariness o erspent, He bowed his head in a ioi^vtl ul >!<<}>. Th inhuman soldier smote him, and witli threats Of torture to his children summoned hack The ebbing blood into his pallid face. Twas evening, and the half descended sun Tipped with a golden fire the many domes Of Athens, and a yellow atmosphere Lay rich and dusky in the shaded street Through which the captive gazed. He had borne up With a stout heart that long and weary day, Haughtily patient of his many wrongs, But now he was alone, and from his nerves The needless strength departed, and he leaned Prone on his massy chain, and let his thoughts Throng on him as they would. Unmarked of him, Parrhasius at the nearest pillar stood, Gazing upon his grief. Th Athenian s cheek Flushed as he measured with a painter s eye The moving picture. The abandon d limbs, Stained with the oozing blood, were laced with veins Swollen to purple fulness; the gray hair, Tliin and disordered, hung about his eyes, And as a thought of wilder bitterness 36 PARRHASIUS. Rose in his memory, his lips grew white. And the fast workings of his bloodless face Told what a tooth of fire was at his heart. ****** The golden light into the painter s room Streamed richly, and the hidden colors stole From the dark pictures radiantly forth, And in the soft and dewy atmosphere Like forms and landscapes magical they lay. The walls were hung with armor, and about In the dim corners stood the sculptured forms Of Cytheris, and Dian, and stern Jove, And from the casement soberly away Fell the grotesque long shadows, full and true, And, like a veil of filmy mellowness, The lint-specks floated in the twilight air. Parrhasius stood, gazing forgetfully Upon his canvass. There Prometheus lay, Chained to the cold rocks of Mount Caucasus, The vulture at his vitals, and the links Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh, And as the painter s mind felt through the dim, Rapt mystery, and plucked the shadows wild Forth with its reaching fancy, and with form And color clad them, his fine, earnest eye, PARRHA8IU8. 3 Flashed with a passionate fire, and the quick curl Of his thin nostril, and his quivering lip Were like the winged God s, hreathing from his flight. " Bring me the captive now ! My hand feels skilful, and the shadows lift From my waked spirit airily and swift, And I could paint the bow Upon the bended heavens around me play Colors of such divinity to-day. Ha ! bind him on his back ! Look ! as Prometheus in my picture here Quick or he faints ! stand with the cordial near ! Now bend him to the rack ! Press down the poison d links into his flesh ! And tear agape that healing wound afresh ! So let him writhe ! How long Will he live thus? Quick, my good pencil, now! What a fine agony works upon his brow ! Ha ! gray-haired, and so strong ! How fearfully he stifles that short moan ! Gods ! if I could but paint a dying groan ! 38 PARRHASIUS. "Pity" thee! Soldo! I pity the dumb victim at the altar But does the robed priest for his pity falter? I d rack thee though I knew A thousand lives were perishing in thine What were ten thousand to a fame like mine? " Hereafter ! " Ay hereafter! A whip to keep a coward to his track ! What gave Death ever from his kingdom back To check the sceptic s laughter? Come from the grave to-morrow with that story. And I may take some softer path to glory. No, no, old man ! we die Ev n as the flowers, and we shall breathe away Our life upon the chance wind, ev n as they Strain well thy fainting eye For when that bloodshot quivering is o er, The light of heaven will never reach thee more. Yet there s a deathless name ! A spirit that the smothering vault shall spurn, And like a steadfast planet mount and burn ] A KU ii \sirs. > And though its crown of tl.unc (Consumed my bruin to ashes as it won me By all the fiery stars! I d pluck it on me! Ay though it bid me rifle My heart s last fount for its insatiate thirst Though every life-strung nerve be maddened first Though it should bid me stiile The yearning in my throat for my sweet child, And taunt its mother till my brain went wild All I would do it all Sooner than die, like a dull worm, to rot Thrust foully into the earth to be forgot Oh Heavens but I appal Your heart, old man ! forgive ha ! on your lives Let him not faint! rack him till he revives! Vain vain give o er. His eye Glazes apace. He does not feel you now Stand back ! I ll paint the death-dew on his brow ! Gods ! if he do not die But for one moment one till I eclipse Conception with the scorn of those calm lips ! 40 PARRHASIUS. Shivering ! Hark ! he mutters Brokenly now- that was a difficult breath Another? Wilt thou never come, oh, Death! Look ! how his temple flutters ! Is his heart still? Aha! lift up his head ! He shudders gasps Jove help him so he s dead." ##***** How like a mountain devil in the heart Rules the unreined ambition ! Let it once But play the monarch, and its haughty brow Glows with a beauty that bewilders thought And unthrones peace forever. Putting on The very pomp of Lucifer, it turns The heart to ashes, and with not a spring Left in the desert for the spirit s lip, We look upon our splendor and forget The thirst of which we perish ! Yet hath life Many a falser idol. There are hopes Promising well, and love-touch d dreams for some, And passions, many a wild one, and fair schemes For gold and pleasure yet will only this Balk not the soul Ambition only gives Even of bitterness a beaker full! Friendship is but a slow-awaking dream, Broken at best Love is a lamp unseen Burning to waste, or if its light is found, PAKRHASli 11 Nursed for an idle hour, then idly broken Gain is a grovelling care, and Folly tin--. And Quiet is a hunger never led And from Love s very bosom, and from ( lain Or Folly, or a Friend, or from Repose From all but keen Ambition, will the soul Snatch the first moment of forgetfulness To wander like a resile child away. Oh, if there were not better hopes than these Were there no palm beyond a feverish fame If the proud wealth flung back upon the heart Must canker in its coffers if the links Treachery-broken, will unite no more If the deep-yearning love that hath not found Its like in the cold world must waste in tears If truth and fervor and devotcdness Finding no worthy altar, must return And die with their own fulness if beyond The grave there is no Heaven in whose wide air The spirit may find room, and in the love Of whose bright habitants the lavish heart May spend itself what ihrin -mocked fools are ice! THE WIFE S APPEAL. HE sat and read. A book with golden clasps, Printed in Florence, lettered as with jet Set upon pearl, lay raised upon a frame Before him, Twas a volume of old time; And in it were fine mysteries of the stars Solved with a cunning wisdom, and strange thoughts, Half prophecy, half poetry, and dreams Clearer than truth and speculations wild That touched the secrets of your very soul, They were so based on Nature. With a face Glowing with thought, he pored upon the book. The cushions of an Indian loom lay soft Beneath his limbs, and, as he turned the page, The sunlight, streaming through the curtain s fold. Fell on his jewelled fingers tinct with rose, And the rich woods of the quaint furniture Lay deepenin<_r their \eined color- in the .-int. And the stained marhle< on their pedesials Stood like a silent, company Voltaire, \Viih an infernal -neer upon his lips, And Socrates, with godlike human love Stamped on his countenance, and orators Of times gone hy that made them, and old bank And Mediccan Venus, half divine. Around the room were -helves of dainty lore, And rich old pictures hung ujxm the walls Where the slant light fell on them, and cased gems, Medallions, rare mosaic?, and antiques From Herculaneum the niches rilled. And on a table of enamel, wrought With a lost art in Italy, there lay Prints of fair women, and engravings queer, And a new poem, and a costly toy, And in their midst a ma. i\e lamp of hroii/e Burning sweet spiers constantly. Asleep Upon the carpet couched a graceful hound Of a rare breed, and as his master gave A murmur of delight at some sweet line, He raised his slender head, and kept his eye Upon him till the plea-ant smile had passed From his mild lips, and then he slept again 44 The light beyond the crimson folds grew dusk, And the clear letters of the pleasant book Mingled and blurred, and the lithe hound rose up, And with his earnest eye upon the door, Listened attentively. It came as wont The fall of a light foot upon the stair And the fond animal sprang out to meet His mistress, and caress the ungloved hand He seemed to know was beautiful. She stooped Gracefully down and touched his silken ears As she passed in then, with a tenderness, Half playful and half serious, she knelt Upon the ottoman, and pressed her lips Upon her husband s forehead. ##**#* She rose and put the curtain folds aside From the high window, and looked out upon The shining stars in silence. " Look they not Like Paradises to thine eye," he said But as he spoke a tear fell through the light, And starting from his seat he folded her Close to his heart, and with unsteady voice Asked if she was not happy. A faint smile Broke through her tears ; and pushing off the hair From his fine forehead, she held back his head With her white hand, and <jay.iii _r >ii hi.- la< (ia\e to her heart free ntieranre: Happy? yes, dearest blest Beyond the limit of my wildest dream Too bright, indeed, my blessing < \- i eem; There lives not in my breast One of Hope s proi n i-i s by Ln\<> mikcpt, And yet forgive me, Ernest I have wept. How shall I speak of sadii And seem not thankless to my God and thee? How can the lighie>t \vi-h hut -eem to be The very whim of madness? Yet, oh, there is a boon thy love beside And I will ask it of thee in my pride ! List, while my boldness lingers ! If thou hadst won yon twinkling star to hear thee If thou couldst bid the rainbow s curve bend near thee If thou couldst charm thy fingers To weave for thee the Sunset s tent of gold Wouldst in thine own heart treasure it untold? 46 . If thou hadst Ariel s gift, To course the veined metals of the earth If thou couldst wind a fountain to its birth If thou couldst know the drift Of the lost cloud that sailed into the sky- Would st keep it for thine own unanswered eye? It is thy life and mine ! Thou in thyself, and I in thee, misprison Gifts like a circle of bright stars unrisen For thou, whose mind should shine Eminent as a planet s light, art here Moved with the starting of a woman s tear ! I have told o er thy powers In secret, as a miser tells his*gold. I know thy spirit calm, and true, and bold I ve watched thy lightest hours, And seen thee, in the wildest flush of youth, Touch d with the instinct ravishment of truth. Thou hast the secret strange To read that hidden book, the human heart Thou hast the ready writer s practised art in WIFE S uppBAi ir Tlimi ha~t Hi.. ilioiiLilit tn ran-v Tin- hro;idi><t riivlrs Intrll.vi hath ran And thou art Gin! - h.-^t. work -an honest man! \ml yet thou slumbercst here Like a caged bird that never knew its pinions, And others track in glory the dnniin Where thou hast not thy j>eer Srtiinir tln-ir \\rak.-r ryr- mil., tlir sun. And plucking honor that thou slmuldsi liavc WtHL Oh, if thon lovM.-i me ever, Ernest, my husband ! If th idolatry That lets go heaven to fling its all on thee If to dismiss thee nevrr In dream or pray-r. ha\> given me aught to claim Heed me oh. hood me! and awake to Fame! Her lips < !.-. d with an earnest sweetness, and she sat Gazing into his eyes as if her look Searched their dark orbs for answer. The warm blood Into his temples mounted, and across His countenance the flush of passionate thoughts Passed with irresolute quickness. He rose up And paced the dim room rapidly awhile, 48 THE WIFE S APPEAL. Calming his troubled mind, and then he came And laid his hand upon her forehead white, And in a voice of heavenly tenderness Answered her : Before I knew thee, Mary, Ambition was my angel. I did hear Forever its witched voices in mine ear My days were visionary, My nights were like the slumbers of the mad, And every dream swept o er me glory-clad. I read the burning letters Of warlike pomp, on History s page, alone I counted nothing the struck widow s moan I heard no clank of fetters I only felt the trumpet s stirring blast, And lean-eyed Famine stalked unchallenged past. I heard, with veins of lightning, The utterance of the Statesman s word of power Binding and loosing nations in an hour But while my eye was brightening, A masked detraction breathed upon his fame, And a cursed serpent slimed his written name. TIM: WIFE S \ri-r.\i. The Poet rapt ruin.- With th<> tran^ioi-iin- IIIIMC that he SCffig, \\ith fibres iron i his lit.- In- 1\ iv he strun And bathed the \\orld in i- And then he turned away to muse apart, And Scorn Stole alter liini and broke hi- li-;irt ! Yet here and there I saw One who did set the world at calm defiance, And press right onward with a lxld reliance; And he did seem to a\ve The very Shadows pressing on hi- !< -i. And, with a rflODg hfurt. h-ld himself at rest. And then I looked again, And he had shut the door upon tin- crowd. And on hi- tare In; lay and groaned aloud- Wrestling with hidden pain: And in her chamber sat IIH will- in i-;irs, And his sweet babes grew sad with whi-p<-ivd f-;ir-. And so I turned si.-k-hmrtrd From the bright cup sway, and in my pftdnen Searched mine own Inborn for some spring dfgiftdiMBl And lo! a fountain stnit .1 50 Whose waters ev n in death flow calm and fast. And my wild fever-thirst was slaked at last. And then I met thee, Mary, And felt how love may into fulness pour, Like light into a fountain running o er ; And I did hope to vary My life but with surprises sweet as this A dream, but for thy waking, filled with bliss. Yet now I feel my spirit Bitterly stirred, and nay, lift up thy brow ! It is thine own voice echoing to thee now, And thou didst pray to hear it I must unto my work and my stern hours ! Take from my room thy harp, and books, and flowers ! ****** * * * A year And in his room again he sat alone. His frame had lost its fulness in that time; His handsome features had grown sharp and thin, And from his lips the constant smile had faded. Wild fires had burned the languor from his eye : The lids looked fevered, and the brows were bent With an habitual frown. He was much changed. His chin was resting on his clenched hand, 51 And with his foot he beat upon the floor Unconsciously the time of a sad turn-. Thoughts of the past preyed on him bitterly. He had won power and held it. He had Steadily upward in the eye of Fame, And kept his truth unsullied hut his home Had been invaded by envenomed tongues; His wife his spotless wife had been assailed By slander, and his child had grown afraid Tfrcome to him his manners were so stern. He could not speak beside his own hearth freely. His friends were half estranged, and vulgar men Presumed upon their services and grew Familiar with him. He d small time to sleep, And none to pray; and, with his heart in fetters, He bore deep insults silently, and bowed Respectfully to men who knew he loathed them ! And when his heart was eloquent with truth, And love of country and an honest zeal Burned for expression, he could find no words They would not misinterpret with their lies. What were his many honors to him now? The good half doubted, falsehood was so strong His home was hateful with its cautious fears 1 1 is wife lay trembling on his very breast Frighted with calumny! And this is FAME. THE SCHOLAR OF THEBET BEN CHORAT.* ; Influentia cceli morbum hunc movet, interdum omnibus aliis amotis. Melancthon de anima, cap. dt ftumorifi*. NIGHT in Arabia. An hour agone Pale Dian had descended from the sky, Flinging her cestus out upon the sea, And at their watches now the solemn stars Stood vigilant and lone, and, dead asleep, With not a shadow moving on its breast, The breathing Earth lay in its silver dew, And, trembling on their myriad viewless wings, Th imprisoned odors left the flowers to dream And stole away upon the yielding aii\ * A famous Arabian astrologer, who is said to have spent forty years in dis covering the motion of the eighth sphere. He had a scholar, a young Bedouin Arab, who, with a singular passion for knowledge, abandoned his wandering tribe, and, applying himself too closely to astrology, lost his reason, and died. THK SCHOLAR OF 1 1 1 1 1 HT BEN CIIURAT. 53 Ben Choral s tower .-tinnl- <hado\vy and tall In Mtvra s lom-Iir-L -ireet: and ever there, A\ hen ni jht is at tin; deepest, burn< his lamp As constant as the Cynosure, and forth From his looped window stretch the brazen tubes, Pointing forever at the central star Of that dim nebula just lifting now Over Mount Arafat. The sky to-night Is of a clearer blackness than is wont, And far within its depths the colored stars* Sparkle like L r ems caprieimi< Aniarcst Flu<hinir and paling in the Southern arch. And azure Lyra, like a woman s eye, Burning with soft blue lustre, and auay ( >\ i the desert the bright Polar-star, AVI lite as a flashing icicle, and here, * Even to the naked eye, the stars appear of palpably different colors ; but when viewed with a prismatic j;la>s, ihev may be very accurately > mi., tli.- ml, the vrllow, th<- brilliant while, the .lull whit.-, an.l tin- anoma lous. This is true also of the plain-is, which shine by reflected light, and of course the difference of color must be supposed to arise from their ditlrrcnt powers to absorb and n-l n-ct the rays of the sun. The original composition of the stars, and the ditr. H-nt dispersive powers of their different atmospheres, may be supposed to account also for this phenomenon. | This star exhibits a peculiar quality a rapid and beautiful change in the color of its light ; every alternate twinkling being of an intense reddish crimson color, and the answering one of a brilliant white. 54 THE SCHOLAR OF THEBET BEN CHOKAT. Hung like a lamp above th Arabian sea, Mars with his dusky glow, and, fairer yet, Mild Sirius* tinct with dewy violet, Set like a flower upon the breast of Eve; And in the zenith the sweet Pleiades, t (Alas ! that even a star may pass from heaven And not be missed!) the linked Pleiades Undimmed are there, though from the sister band The fairest has gone down, and South away, Hirundot with its little company, And white-browed Vesta, lamping on her path Lonely and planet-calm, and, all through heaven, Articulate almost, they troop to-night, Like unrobed angels in a prophet s trance. Ben Chorat knelt before his telescope, II Gazing with earnest stillness on the stars. The gray hairs struggling from his turban folds, * When seen with a prismatic glass, Sirius shows a large brush of exceed ingly beautiful violet rays. t The Pleiades are vertical in Arabia. J An Arabic constellation placed instead of the Piscis Australis, because the swallow arrives in Arabia about the time of the heliacal rising of the Fishes. || An anachronism, the author is aware. The telescope was not invented for a century or two after the time of Ben Chorat. Tin: iCHOLAB OF TITI:I;I ;-r BEN CHOKAT. Played with the entering wind upon his cheeks, And on his breast his venerable. Ixjard AViih supernatural whiteness loosely fell. TllC black llesh swelled aliout his sandal tliongs, Tiirht, with his painful posture, and his lean And withered fingers to his knees were clenched. And the thin lashes of his straining eye Lay with unwinking closeness to the lens, Stiffened with tense up-turning. Hour by hour, Till the stars melted in the Hush of morn, The old astrologer knelt moveless there, Ravished past pain with the bewildering spheres, And, hour by hour, with the same patient thought, Pored his pale scholar on the characters Of Chaldee writ, or, as his gaze grew dim AVith weariness, the dark-eyed Arab laid His head upon the window and looked forth I pon the heavens awhile, until the dews And the soft beauty of the silent night Cooled his flushed eyelids, and then patiently He turned unto his constant task again. The sparry glinting of the morning star Shot through the leaves of a majestic palm Fringing Mount Arafat, and, as it caught The eye of the rapt scholar, he arose And clasped the volume with an eager haste, 56 THE SCHOLAR OF THEBET BEN CHORAT. And as the glorious planet mounted on. Melting her way into the upper sky, He breathlessly gazed on her: 1 Star of the silver ray ! Bright as a god, but punctual as a slave What spirit the eternal canon gave That bends thee to thy way? What is the soul that on thine arrowy light Is walking earth and heaven in pride to-night? We know when thou wilt soar Over the mount thy change, and place, and time Tis written in the Chaldee s mystic rhyme As twere a priceless lore ! I knew as much in my Bedouin garb Coursing the desert on my flying barb? How oft amid the tents Upon Sahara s sands I ve walked alone, Waiting all night for thee, resplendent one ! With what magnificence, In the last watches, to my thirsting eye, Thy passionate beauty flushed into the sky ! THE SCHMT. \H <>T- TIIKMKT I .I.N CHOftAT. 57 Oh, God ! how Hew my soul Out to thy glory upward on thy ray Panting as thou asccndest on thy way As if thine own control This searchless spirit that I cannot find J l;ul set its radiant law upon my mind ! More than all stars in heaven I felt thee in my heart ! my love became A frenzy, and consumed me with its flame. Ay in the desert even My dark eyed Ahra coursing at my sid*, The star, not Abra, was my spirit s bride ! My Abra is no more ! My desert-bird is in a stranger s stall My trite, my tent I sacrificed them all For this heart-wasting lore ! Yet than all these the thought is sweeter far Thou wert ascendant at my birth, bright star! The Chaldee calls me thine And in this breast, that I must rend to be A spirit upon wings of light like thee, 58 THE SCHOLAR OF THEBET BEN CHORAT. I feel that thou art mine! Oh, God ! that these dull fetters would give way And let me forth to track thy silver ray ! * * Ben Chorat rose And silently looked forth upon the East. The dawn was stealing up into the sky On its gray feet, the stars grew dim apace, And faded, till the Morning Star alone, Soft as a molten diamond s liquid fire, Burned in the heavens. The morn grew freshlier The upper clouds were faintly touched with gold, The fan-palms rustled in the early air, Daylight spread cool and broadly to the hills, And still the star was visible, and still The young Bedouin with a straining eye Drank its departing light into his soul. It faded melted and the fiery rim Of the clear sun came up, and painfully The passionate scholar pressed upon his eyes His dusky fingers, and with limbs as weak As a sick child s, turned fainting to his couch, And slept. * * It was the morning watch once more. The clouds were drifting rapidly above, THE BCHOLAit >F Tm.ni.T r.r.x <-IUH.VT. 56 And dim and fast the irlimmerin _r -tar- ilevv throiiL h. And a< tin 111 fill irn-t .-oii jhed mournfully. The shutters -hook, and on the -loping iv.nf Plashed heavily larire. single drops of rain And all was -till airain. JVu ( liora; 15y the dim lamp. and. while hi- scholar slept, Pored on the Chaldee wisdom. At his feet, Stretched on a pallet, lay the Arab boy Muttering fast in his unquiet sleep, And workini: his dark fingers in his palms Convulsively. His sallow lips were pale. And, as they moved. \\\< teeth .-lioxved irhastly through, "White as a chamel hone. and. closely drawn Upon his sunken eyes, as if to press Some frightful image from the bloodshot balk His lids a moment quivered, and again Relaxed, half open, in a calmer sleep. Ben Chorat gazed upon the dropping sands Of the departing hour. The last white rrain Fell through, and with the tremulous hand of age The old astrologer reversed the gla . And as the voiceless monitor went on, Wasting and wasting with the precious hour, He looked upon it with a moving lip, 60 THE SCHOLAR OF THEBET BEN CHORAT. And starting turned his gaze upon the heavens. Cursing the clouds impatiently. Tis time! Muttered the dying scholar, and he dashed The tangled hair from his black eyes away, And, seizing on Ben Chorat s mantle folds, He struggled to his feet, and falling prone Upon the window ledge, gazed stedfastly Into the East: c There is a cloud between She sits this instant on the mountain s brow, And that dusk veil hides all her glory now Yet floats she as serene Into the heavens ! Oh, God ! that even so I could o ermount my spirit-cloud, and go! The cloud begins to drift! Aha ! Fling open ! tis the star the sky ! Touch me, immortal mother ! and I fly ! Wider ! thou cloudy rift ! Let through ! such glory should have radiant room ! Let through ! a star-child on its light goes home ! THi: srilul.AU <>r Tlir.HKT I l.N CIIOHAT. 01 Sjicjik to me. brethren bri-jht ! Yc who are floating in tlir-r living beam-! Ye who have come to me in starry dreams! Ye who have winded the liuhl Of our bright mother \\itli its thoughts <>f llamr - (I knew it passed through spirits as it came) Tell me ! what power have ye? What are the heights ye reach upon your wings? What know ye of the myriad wondrous things I perish but to see? Are ye thought-rapid? Can ye fly as far As instant as a thought, from star to star? Where has the Pleiad gone? Where have all missing stars* found light and home? Who bids the Stella Mirat go and come? * Missing stars arc often spoken of in the old books of astronomy. Ilip- parchus mentions one that appeared and vanished very suddenly; and in the beginning of the sixteenth century Kepler discovered a new star near the heel of the right foot of Serpentarius, so bright and sparkling that it exceeded any thing he had ever seen before. He * took notice that it was every mo ment changing into some of the colors of the rainbow, <-.\rept \%h. n it waa near the horizon, when it was generally white. It disappeared the following year, and has not been seen since. f A wonderful star in the neck of the Whale, discovered by Fabricius in the fifteenth century. It appears and disapp .:- Wfl n tunes in MX years, and continues in the greatest lustre for fifteen days together. 62 THE SCHOLAR OF THEBET BEN CHORAT. Why sits the Pole-star lone? And why, like banded sisters, through the air Go in bright troops the constellations fair? Ben Chorat! dost thou mark? The star ! the star ! By heavens ; the cloud drifts o er ! Gone and I live! nay will my heart beat more? Look ! master ! tis all dark ! Not a clear speck in heaven ! my eye-balls smother ! Breakthrough the clouds once more ! oh, starry mother ! I will lie down ! Yet stay ! The rain beats out the odor from the gurns, And strangely soft to-night the spice- wind comes ! I am a child ahvay When it is on my forehead ! Abra sweet ! Would I were in the desert at thy feet ! My barb ! my glorious steed ! Methinks my soul would mount upon its track More fleetly, could I die upon thy back ! How would thy thrilling speed Quicken my pulse ! Oh, Allah ! I get wild ! Would that I were once more a desert-child t Tin: s< in.i.Ai; p TMI:I .KT BEN ciioRAT. i-i! Nay nay T had for My mother! my star-mother! 1 fa ! my hreath Slides! more air! !><-n < horat! this is death Touch me! 1 fed you not! Dying ! Farewell ! good master ! room ! more room ! Abra! I loved thee; star bright star! I come! How idly of the human heart we speak, Giving it gods of clay! How worse than vain Is the school homily, that Eden s fruit I. an not be plucked too freely from l the tree Of good and evil. Wisdom sits alone. Topmost in heaven; she is its light its God ! And in the heart of man she sits as high Though grovelling eyes forget her oftentimes, Seeing but this world s idols. The pure mind Sees her forever; and in youth we come Filled with her sainted ravishment, and kneel, Worshipping God through her sweet altar-fires, And then is knowledge * good. We come too oft. The heart grows proud with fulness, and we soon Look with licentious freedom on the maid Throned in celestial beauty. There she sits, Robed in her soft and seraph loveliness, Instructing and forgiving, and we gaze I "mil desire grows wild, and, with our hands 64 THE SCHOLAR OF THEBET BEN CHORAT. Upon her very garments, are struck down. Blasted with a consuming fire from heaven! Yet, oh, how full of music from her lips Breathe the calm tones of wisdom ! Human praise Is sweet, till envy mars it, and the touch Of new-won gold stirs up the pulses well, And woman s love, if in a beggar s lamp Twould burn, might light us cheerly through the world, But Knowledge hath a far more wildering tongue, And she will stoop and lead you to the stars, And witch you with her mysteries, till gold Is a forgotten dross, and power and fame Toys of an hour, and woman s careless love Light as the breath that breaks it. He who binds His soul to knowledge steals the key of heaven But tis a bitter mockery that the fruit May hang within his reach, and when, with thirst Wrought to a maddening frenzy, he would taste It burns his lips to ashes ! THE HEALING OF THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. FRESHLY the cool breath of the coming eve Stole through the lattice, and the dying girl Felt it upon her forehead. She had lain Since the hot noontide in a breathless trance, Her thin pale fingers clasp d within the hand Of the heart-broken Ruler, and her breast, Like the dead marble, white and motionless. The shadow of a leaf lay on her lips, And as it stirrd with the awakening wind, The dark lids lifted from her languid eyes, And her slight fingers mov d, and heavily She turn d upon her pillow. He was there The same lov d, tireless watcher, and she look d Into his face until her sight grew dim With the fast-filling tears, and, with a sigh Of tremulous weakness murmuring his name, u 66 THE HEALING OF She gently drew his hand upon her lips, And kiss d it as she wept. The old man sunk Upon his knees, and in the drapery Of the rich curtains buried up his face And when the twilight fell, the silken folds Stirr d with his prayer, but the slight hand he held Had ceas d its pressure, and he could not hear In the dead, utter silence, that a breath Came through her nostrils, and her temples gave To his nice touch no pulse, and at her mouth He held the lightest curl that on her neck Lay with a mocking beauty, and his gaze Ach d with its deathly stillness. * * * It was night And softly o er the Sea of Gallilee Danced the breeze-ridden ripples to the shore, Tipp d with the silver sparkles of the moon. The breaking waves play d low upon the beach Their constant music, but the air beside "Was still as starlight, and the Saviour s voice, In its rich cadences unearthly sweet, Seem d like some just born harmony in the air Wak d by the power of wisdom. On a rock, With the broad moonlight falling on his brow, He stood and taught the people. At his feet Tin. i>\r<;irn.K OF j AIKUS. 67 Lay hi- small -vrip. and pilgrim s scallop-shell, And staff, for they had waited by lli< Till he came o er from CJadaivur. and pray d For his wont teachings as he came to land. His hair was parted meekly on his brow, And the long curls from ofi* his shoulders fell As he leaned forward earnestly, and still The same calm cadence, passionless and deep, And in his looks the same mild majesty, And in his mien the sadness mixM with power, Fill d them with love and wonder. Suddenly, As on his words entrancedly they hung, The crowd divided, and among them stood JAIRUS THE RULER. With his flowing robe Gather d in haste about his loins, he came, And fix d his eyes on Jesus. Closer drew The twelve disciples to their master s side, And silently the people shrunk away, And left the haughty Ruler in the midst Alone. A moment longer on the face Of the meek Nazarine he kept his gaze, And as the twelve look d on him, by the light Of the clear moon they saw a glistening tear Steal to his silver beard, and drawing nigh Unto the Saviour s feet, he took the hem Of his coarse mantle, and with trembling haiuU 68 THE HEALING OF Press d it upon his lips, and murmur d low, " Master ! my daughter /" ***** ******* The same silvery light That shone upon the lone rock by the sea, Slept on the Ruler s lofty capitals As at the door he stood, and welcom d in Jesus and his disciples. All was still. The echoing vestibule gave back the slide Of their loose sandals, and the arrowy beam Of moonlight slanting to the marble floor Lay like a spell of silence in the rooms As Jairus led them on. With hushing steps He trod the winding stair, but ere he touched The latchet, from within a whisper came, " Trouble the Master not for she is dead!" And his faint hand fell nerveless at his side And his steps falter d, and his broken voice Chok d in its utterance ; But a gentle hand Was laid upon his arm, and in his ear The Saviour s voice sank thrillingly and low, " She is not dead but sleepeth" They pass d in. The spice-lamps in the alabaster urns Burn d dimly, and the white and fragrant smoke THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRU8. CurFd indolently on the chamber walls. The silken curtain slumbered in their folds Not ev n a tassel stirring in the air And as the Saviour stood heside the bed And pray d inaudibly, the Ruler heard The quickening division of his breath As he grew earnest inwardly. There came A gradual brightness o er his calm sad face, And drawing nearer to the bed, he mov d The silken curtain silently apart And look d upon the maiden. Like a form Of matchless sculpture in her sleep she lay The linen vesture folded on her breast, And over it her white transparent hands, The blood still rosy in their tapering nails. A line of pearl ran through her parted lips, And in her nostrils, spiritually thin, The breathing curve was mockingly like life, And round beneath the faintly tinted skin Ran the light branches of the azure veins And on her cheek the jet lash overlay Matching the arches pencil d on her" brow. Her hair had been unbound, and falling loose Upon the pillow, hid her small round ears 69 70 DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. In curls of glossy blackness, and about Her polished neck, scarce touching it, they hung Like airy shadows floating as they slept. Twas heavenly beautiful. The Saviour rais d Her hand from off her bosom, and spread out The snowy fingers in his palm, and said " Maiden! Arise!" and suddenly a flush Shot o er her forehead, and along her lips And through her cheek the rallied color ran, And the still outline of her graceful form Stirr d in the linen vesture, and she clasp d The Saviour s hand, and fixing her dark eyes Full on his beaming countenance AROSE I TO A CITY PIGEON. STOOP to my window, thou beautiful dove! Thy daily visits have touch d my love. I watch thy coming, and list the note That stirs so low in thy mellow throat, And my joy is high To catch the glance of thy gentle eye. Why dost thou sit on the heated eaves, And forsake the wood with its freshen d leaves ? Why dost thou haunt the sultry street, When the paths of the forest are cool and sweet ? How canst thou bear This noise of people this sultry air? Thou alone of the feather d race Dost look unscared on the human face ; 72 TO A CITY PIGEON. Thou alone, with a wing to flee. Dost love with man in his haunts to be ; And the "the gentle dove" Has become a name for trust and love. It is no light chance. Thou art kept apart, Wisely by Him who has tam d thy heart, To stir the love for the bright and fair That else were seal d in the crowded air ; I sometimes dream Angelic rays from thy pinions stream. Come then, ever, when daylight leaves The page I read, to my humble eaves, And wash thy breast in the hollow spout, And murmur thy low sweet music out, I hear and see Lessons of Heaven, sweet bird, in thee ! ON A PICTURE OF A BEAUTIFUL BOY. A BOY ! yet in his eye you trace The watchfulness of riper years, And tales are in that serious face Of feelings early steep d in tears ; And in that tranquil gaze There lingers many a thought unsaid, Shadows of other days, Whose hours with shapes of beauty came and fled. And sometimes it is even so ! The spirit ripens in the germ; The new-seal d fountains overflow, The bright wings tremble in the worm. The soul detects some passing token, Some emblem, of a brighter world, And, with its shell of clay unbroken, Its shining pinions are unfurFd, 74 ON A PICTURE OF A BEAUTIFUL BOY. And, like a blessed dream. Phantoms, apparrell d from the sky, Athwart its vision gleam, As if the light of Heaven had touch d its gifted eye. } Tis strange how childhood s simple words Interpret Nature s mystic book How it will listen to the birds, Or ponder on the running brook, As if its spirit fed. And strange that we remember not, Who fill its eye, and weave its lot, How lightly it were led Back to the home which it has scarce forgot. ON THE PICTURE OF A "CHILD TIRED OF PLAY." TIRED of play ! Tired of play ! What hast thou done this livelong day? The birds are silent, and so is the bee; The sun is creeping up steeple and tree ; The doves have flown to the sheltering eaves, And the nests are dark with the drooping leaves, Twilight gathers, and day is done How hast thou spent it, beautiful one ! Playing? But what hast thou done beside To tell thy mother at even tide? What promise of morn is left unbroken? What kind word to thy playmate spoken? Whom hast thou pitied, and whom forgiven? How with thy faults has duty striven? What hast thou learned by field and hill, 76 CHILD TIRED OP PLAY. By greenwood path, and by singing rill? There will come an eve to a longer day. That will find thee tired but not of play ! And thou wilt lean, as thou leanest now. With drooping limbs and an aching brow. And wish the shadows would faster creep, And long to go to thy quiet sleep. Well were it then if thine aching brow Were as free from sin and shame as now ! Well for thee, if thy lip could tell A tale like this, of a day spent well. If thine open hand hath reliev d distress- If thy pity hath sprung to wretchedness If thou hast forgiven the sore offence, And humbled thy heart with penitence If Nature s voices have spoken to thee With their holy meanings eloquently If every creature hath won thy love, From the creeping worm to the brooding dove. If never a sad, low-spoken word Hath plead with thy human heart unheard Then, when the night steals on as now, It will bring relief to thine aching brow, And, with joy and peace at the thought of rest, Thou wilt sink to sleep on thy mother s breast.