The heart is some time ere it finds its focus.
And when it does, with the whole light of nature
Strained through it to a hair’s breadth, it but burns
The things beneath it, which it lights to death.
Well, farewell, Mr. Student. May you never
Regret those hours which make the mind, if they
Unmake the body; for the sooner we
Are fit to be all mind, the better. Blest
Is he whose heart is the home of the great dead,
And their great thoughts. Who can mistake great thoughts?
They seize upon the mind—arrest, and search,
And shake it—bow the tall soul as by wind—
Rush over it like rivers over reeds,
Which quaver in the current—turn us cold,
And pale, and voiceless; leaving in the brain
A rocking and a ringing—glorious,
But momentary, madness might it last,
And close the soul with Heaven as with a seal!
In lieu of all these things whose loss thou mournest,
If earnestly or not I know not, use
The great and good and true which ever live,
And are all common to pure eyes and true.
Upon the summit of each mountain-thought
Worship thou God; for Deity is seen
From every elevation of the soul.
Study the Light; attempt the high; seek out
The soul’s bright path; and since the soul is fire
Of heat intelligential, turn it aye
To the all-Fatherly source of light and life;
Piety purifies the soul to see
Perpetual apparitions of all grace
And power, which to the sight of those who dwell
In ignorant sin are never known. Obey
Thy genius, for a minister it is
Unto the throne of Fate. Draw to thy soul,
And centralise the rays which are around
Of the Divinity. Keep thy spirit pure
From worldly taint by the repellant strength
Of virtue. Think on noble thoughts and deeds,
Ever. Count o’er the rosary of truth;
And practice precepts which are proven wise.
It matters not then what thou fearest. Walk
Boldly and wisely in that light thou hast;—
There is a hand above will help thee on.
I am an omnist, and believe in all
Religions—fragments of one golden world
Yet to be relit in its place in Heaven—
For all are relatively true and false,
As evidence and earnest of the heart
To those who practice, or have faith in them.
The absolutely true religion is
In Heaven only, yea in Deity.
But foremost of all studies, let me not
Forget to bid thee learn Christ’s faith by heart.
Study its truths, and practice its behests:
They are the purest, sweetest, peacefullest,
Of all immortal reasons or records:
They will be with thee when all else have gone.
Mind, body, passion, all wear out—not faith,
Nor truth. Keep thy heart cool, or rule its heat
To fixed ends: waste it not upon itself.
Not all the agony of all the damned,
Fused in one pang, vies with that earthquake throb
Which wakens it from waste to let us see
The world rolled by for aye; and that we must
Wait an eternity for our next chance,
Whether it be in Heaven or elsewhere.
Sir,
I will remember this most grave advice,
And think of you with all respect.
Well, mind!
The worst men often give the best advice.
Our deeds are sometimes better than our thoughts.
Commend me, friend, to every one you meet:
I am an universal favourite.
Old men admire me deeply for my beauty,
Young women for my genius and strict virtue,
And young men for my modesty and wisdom.
All turn to me, whenever I speak, full-faced,
As planets to the sun, or owls to a rushlight.
Farewell!
I hope to meet again.
And I.—
Yonder’s a woman singing. Let us hear her.
In the gray church tower
Were the clear bells ringing
When a maiden sat in her lonely bower
Sadly and lowly singing,
And thus she sang, that maiden fair,
Of the soft blue eyes and the long light hair:This hand hath oft been held by one
Who now is far away;
And here I sit and sigh alone
Through all the weary day.
Oh, when will he I love return!
Oh, when shall I forget to mourn!Along the dark and dizzy path
Ambition madly runs,
’Tis there they say his course he hath,
And therefore love he shuns.
Oh, fame and honour bind his brow,
For so he would be with me now!In the gray church tower
Were the dear bells ringing,
When a bounding step in that lonely bower
Broke on the maiden singing;
She turned, she saw; oh, happy fair!
For her love who loved her so well was there!
And we might trust these youths and maidens fair,
The world was made for nothing bat love, love!
Now I think it was made but to be burned.
And if I love not now, while woman is
All bosom to the young, when shall I love?
Who ever paused on passion’s fiery wheel?
Or trembling by the side of her he loved
Whose lightest touch brings all but madness, ever
Stopped coldly short to reckon up his pulse?
The car comes—and we lie—and let it come;
It crushes—kills—what then! It is joy to die.
Enough shall not fool me. I fling the foil
Away. Let me but look on aught which casts
The shadow of a pleasure, and here I bare
A breast which would embrace a bride of fire.
Pleasure—we part not! No! It were easier
To wring God’s lightnings from the grasp of God.
I must be mad; but so is all the world.
Folly. It matters not. What is the world
To me? Nought. I am all things to myself.
If my heart thundered, would the world rock? Well—
Then let the mad world fight its shadow down;
There soon will be nor sun, nor world, nor shadow.
And thou, my blood, my bright red running soul—
Rejoice thou, like a river in thy rapids!
Rejoice—thou wilt never pale with age, nor thin;
But in thy full dark beauty, vein by vein,
Fold by fold, serpent-like, encircling me
Like a stag, sunstruck, top thy bounds and die.
Throb, bubble, sparkle, laugh and leap along!
Make merry while the holidays shall last.
Heart! I could tear thee out, thou fool! thou fool!
And strip thee into shreds upon the wind:
What have I done that thou shouldst serve me thus?
Let us away. We have had enough of this.
The night is glooming on us. It is the hour
When lovers will speak lowly, for the sake
Of being nigh each other; and when love
Shoots up the eye like morning
