We cannot live alone. The heart must have
A prop without, or it will fall and break.
But nature’s common joys are common cheats.
As he who sails southwards, beholds, each night,
New constellations rise, all dear, and fair;
So, o’er the waters of the world, as we
Reach the mid zone of life, or go beyond,
Beauty and bounty still beset our course;
New beauties wait upon as every where;
New lights enlighten and new worlds attract.
Bat I have seen and I have done with all.
Friendship hath passed me like a ship at sea;
And I have seen no more of it. I had
A friend with whom, in boyhood, I was wont
To learn, think, laugh, weep, strive, and love, together;
For we were alway rivals in all things—
Together up high springy hills, to trace
A runnel to its birthplace—to pursue
A river—to search, haunt old ruined towers,
And muse in them—to scale the cloud-clad hills
While thunders murmured in our very ear;
To leap the lair of the live cataract,
And pray its foaming pardon for the insult;
To dare the broken tree-bridge across the stream;
To crouch behind the broad white waterfall,
Tongue of the glen, like to a hidden thought—
Dazzled, and deafened, yet the more delighted;
To reach the rock which makes the fall and pool;
There to fee safe, or not to care if not;
To fling the free loot over my native hills,
Which seemed to breathe the bracing breeze we loved
The more it lifted up our loosened locks,
That nought might be between us and the skies;
Or, hand in hand, leap, laughing, with closed eyes,
In Trent’s death-loving deeps; yet was she kind
Ever to us; and bare us buoyant up,
And followed our young strokes, and cheered us on—
Even as an elder sister bending above
A child, to teach it how to order its feet—
As quick we dashed, in reckless rivalry,
To reach, perchance, some long green floating flag—
Just when the sun’s hot lip first touched the stream,
Reddening to be so kissed; and we rejoiced,
As breasting it on we went over depth and death,
Strong in the naked strife of elements,
Toying with danger in as little fear
As with a maiden’s ringlets. And oft, at night,
Bewildered and bewitched by favorite stars,
We would breathe ourselves amid unfooted snows,
For there is poetry where aught is pure;
Or over the still dark heath, leap along, like harts,
Through the broad moonlight; for we felt where’er
We leapt the golden gorse, or lowly ling,
We could not be from home.—That friend is gone.
There’s the whole universe before our souls.
Where shall we meet next? Shall we meet again?
Oh! might it be in some far happy world,
That I might light upon his lonely soul,
Hard by some broad blue stream, where high the hills,
Wood-bearded, sweep to its brink—musing, as wont,
With love-like sadness, upon sacred things;
For much in youth we loved and mused on them.
To say what ought to be to human wills,
And measure mortals sternly; to explore
The bearings of men’s duties and desires;
To note the nature and the laws of mind;
To balance good with evil; and compare
The nature and necessity of each;
To long to see the ends and end of things;
Or, if no end there be, the endless, then,
As suns look into space; these were our joys—
Our hopes—our meditations—our attempts.
And, if I have enjoyed more love than others,
It is but superior suffering, and is more
Than balanced by the loss of one we love.
And love, itself, hath passed. One fond fair girl
Remains; one only, and she loves me still.
But it is not love I feel: it is pore kindness.
How shall I find another like my last?
The golden and the gorgeous loveliness—
A sunset beauty! Ah! I saw it set.
My heart, alas! set with it. I have drained
Life of all love, as doth an iron rod
The Heaven’s of lightning; I have done with it,
And all its waking woes, and dreamed-of joys.
No more shall beauty star the air I live in;
And no more will I wake at dead of night,
And hearken to the roaring of the wind,
As though it came to carry one away—
Claiming for sin. Ah! I am lost forever.
To earn the world’s delights by equal sins.
Seems the great aim of life—the aim succeeds.
Here it is madness, and perdition there.
And, but for thee, I had renounced these joys—
These cursed joys my soul now writhes among,
Like to a half-crushed reptile on a rose:—
Ay, but for thee, I might have now been happy!
Why charge, why wrong me thus? When first I knew thee,
I deemed it thine ambition to be damned.
Thine every thought, almost, had gone from good,
As far as finite is from infinite;
And then thou wast as near to me as now.
Thou hadst declined in worship, and in wish
To please thy God; nor wouldst thou e’er repent.
What more need I to justify attempt?
Have I shrunk back from granting aught I promised?
Thy love of knowledge—is that satisfied?
It is. Yet knowledge is a doubtful boon—
Root of all good and fruit of all that’s bad.
I have caused face to face with elements,
Yea, learned the luminous language of the skies,
And the angelic kindred of high Heaven;
The bright articulations of all spheres—
Impetuous hearted orbs, and mountain-maned,
Aye circling onwards breathless through the air—
And wisest stars which speak themselves in signs
Too sacred to be explicable here;
And now what better am I?—nearer God?
When the void finds a voice mine answer know.
What better or what worse thou canst not tell.
For, good and evil! Wherein differ they?
Do they not both accrue from the same cause—
As ripeness and decay? Light, light alone
Of hues, how contrary soever, is
The common cause.
Distracter of God’s truth!
Shall not His word suffice the living world?
Thou canst not have lacked joys?
We seek them oft
Among our own delusions, pains and follies.
Hath not care perished from thy heart, as did
The viper flung from the apostle’s hand?
Ay; and, like that, all care will cease in fire.
Dark wretched thoughts like ice-isles in a stream,
Choke up my mind and clash;—and to no end.
In spite of all we suffer and enjoy,
There comes this question, over and over again,
Driven into the brain as a pile is driven—
What shall become of us hereafter? what
Is it we
