"As I was going to the hills early one misty morning, I saw something moving on the mountain side, so strange looking that I took it for a monster; when I came nearer to it, I found it was a man. When I came up to him, I found he was my brother."-ITINERANT PREACHER,
A wanderer once upon the snowy range
Of Himalaya, on one vapoury morn,
I saw, stand on a peak, rugged and torn,
A giant figure, vast, and dim, and strange,
As is the Brocken Spectre: what a change
Came o'er my vision, when the Sun had shorn
The mists away, and I, much nearer borne,
Beheld the golden lights and clouds arrange
Their glory round no Spirit, but a man :
New hopes beat down and banished false alarms;
I longed for converse in that lonely place :
Toward my fellow-creature swift I ran :
My heart leaped up when I beheld his face ;
And lo! I clasped my brother in my arms.
See the use Ovid makes of the effects of distance and approach; Ceyr and Alcyone.-METAM.
"The greatness or smallness of a man is, in the most conclusive sense, determined for him at his birth, as strictly as it is determined for a fruit whether it is to be a currant or an apricot. Education, favourable circumstances, resolution, and industry can do much; in a certain sense they do every thing; that is to say, they determine whether the poor apricot shall fall in the form of a green bead, blighted by the east wind, and be trodden under foot, or whether it shall expand into tender pride, and sweet brightness of golden velvet."-RUSKIN'S Modern Painters,
“ ἔτος φέρει, ουχ ἄρουρα.”—THEOPHRASTUS.
"It is a painful fact, but there is no denying it, the mass are the tools of cir cumstance; thistle down on the breeze, straw on the river, their course is shaped for them by the currents and eddies of the stream of life."-KINGSLEY.
ἄλλ' ὄντε πολλὰ τραυματ' εν στέρνοις λάβων
θνήσκει τις, εἰ μὴ τέρμα συντρέχει βίου,
οὔτ' ἐν στέγῃ τις ἥμενος παρ ̓ ἑστίᾳ
φέυγει τι μᾶλλον τον πεπρώμενον μόρον.-ESCHYLUS.
Man is but Fortune's foundling or her slave;
Birth's accident determineth his lot:
Fix'd as the rock, or weed that moveth not
From its deep root beneath the Ocean wave,
Where his first cry is heard, there is his grave;
Or he is wafted from his native spot,
More helpless than a feather, river-shot
Over the smooth lip where the cataracts rave.
This one is born a noble, prince, or king;
A savage that, or slave, or cannibal :
This, blest with fairy-gifts of beauty, wealth,
Strength, genius, eloquence, wit, mirth, and health:
That, witch-curst, hobbles round, and ever shall,
Without escape, dull misery's chain-bound ring.
"Oh! that some God the gift would gie us
To see ourselves as others see us."-BURNS.
In youth we vaunt, or if we vaunt not, smile
With ill-suppressed delight at what we deem
Our excellences, in our self-esteem ;
Our gift of strength; our beauty's manly style;
Our gush of song; our cunning to beguile
The hour of revel with wit's lightning gleam.
We walk with sightless eyes, as in a dream,
And men fear for us, not admire, the while.
We see, none else, a glorious halo play
Around our brows: so when their tent they roll
For morning march, the Eastern travellers say
They see illusive golden light enfold
Their shadows thrown before them: all behold
but none their fellows aureole.*
* This curious phenomenon is vouched for by Col, Sleeman in his Journeys in Oude.
Orpheus laudes Deorum cantans et reboans, Sirenum voces confudit et summovit*; meditationes verum divinarum voluptatis sensûs non tantum potestate, sed etiam suavitate superant.”—BACON, Sapientia Veterum.
No need of flight, if thou but dars't to fight :—
Ulysses stopped with wax his comrades ears,
Himself tied to the mast, through conscious fears:
Arm'd 'gainst all ravishment save that of sight,
He scarce stands conqueror in his own despite ;
His foe, unscath'd, mock their miss'd prey with jeers.
But Orpheus, as gold-freighted Argo nears
The Sirens home, sings of the pure delight
Of justice, and the joys of Heavenly spheres,
In strains so sweet, loud, perfect, clear, divine,
The vanquish'd Sisters dash their harps aside,
And headlong plunge despairing in the brine;
Where, chang'd to rocks, they mark their place of pride;
Record and beacon for all future years.
*The song ascribed to Orpheus is to be found in the Argonautics of Apolloni us Rhodius.
Αλλ' ἄγε δὴ σὺ, φίλος, μῆτιν ἐμβάλλεο θυμῷ
παντοίην, ἵνα μή σε παρεκπροφύγησιν ἄεθλα.
μήτι τοι δρυτόμος μέγ ̓ ἀμείνων ἢὲ βίηφιν.
μήτι δ' αὖτε κυβερνήτης ἐνὶ οἴνοπι πόντῳ
νῆα θοὴν ἰθύνει, ἐρεχθομένην ἀνέμοισιν.
μήτι δ ̓ ἡνίοχος περιγίγνεται ηνιόχοιο.
αλλ' ος μέν θ ̓ ἵπποισι και ἅρμκσιν οἷσι πεποιθὼς
ἀφραδέως ἐπὶ πολλὸν ἑλισσεται ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα,
ἵπποι δὲ πλανόωνται ανά δρόμον, οὐδέ κατίσχει.
ος δέ κε κέρδεα εἰδῆ, ἐγαύνων ἧσσονας ἵππους,
αἰεί τέρμ ̓ ὁρόων, στρέφει ἐγγύθεν, οὐδέ ἑ λήθει,
ὅππως τὸ πρῶτον τανύση βοέοισιν ἱμᾶσιν.
ἀλλ ̓ ἔχει ἀσφαλέως, καὶ τὸν προὔχοντα δοκεύει.--HOMER.
"Glorious it is to wear the crown
Of a deserved and pure success;
He who knows how to fail has won
A crown whose lustre is not less."-A. A, PROCTER.
Not alway to the strong the battle prize ;
Nor doth the swiftest alway win the race;
Though strength and speed are meet for war and chase:
Yet often skill the want of both supplies,
And in much toil skill's master-secret lies.
The pilot's skill maps Ocean's chartless face ;
Skill saps the cunning fortress to its base;
By skill we read the watch-words of the skies.
Improve thy talent, to increase thy treasure;
By constant use to full perfection bring
Thy gift of strength or speed, whate'er its measure!
So mid the victor few shall shine thy name,
Topmost perchance, as with its touch of flame
A diamond doth crest a golden ring.
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