PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY. 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 Re flection. 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; 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; Still, there is an insect swarm, the buzzing cloud of imagery, Mingle in the fashion of my speech with gossamer dreams of Reverie. And gamboling hares disport fearless in my dewy field ; I roam no heath-empurpled hills, wearily watching for a covey, I sit no quiet angler, lingering patiently for sport, But spread my nets for a draught, and take the glittering shoal; What then,-count ye this a boast ?-sweet charity, think it other, And unclean meats as of the clean hang upon my Seric shambles. Carefully my garden hath been weeded, yet shall it be foul with thistle; 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, Burst thy fetters of anxiety, and walk among the citizens of ease. 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, Fight them, and the cravens flee; thy boldness is their panic; 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; Sickness, 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: 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; There be three chief rivers of despondency; sin, sorrow, fear; Hope can pierce with quickening ray, and all those depths are lightened. duty. Verily, consider this for courage; that the fearful and the unbelieving runner. Moreover, in thy day of Grief,-for friends, or fame, or fortune, Let nature weep; leave her alone; the freshet of her sorrow must run off; Again, for empty fears, the harassings of possible calamity; Out of him there is no help, nor any sober courage. Feeble is the comfort of the faithless, a man without a God; Fear is the heritage of him, a portion wise and merciful, To drive the trembler into safety, if haply he may turn and flee : 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 talk undaunted even in an accidental chaos, For the brave man is at peace and free to get the mastery of circumstance. I went heavily for cares, and fell into the trance of sorrow: And lamentable sounds came up, as of some that were smothering beneath. The child of Cheerfulness and Courage, could his name be other than 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. |