What, though still the wicked scoff, this also turneth to his praise; Did ye never hear that censure of the bad is buttress to a good man's glory? What, if the ignorant still hold out, obstinate in unkind judgment,— For all their toil and wasted strength, the foolish do but prop it. And note thou this; in the secret of their hearts, they feel the taunt is false, And cannot help but reverence the courage that walketh amid calumnies unanswering: He standeth as a gallant chief, unheeding shot or shell; He trusted in God his Judge; neither arrows nor the pestilence shall harm him. A high heart is a sacrifice to heaven; should it stoop among the creepers in the dust, To tell them that what God approved is worthy of their praise! Never shall it heed the thought; but flaming on in triumph to the skies, And quite forgetting fame, shall find it added as a trophy. A great mind is an altar on a hill; should the priest descend from his altitude To canvass offerings and worship from dwellers on the plain? Rather with majestic perseverance, will he minister in solitary grandeur, Confident the time will come when pilgrims shall be flocking to the shrine. For fame is the birthright of genius; and he recketh not how long it be delayed: The heir need not hasten to his heritage, when he knoweth that his tenure is eternal. The careless poet of Avon, was he troubled for his fame ? Or the deep-mouthed chronicler of Paradise, heeded he the suffrage of his equals ? Mæonides took no thought, commiting all his honours to the future, Smoking flax will breed a flame, and the flame may illuminate a world; Where is he who scorned that smoke as foul and murky vapour? The village stream swelled to a river, and the river was a kingdom's wealth; Where is he who boasted he could step across that stream? Such are the beginnings of the famous: little in the judgment of their peers, The juster verdict of posterity shall fix them in the orbits of the Great. Therefore dull Zoilus, clamouring ascendant of the hour, Will soon be fain to hide his hate, and bury up his bitterness for shame: Therefore mocking Monus, offended at the steps of Beauty, (12) Shall win the prize of his presumption, and be hooted from his throne among the stars. For, as the shadow of a mountain lengtheneth before the setting sun, So Fame groweth to its great ones; their images loom larger in departing : And thou, student of the truth, commended to the praise of God, motive; Or the rust of dishearten.ng reserve shali spoil the lustre of thy gold, Until its burnished beauty shall be dim as tarnished brass; Or thieves, breaking through to steal, shall claim thy jewelled thoughts, And turn to charge the theft on thee, a pilferer from them! There is a magnanimity in recklessness of fame, so fame be well deserving, That rusheth on in fearless might, the conscious sense of merit; And there is a littleness in jealousy of fame, looking as aware of weak ness, That creepeth cautiously along, afraid that its title will be challenged. His neck is strong with confidence, and he goeth tusked with power: And scareth from his marshy lair a host of fearful foes. But there is a mimic talent, whose safety lieth in its quickness, Greedy of applause, and vexed to lose one tittle of the glory. He is a poor warder of his fame, who is ever on the watch to keep it spot less; Such care argueth debility, a garrison relying on its sentinel. Passive strength shall scorn excuses, patiently waiting a reaction, He wotteth well that truth is great, and must prevail at last : But fretful weakness hasteth to explain, anxiously dreading prejudice, Purity of motive and nobility of mind shall rarely condescend What jealous friends, or envious foes, or common fools may judge. Should the lion turn and rend every snarling jackal, Or an eagle be stopped in his career to punish the petulance of sparrows? Should the palm-tree bend his crown to chide the brier at his feet, Nor kindly help its climbing, if it hope, and be ambitious ? Should the nightingale account it worth her pains to vindicate her music, Before some sorry finches, that affect to judge of song? No: many an injustice, many a sneer, and slur, Is passed aside with noble scorn by lovers of true fame: For well they wot that glory shall be tinctured good or evil, By the character of those who give it, as wine is flavoured by the wine-skin : For the great mind well may be sad to note such littleness in brethren, Cease awhile, gentle scholar;-seek other thoughts and themes; Years of thought would leave untold the boundless topic, Fame. things: And before some single thesis had been followed out in all its branches, For the handling of that mighty theme should stretch from past to future, All manner of events and things, climate, circumstance, and custom, to come, Pride and praise, honour and dishonour, warnings, ensamples, emulations, The excellent in virtues, and the reprobate in vice, with the cloud of indifferent spectators,— Wave on wave with flooding force throng the shoals of thought, Filling that immeasurable theme, the height and depth of Fame. With soul unsatisfied and mind dismayed, my feet have touched the threshold, Fain to pour these flowers and fruits an offering on that altar: OF FLATTERY. MUSIC is commended of the deaf;-but is that praise despised? I trow not with flattered soul, the musician heard him gladly. Is she hated for her hollowness ?-learning held her wiser for the nonce. And the good man gave thanks as for a convert, where others saw the hypocrite. Yet none of these were cheated at the heart, nor steadily believed those flatteries; They feared the core was rotten, while they hoped the skin was sound: An offering is welcome for its own sake, set aside the giver, And praise is precious to a man, though uttered by the parrot or the mocking-bird. The world is full of fools; and sycophancy liveth on the foolish : I have heard him wrangle with the obstinate, vowing that he will not be convinced, When some weak youth hath wisely feared the chance of ill success: Now, he will barely be a winner,-to magnify thy triumphs afterward; Now, he will hardly be a loser,—but cannot cease to wonder at thy skill: He laudeth his own worth, that the leader may have glory in his follower; He meekly confesseth his unworthiness, that the leader may have glory in himself. Many wiles hath he, and many modes of catching, But every trap is selfishness, and every bait is praise. Come, I would forewarn thee and forearm thee; for keen are the weapons of his warfare; And, while my soul hath scorned him, I have watched his skill from far. His thoughts are full of guile, deceitfully combining contrarieties, |