There is lower warmth in the kin, but smaller truth in friends,
The latter show more surface, and the first have more of depth.
Relations rally to the rescue, even in estrangement and neglect,
Where friends will have fled at thy defeat, even after promises and kind-
For friends come and go, the whim that bound may loose them,
But none can dissever a relationship, and Fate hath tied the knot
Wide, and edged with shadowy bounds, a distant boulevard to the city,
The common crowd of social life is buzzling round about;
That is as the outer court, with all defences levelled,
Ranged around a man's own fortress, and his father's house.
For many friends go in and out, and praise thee, finding pasture,
And some are honey-comb to-day, who turn to gall to-morrow:
And many a garrulous acquaintance with frequent visit
Will spend his leisure to thy cost, selling dullness dearly :
For the idle call is a heavy tax, where time is counted gold,
And even in the day of relaxation, haply he may spare his presence,-
He found himself alone, and came to talk,-till they that hear are tired;
Let the man bethink him of an errand, that his face be not unwelcome.
But many friends there be, both well and wisely greeted,
Gladly are they hailed upon the hills, and are chidden that they come so seldom.
Of such are the early recollections, schoolfriendships that have thriven to gray hairs,
And veteran men are young once more, and talk of boyish pranks;
And such, yet older on the list, are those who loved thy father,
Thy father's friend, and thine, who tendereth thee tried love:
Such also, many gentle hearts, whom thou hast known too lately,
Hastening now to learn their worth, and chary of those minutes;
And such thy faithful pastor, coming to thy home with peace,-
Greet the good man heartily, and bid thy children bless him!
Many thoughts, many thoughts,-who can catch them all?
The best are ever swiftest-winged, the duller lag behind ;
For behold, in these vast themes, my mind is as a forest of the West,
And flocking pigeons come in clouds, and bend the groaning branches;
Here for a rest, then off and away,-they have sped to other climes,
And leave me to my peace once more, a holiday from thoughts.
I dare not lure them back, for the mighty subject of Society
Would tempt to many a hackneyed note in many a weary key :
Sage warmings, stout advice, experiences ever to be learned,
The foolish floatiness of vanity, and solemn trumperies of pride,-
Economy, the poor man's mint,-extravagance, the rich man's pitfall,
Harmful copings with the better, and empty-headed apings of the worse,
Circumstance and custom, sympathies, antipathies, diverse kinds of con-
versation,
Vapid pleasures, the wearines of gayety, the strife and bustle of the world,
Home comforts, the miseries of style, the cobweb lines of etiquette,
The hollowness of courtesies, and substance of deceits,-idleness, business,
and pastime,—
The multitude of matters to be done, the when, and where, and how,
And varying shades of characters, to do, undo, or miss them,—
All these, and many more alike, thick converging fancies,
Flit in throngs about my theme, as honey-bees at even to their hive.
Find an end, or make one; these seeds are dragon's teeth:
Sown thoughts grow to things, and fill that field, the world ;
Many wise have gone before, and used the sickle well:
Who can find a corner now, where none have bound the sheaves?
So, other some may reap: I do but glean and gather:
My sorry handful hath been culled after the ripe harvest of Society.
WHO hath known his brother, or found him in his freedom unrestrained?
Even he whose hidden glance hath watched his deepest Solitude.
For we walk the world in domino, putting on characters and habits,
And wear a social Janus-mask, while others stand around:
I speak not of the hypocrite, nor dream of meant deceptions,
But of that quick unconscious change, whereof the best know most.
For mind hath its influence on mind; and no man is free but when alone;
Yea, let a dog be watching thee, its eye will tend to thy restraint
Self-possession cannot be so perfect, with another intellect beside thee;
It is not as a natural result, but rather the educated produce.
The presence of a second spirit must control thine own,
And throw it off its equipoise of peace, to balance by an effort.
The common minds of common men know of this but little
What then? they know nothing of themselves: I speak to those who know;
The consciousness that some are hearing, cometh as a care,
The sense that some are watching near, bindeth thee to caution;
And the tree of tender nerves shrinketh as a touched mimosa,
Drooping like a plant in drought, with half its strength decayed.
There are antipathies warning from the many, and sympathies drawing to
But merchant-minds have crushed the first, and cannot feel the latter : Whereas to the quickened apprehension of a keen and spiritual intellect, Antipathies are galling, and sympathies oppress, and solitude is quiet.
He that dwelleth mainly by himself, heedeth most of others,
But they that live in crowds, think chiefly of themselves.
There is indeed a selfish seeming, where the anchorite liveth alone,
But probe his thoughts,-they travel far, dreaming for ever of the world:
And there is an apparent generosity when a man mixeth freely with his
fellows,
But prove his mind, by day and night, his thoughts are all of self:
The world, inciting him to pleasures, or relentlessly provoking him to toil,
Is full of anxious rivals, each with a difference of interest;
So must he plan and practice for himself, even as his own best friend;
And the gay soul of dissipation never had a thought unselfish.
The hermit standeth out of strife, abiding in a contemplative calmness;
What shall he contemplate,-himself? a meagre theme for musing:
He hath cast off follies, and kept aloof from cares ; a man of simple wants.
God and the soul, these are his excuse, a just excuse, for solitude:
But he carried with him to his cell the half-dead feelings of humanity;
There were they rested and refreshed; and he yearned once more on men.
Where is the wise, or the learned, or the good, that sought not solitude for thinking,
And from seclusion's secret vale brought forth his precious fruits ?—
Forests of Aricia, your deep shade mellowed Numa's wisdom;
Peaceful gardens of Vaucluse, ye nourished Petrarch's love;
Solitude made a Cincinnatus, ripening the hero and the patriot,
And taught De Stael self-knowledge, even in the damp Bastile; (4)
It fostered the piety of Jerome, matured the labours of Augustine,
And gave imperial Charles religion for ambition :
That which Scipio praised, that which Alfred practised,
Which fired Demosthenes to eloquence, and fed the mind of Milton,
Which quickened zeal, nurtured genius, found out the secret things of science,
Helped repentance, shamed folly, and comforted the good with peace,
By all men just and wise, by all things pure and perfect,
How truly, Solitude, art thou the fostering nurse of greatness!
Enough;—the theme is vast; sear me these necks of Hydra:
What shall drive away the thoughts flocking to this carcass?
Yea, that all which man may think, hath long been said of Solitude
For many wise have proved and preached its evils and its good.
I cannot add, I will not steal; enough, for all is spoken:
Yet heed thou these for practice and discernment among men.
There are pompous talkers, solemn, oracular, and dull:
Track them from society to solitude; and there ye find them fools.
There are light-hearted jesters, taking up with company for pastime ;
How speed they when alone?-serious, wise, and thoughtful.
And wherefore? both are actors, saving when in solitude,
There they live their truest life, and all things show sincere:
But the fool, by pomposity of speech, striveth to be counted wise,
And the wise, for holiday and pleasance, playeth with the fool's best bauble;
The solemn seemer, as a rule, will be found more ignorant and shallow
Than those who laugh both loud and long, content to hide their knowledge.
For thee; seek thou Solitude, but neither in excess, nor morosely;
Seek her for her precious things, and not of thine own pride.
For there, separate from a crowd, the still small voice will talk with thee,
Truth's whisper, heard and echoed by responding conscience;
There, shalt thou gather up the ravelled skeins of feeling,
And mend the nets of usefulness, and rest awhile for duties;
There, shalt thou hive thy lore, and eat the fruits of study,
For Solitude delighteth well to feed on many thoughts;
There, as thou sittest peaceful, communing with fancy,
The precious poetry of life shall gild its leaden cares;
There, as thou walkest by the sea, beneath the gentle stars,
Many kindling seeds of good will sprout within thy soul;
Thou shalt weep in Solitude,-thou shalt pray in Solitude,
Thou shalt sing for joy of heart, and praise the grace of Solitude.
Pass on, pass on!-for this is the path of Wisdom:
God make thee prosper on the way: I leave thee well with Solitude.
EVERY beginning is shrouded in a mist, those vague ideas beyond,
And the traveller setteth on his journey, oppressed with many thoughts,
Balancing his hopes and fears, and looking for some order in the chaos,
Some secret path between the cliffs, that seem to bar his way:
So, he commenceth at a clue, unravelling its tangled skein,
And boldly speedeth on to thread the labyrinth before him.
Then as he gropeth in the darkness, light is attendant on his steps,
He walketh straight in fervent faith, and difficulties vanish at his presence;
The very flashing of his sword scattereth those shadowy foes;
Confident and sanguine of success, he goeth forth conquering and to conquer.
Every middle is burdened with a weariness,—to have to go as far again,—
And Diligence is sick at heart, and Enterprise foot-sore:
That which began in zeal, bursting as a fresh-dug spring,
Goeth on doggedly in toil, and hath no help of nature :
Then, is need of moral might, to wrestle with the animal reaction.
Still to fight, with few men left, and still, though faint, pursuing.
The middle is a marshy flat, whereon the wheels go heavily,
With clouds of doubt above, and ruts of discouragement below:
Press on, sturdy traveller, yet a league, and yet a league!
While every step is binding wings on thy victorious feet.
Every end is happiness, the glorious consummation of design,
The perils past, the fears annulled, the journey at its close:
And the traveller resteth in complacency, home-returned at last :
Work done may claim its wages, the goal gained hath won its prize.
|