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Carve it deep, with letters bold,
In the imperishable gold,
Grave it on some primal rock
That hath stood the earthquake shock,
Make that word a citizen
Dwelling in the hearts of men,
Sound it in the ears of age,
Stamp it on the printed page,
Gladden sympathizing youth
With the soft music of this truth,
This echoed note of heavenly bliss,
“My mind to me a kingdom is."
Aye, chide or scorn,-I will be proud,
I am not of a slavish crowd ;
No serf is here to outward things,-
He rules with chiefs ! he reigns with kings!
Tell out thy secret joys, my mind,
Free and fearless as the wind,
And pour the triumphs of the soul
In words that like a river roll,
Foaming on with vital force
From their ever-gushing source,
Fountains of truth, that overwhelm
With swollen streams this royal realm,
And in Nilotic richness steep
My heart's Thebaid, rank and deep !
Or bolder, as my thoughts inspire,
Change that water into fire !
From the vext bowels of soul
Lava currents roar and roll,
Bursting out in torrent wide
Through my crater's ragged side,
Rushing on from field to field
Till all with boiling stone is seald,
And my hot thoughts, in language pent,
Stand their own granite monument !
Yes! all the elements are mine,
To crush, create, dissolve, combine, -
All mine,—the confidence is just,
On God I ground my high-born trust
To stand, when pole is rent from pole,
Calm in my majesty of soul,
Watching the throes of this wreck'd world,
When from their thrones the Alps are hurld,
When fire consumes earth, sea and air
To stand, unharm’d, undaunted there,
And grateful still to boast in this,
My mind to me a kingdom is.”
Brother poet, dead so long,
Heed these echoes to thy song,
And love me now, where'er thou art,
Yearning with magnetic heart
From thy throne in some bright sphere
On this poor brother, grovelling here :
For I too, I can stoutly sing
inch a king!
A king of Thought, a Potentate
Of glorious spiritual state,
A king of Thought, a king of Mind,
Realms unmapped and undefined, -
A king! beneath no man's control,
Invested with a royal soul,
Crown'd by God's imperial hand
Before Him as a king to stand,
And by His wisdom train'd and taught
To rule my realms as King of Thought.
O thoughts,-how ill my fellow-men,
O thoughts,-how scantly my poor pen
Can guess or tell the myriad host
Wherewith you crowd my kingdom's coast !
For I am hemm’d and throng'd about
With your triumphant rabble-rout,
Hurried along by that mad flood,
The joy-excited multitude,
A conqueror, borne upon the foam,
Of his great people's gladness home,
A monarch in his grandest state,
On whom a thousand thousand wait !
Lo! they come-my Tribes of Thought,
Fierce and flush'd and fever-fraught!
From the horizon all around
I hear with pride their coming sound;
See! their banners circling near,-
Glittering groves of shield and spear,
Flying clouds of troopers gay,
Serried lines in dark array,
Veterans calm with temper'd sword,
And a dishevelled frantic horde,-
On they come with furious force,
Tramping foot and thundering horse,
On they come, converging loud,
With clanging arms, a glorious crowd
Shouting impatient, fierce and free,
For me their Monarch, yea, for me!
Then, in my majesty and power, ,
I quell the madness of the hour,
Bid that tumultuous turmoil cease,
And frown my multitudes to peace.
Each to his peril and his post !
All hush'd throughout my mighty host :
Courage clear, and duty stern,-
Heads that freeze and hearts that burn;
Marshalled straight in order due,
Legions ! pass in swift review,
Bending to my blazoned Will,
Loyal to that standard still,
And hailing me with homage then
King of Thoughts—and thus, of Men!
What ? am I powerless to control
Nations, by my single soul ?
What? have I not made thousands thrill
By the mere impulse of my will,
When the strong Thought goes forth, and binds
Captive a wondering herd of minds?
And is not this to reign alone
More than the ermine and the throne
The jewelled state, the gilded rooms,
The mindless man in borrowed plumes?
Yes,—if the inmate soul outweighs
Its dull clay house in power and praise,
Yes,-if Eternity be true,
And Time both false and fleeting too,
Then, humbler kings, my boast be this,
My mind to me a kingdom is.”
And what, though weak and slow of speech,
Ill to comfort, dull to teach?
What, though hiding from the ken
Of my small prying fellow-men,-