OF WRITING. THE pen of a ready writer, whereunto shall it be likened ? Ask of the scholar, he shall know,-to the chains that bind a Proteus : Ask of the poet, he shall say,-to the sun, the lamp of heaven; Ask of thy neighbour, he can answer, to the friend that telleth my thought: The merchant considereth it well, as a ship freighted with wares; The divine holdeth it a miracle, giving utterance to the dumb. It fixeth, expoundeth, and disseminateth sentiment ; Chaining up a thought, clearing it of mystery, and sending it bright into the world. To think rightly, is of knowledge; to speak fluently, is of nature; Therefore, to husband thine ideas, and give them stability and substance The commonest mind is full of thoughts; some worthy of the rarest ; O precious compensation to the dumb, to write his wants and wishes! To show the babbling world how it might discourse more sweetly; Fair girl, whose eye hath caught the rustic penmanship of love, Let thy bright bow and blushing cheek confess in this sweet hour,— reached, Thy wet glad face, O mother, with news of a far-off child,— When the dear voice of thy betrothed speaketh in the letter of affection.- For that the transcript of his mind hath made his thoughts immortal,— Moreover, their preciousness in absence is proved by the desire of their presence: When the despairing lover waiteth day after day, Looking for a word in reply, one word writ by that hand, And cursing bitterly the morn ushered in by blank disappointment: And the mind is plied suspiciously with dark inexplicable doubts, While thy wounded heart counteth its imaginary scars, And thou art the innocent and injured, that friend the capricious and in fault: Or when the earnest petition, that craveth for thy needs Unheeded, yea, unopened, tortureth with starving delay: Or when the silence of a son, who would have written of his welfare, Racketh a father's bosom with sharp-cutting fears: For a letter, timely writ, is a rivet to the chain of affection. The pen, flowing with love, or dipped black in hate, Or tipped with delicate courtesies, or harshly edged with censure, And shouldst thou ask my judgment of that which hath most profit in the world, For answer take thou this, The prudent penning of a letter. Thou hast not lost an hour, whereof there is a record; A written thought at midnight shall redeem the livelong day. Idea is a shadow that departeth, speech is fleeting as the wind, As a fossil in the rock, or a coin in the mortar of a ruin, So the symbolled thoughts tell of a departed soul: The plastic hand hath its witness in a statue, and exactitude of vision in a picture, And so, the mind, that was among us, in its writings is embalmed. OF WEALTH. PRODIGALITY hath a sister Meanness, his fixed antagonist heart-fellow, But the burnt breasts of the torrid zone yield never kindly nourishment. with usury: For the secret hand of Providence prospereth the charitable all ways, Good luck shall he have in his pursuits, and his heart shall be glad within him; Yet perchance he never shall perceive, that even as to earthly gains, In the plain of Benares is there found a root that fathereth a forest, Thirstily they strain to the earth, like stalactites in a grotto, And strike broad roots, and branch again, lengthening their cool arcades. Whose fibres strangle the affections, whose branches overgrow the mind: While the appetite for gold, unslumbering, watcheth to glut its maw :— It seeth not the sunshine of heaven, nor is warmed by the light of charity. For covetousness disbelieveth God, and laugheth at the rights of men ; But have lost, as they ran, those apples of gold,--the mind and the power to enjoy it. There is no greater evil among men than a testament framed with injustice; Where caprice hath guided the boon, or dishonesty refused what was due. Generous is the robber on the highway, in the open daring of his guilt, To the secret coward, whose malice liveth and harmeth after him: Who smoothly sank into the tomb with the smile of fraud upon his face, Yea, bitterly shall that handwriting testify against him at the judgment. How heavy was the yoke of dependence, loaded by petty tyranny; Putting off the lover of her youth until the dawn of wealth; And it came, that day of release, and the freed heart could not sorrow, For now were the years of promise to yield their golden harvest: Hope, so long deferred, sickly sparkled in her eye, The miserable past was forgotten, as she looked for the happier future, And she checked, as unworthy and ungrateful, the dark, suspicious thought, That perchance her right had been the safer, if not left alone with honour : But, alas, the sad knowledge soon came, that her stern task-master's will Hath rewarded her toil with a jibe, her patience with utter destitution !— Shall not the scourge of justice lash that cruel coward, Who mingled the gall of ingratitude with the bitterness of disappointment . Hunt down the wretched being that sinneth in his grave? But Hades rose as he came in, to point at him the finger of scorn; And again must he meet that orphan-maid to answer her, face to face, And her wrongs shall cling around his neck, to hinder him from rising with the just: For his last most solemn act hath linked his name with liar, And the crime of Ananias is branded on his brow! A good man commendeth his cause to the one great Patron of innocence, Convinced of justice at the last, and sure of good meanwhile. |