On Cæsar's hill the royal Lar Still lingering near the shrines renewed, Till, Trajan's whispering forum passed, The Genius of the Tiber nods Benign, above his tilted urn : Kneel down and drink! the beckoning gods - Fresh footsteps in the dust of Rome! Kneel down and drink! the golden days Here lived and dreamed, shall dawn again : Albano's hill, through purple haze, Again shall crown the Latin plain. Whatever stains of Time remain, Left by the years that intervene, Lo! Trevi's fount shall toss its rain To wash the pilgrim's forehead clean. Drink, and depart! for Life is just: To ope the gate of dreams august, Ere we again shall fail to see MY MISSION. VERY spirit has its mission, say the transcendental crew: "This is mine," they cry; "Eureka! this the purpose I pursue; For, behold, a god hath called me, and his service I shall do! "Brother, seek thy calling likewise, thou wert destined for the same; Sloth is sin, and toil is worship, and the soul demands an aim: Who neglects the ordination, he shall not escape the blame." O my ears are dinned and wearied with the clatter of the school: Life to them is geometric, and they act by line and rule If there be no other wisdom, better far to be a fool! Better far the honest nature, in its narrow path content, Taking, with a child's acceptance, whatsoever may be sent, Than the introverted vision, seeing Self pre-emi nent. For the spirit's proper freedom by itself may be destroyed, Wasting, like the young Narcissus, o'er its image in the void: Even virtue is not virtue, when too consciously enjoyed. I am sick of canting prophets, self-elected kings that reign Over herds of silly subjects, of their new allegiance vain : Preaching labor, preaching duty, preaching love with lips profane. With the holiest things they tamper, and the noblest they degrade, Making Life an institution, making Destiny a trade; But the honest vice is better than the saintship they parade. Native goodness is unconscious, asks not to be recognized; But its baser affectation is a thing to be despised. Only when the man is loyal to himself shall he be prized. Take the current of your nature, make it stagnant if you will: Dam it up to drudge forever, at the service of your mill: Mine the rapture and the freedom of the torrent on the hill! Straighten out your wavy borders: make a towpath at the side: Be the dull canal your channel, where the heavy barges glide, Lo, the muddy bed is tranquil, not a rapid breaks the tide ! I shall wander o'er the meadows where the fairest blossoms call: Though the ledges seize and fling me headlong from the rocky wall, I shall leave a rainbow hanging o'er the ruins of my fall! I shall lead a glad existence, as I broaden down the vales, Brimming past the regal cities, whitened with the seaward sails, Feel the mighty pulse of ocean ere I mingle with its gales! Vex me not with weary questions: seek no moral to deduce : With the Present I am Lusy, with the Future hold a truce: If I live the life He gave me, God will turn it to His use. PROPOSAL. HE violet loves a sunny bank, thee. The sunshine kisses mount and vale, The oriole weds his mottled mate; RENUNCIATION. I. ORDS are but headstones o'er the grave of thought. When some gigantic passion grasps the heart Until its powers, to utmost tension brought, Tug at the roots of life, no speech may start The spell of silence. Deepest moods are dumb, Nor song, nor picture, nor the spells of sound Fathom their dark profound, The secret of their language overcome. |