« PreviousContinue »
“I know, too, though thou strut and paint, “ Nor for my peace will I go far,
Yet art thou both, shrunk up, and old; As wanderers do, that still do roam; That only fools make thee a saint,
But make my strengths, such as they are, And all thy good is to be sold.
Here in my bosom, and at home."
“ I know thou whole art but a shop
You will be the better of meditating Of toys and trifles, traps and snares,
on these religious lines, even though To take the weak, or make them stop:
you love the world with all your soul, Yet art thou falser than thy wares.
and be resolved to stick to it till you
die. Are you a rich man, and have “ And knowing this should I yet stay,
you sworn to be richer far, and never Like such as blow away their lives, to rest till you are a millionare ? You And never will redeem a day,
have_sit down, then, by our side—IN Enamour'd of their golden gyves ? OUR Alcove—and let us whisper in
to your ear the secret of this pas. " Or having 'scaped shall I return, sion of yours --for you are a man of
And thrust my neck into the noose, metal, and we regard your chara. From whence, so lately, I did burn, cter with respect. Tell us if we be With all my powers, myself to loose ? right.
The desire of advancing one's self " What bird or beast is known so dull,
in the world, our wealthy sir, is a That fled his cage, or broke his chain,
natural, and even an honourable desire. And tasting air and freedom, wull
But he who acts upon it, having his Render his head in there again?
mind still intent in desire upon the ac
quisition of money, and therefore feel“ If these who have but sense, can shun
ing gratefully all the acquisitions he The engines, that have them annoy'd,
makes, is soon led to look upon the Little for me had reason done,
growing amount of his property as If I could not thy gins avoid.
something excellent in itself, even be“ Yes, threaten, do. Alas, I fear
'yond, and independently of, the service As little, as
to which he can apply it. He has hope from thee : I know thou canst not show, nor bear
exerted, for this end, the whole power More hatred, than thou hast to me.
of his mind-his talents, his genius
have been devoted to bring together of My tender, first, and simple years
this amount--to win it from the strife Thou didst abuse, and then betray ;
of the world. He looks, therefore, with Since stirr'dst up jealousies and fears, self-complacency on the amount he has When all the causes were away.
gained, because it bears witness to him
of his talents, his genius ; it is the " Then in a soil hast planted me,
trophy which signalizes his success. Where breathe the basest of thy fools; In this way, Mercator, the man is Where envious arts professed be,
identified with his property; he sees in And pride and ignorance the schools : it all his exertions, perils, watchings
his sleepless nights, his anxieties, his " Where nothing is examin'd, weigh'd, struggles, are all embodied to him in
But as 'tis rumour'd, so believ'd; that amount of property; and in this, Where every freedom is betray'd, which is the fruit of his whole past life, And every goodness tax'd or grieved. he still possesses that past life in the
present. Is it not even so ? " But what we're born for, we must bear, Analagous to this is the passion with Our frail condition it is such,
which he looks onward to the future. That what to all may happen here, He carries into it his own desire of enIl't chance to me, I must not grutch.
terprise and achievement. He con
ceives projects by which far greater “ Else I my state should much mistake, wealth may be realized. He asks these To harbour a divided thought
accessions, not from fortune, but from From all my kind; that for my sake, his own genius and skill, commanding There should a miracle be wrought. fortune. He imagines and weighs va
rious projects which suggest them“ No, I do know that I was born selves to his imagination. He seizes
To age, misfortune, sickness, grief: upon some one more bold than the But I will bear these with that scorn, rest, and in which his sanguine thought,
As shall not need thy false relief. and his trust in his own judgment
and skill, promise him magnificent re- to see the coming—not afar off-of a sults. He engages in it, and while time slowly brings forth the birth of By the constitution of our minds enterprise, his whole passion of hope there is pleasure annexed to the action and fear is intent upon the issue. It of intelligence, and pain to its ob. is thus that, in such undertakings, the structed actions ; therefore the pleapassion engaged is not simply mea- sure and desire of knowledge are uni. sured to the fruit which is to be reaped versal in human nature. And, accordfrom it; but the man gives himself ingly, we have no reason to doubt whole to his enterprise, and feels, in that this is so. In every mind this the issue, not merely property at stake, pleasure in the use of its intelligence, but his own energy and power. Is it this gratification in the acquisition of not even so ?
knowledge, appears to be implanted Were some simpleton to ask us to and exerted; nor without it are we explain how any man should give him able to conceive any motive that should self up so eagerly and passionately to impel the human mind to the acquia state of mind which is full of anxi- sition of that vast stock of various ety, fear, and pain, we would say, knowledge, adapted to mere ordinary oracularly—the explanation is to be use, of which it becomes possessed, sought in a law of our nature, which under even the most unfavourable cirmakes passionate desire of all kinds cumstances. agreeable to the mind. Languor only, Two causes, indeed, may deceive and the want of interest, are painful us, in endeavouring to ascertain in and insupportable ; but the most eager actual observation the actual existence and anxious passions, however they of this capacity of pleasure in the may be mixed with fear or pain, are exertion of intelligence, when we look grateful, by the excited state of hope, for it in individual minds, and may desire, and power, which they bring lead us to believe that it does not uniinto the mind. It is by such passions versally subsist. The first, that we are that he is drawn on, who engages in very apt to try the minds of others intent speculations for the augmenta- by an unfit standard or test, for we try tion of property. When they succeed, them by knowledge for which they the amount which he adds to his for.
are unapt, or to which they are not mer amount is to him of the nature of yet, by their progress, competent : a triumph ; when they fail, the loss which can be no true test of the native he incurs is to him of the nature of dispositions of any mind. For all the defeat. And thus, his whole amount while it may be pursuing, unobserved of property continually varying, and by us, its own observations of knowbeing to a certain extent in continual ledge and combinations of thought, hazard, his mind constantly revolves and feeling within itself at every step it, viewing it under all aspects, as it the fresh pleasure of intelligence. We actually is, as it may be greater or less. may thus, through our own imperfect It is as an image continually before method of observation, very easily dehim—with which he is constantly con- ceive ourselves, when we endeavour to necting intenser passion and feeling, judge whether this pleasure of intellinot only in failure and success, but in gence and desire of knowledge sub. every variation of hope and fear. He sists in such or such a particular insees in it that to which he has lived, stance; and may be led by such deand for which he is to live. His other fective observation falsely to doubt the desires have ceased ; his other passions universality of this principle, which are extinct. He has transfused his is indeed necessarily universal. whole being into one object; and with Another cause of like error of judgthat he seems to live and die.
ment on this point may be our obserWhy, you are not Mercator! These vation of those minds in which this thoughtful and earnest eyes reveal natural disposition is greatly repressed that you are not a man who would and subdued by the circumstances “ forsake the student's bower for of life, which have not only greatly gold.” They tell us that your ruling withheld from it the means of gratifipassion is not for wealth' but know- cation, but which have turned the ledge—and that you desire to see the mind with a painful force to rest in its people put in possession of their just feelings and desires of a lower kind, inheritance. So do wemand we seem casting it down into that stupor of in, VOL, XLV, NO, CCLXXXII.
telligence which want and continued speak of it, and you will know if his ignorance are able to create. Even affections be involved in his studies or here, it is not destroyed, and our erro. not. Now, it is this capacity, as it neous conclusion is deduced in part should seem, of carrying affection over from our inexact and untrue observa- upon the subjects themselves of study, tion : but, if it be destroyed, if there that serves as the first cause to explain be contented ignorance produced, and the different strength in which this an indolent aversion to the act of in- desire is found in different minds-a telligence, still it is no less true that difference not dependent merely on in the original constitution of the mind original force of the intellectual capathere was pleasure annexed to every city. This feeling of affection for the act of the understanding : and that in subjects of its habitual studies, a speour constitution they are inseparable. cies of love of them for their own
Here, then, we have occasion to ob- sakes, will be found in every mind that serve the operation of a peculiar and is passionately fond of knowledge. It delicate affection of the mind. It is is one of the great feelings which supknown that whatever affords pleasure ports and carries forward the desire. to our minds becomes to it the sub- When minds of great intellectual caject, in a certain degree, of a grate- pacity are found, as they sometimes ful love ; and that this feeling is as aro, cold and indifferent to knowledge, certainly, though not sovividly, directed or possessed with little ardour in its towards inanimate objects, as to those pursuit, it will also be found of them that have feeling and will. This gen- that they are defective in this capacity eral law is applicable to those inani. of carrying over a grateful affection mate objects on which intelligence is upon the subjects themselves which employed. The mind, made conscious have afforded them pleasure; and that by these objects of the pleasure of in. the explanation of their coldness will telligence, the gratification of know- be, not that they are indifferent to the ledge, associates with them the remem- act of their intellectual faculties, which brance of its pleasure, and bestows on is never the case, but that they are them a portion of its unconscious love. indifferent to the objects themselves And, if this feeling should be slight on which intelligence should act : and and undetermined at first, it becomes therefore are without the desire of afterwards vivid, fixed, and strong. knowledge. On the other hand, this Thus the botanist loves the plants on feeling of affection to the subject, suwhich the whole intent desire of his peradded to the pleasure of the mere intellectual mind has been directed, act of intelligence, explains the conthe scholar his books, the astronomer trary phenomenon : when those who his stars.
have passionately engaged themselves Nor let it be thought that this is to any species of enquiry hang with some passing emotion from mere as- the most intense 'interest over the sociated remembrance. It is a feeling minutest object of their researches, as of a very different kind. The objects if the whole sum of their whole science which have thus been pursued, have a were collected in a single point-a power of commanding at all times a sort of transport not explicable, upon passionate interest. The discovery of any simple action of mere intelligence, a plant is to the botanist the finding of and wbich appears necessarily to ima treasure—the opening of a volume ply, that there is great affection and sets the scholar at once in a state of desire turned by the mind upon that happiness—the astronomer will watch, particular class of objects in virtue of with intense solicitude, the moment in the capacity it has of truly loving which one luminary moves before an. what has once afforded it delight. other, and follow, night after night, But here prmes pretty Helen, with with all the passion of his soul, the a silver salver besprent with letters progress of a comet, when that stran- — and perhaps some of them may ger to our system comes on his visit contain verses for our Two Vases. from other worlds. It is not enough We think we know this hand-and to say that the reasoning intelligence seal. It is a couple of Sonnets from finds the gratification of knowledge: Mr Trench. His SADBATION is pervaded the whole heart of the man is wedded to by a profound piety-and assuredly the subject in which his mind for years he is among the foremost of our young has found its happiness. Hear him poets.
In the mid garden doth a fountain stand-
Show fair and green-else, drooping, pale and dry. A most amiable letter from a Can. I know thou wilt not me forget tab. He reminds us of having en- When resting in the grave, couraged him by a few words of praise Ev’n as I now, made young again, to send something to Maga—and here My father's blessing crave. are his offerings at her shrine-worthy of all acceptance. But, oh! that he Then, too, were rich and sunny skies, would improve his penmanship_for And then the gentle breeze there is one line in his MSS. illegible Could melt the soul to tenderness, —and the compositor must make of it And give the mourner ease : what he can.
Our poetical contribu- Then, too, beneath the silent moon tors occasionally complain of errata Were whisper'd words of love, -let such of them learn to write as While for each other's happiness now only scrawl.
They pray'd to one above.
But I have reach'd my life's decline, My son, thou askest of the past,
And bend beneath my years, And of thy father's sire,
Cold are my feelings oft--and dry If noble were his form, and his,
The fountains of my tears :As.mine, a soul of fire ;
If thou should'st live till hoary locks To thee those days are as a waste,
Displace thy raven hair, But unto me they bring
Thou'lt love to think of this--of me-The pleasures of my boyhood back,
And of my latest prayer. The freshness of my spring.
THE TOMB OF OYRUS. Wilt thou remember me, my boy,
Great Alexander to the tomb When I have pass'd away?
Of Persian Cyrus çame, Wilt thou remember all the scenes, For he would honour show to him O'er which I loved to stray ?
Who left so bright a name ;
No monument was there to say. Why no tender word at partingWhere slept the mighty dead,
Why no kiss, no farewell take? But lowly was his resting-place Would that I could but forget theeWithin his narrow bed.
Would this throbbing heart might The King of Macedon had heard
break! Of gold and silver there
s Is my face no longer blooming ? But these were dreams of humblermen; Are my eyes no longer bright? Not such his treasures were:
Ah! my tears have made them dimmer, Beside him lay two Scythian bows, And my cheeks are pale and white. A scimetar, a shield ;
I have wept since early morning, With these he bore the nations down,
I will weep the livelong night; And won the tested field.
Now I long for sullen darkness, The youthful monarch grasp'd his As I once have longed for light.
spear, His kindred soul on fire;
" Paris ! art thou then so cruel ? A thousand thoughts around him
Fair, and young, and kind thou art throng,
Can it be that in thy bosom Awaking high desire :
Lies so cold, so hard a heart? May I but live as he hath lived,
Children were we bred togetherAnd die as he hath died,
She who bore me suckled thee; Then let this in some simple grave
I have been thine old companion,
When thou hadst no more but me. Slow moulder by my side.
All our young poets are fine, unaf- “ I have watched thee in thy slumbers, fected fellows, full of force and fire ; When the shadow of a dream and they would all, every mother's Passed across thy smiling features, son of them, disdain themselves, did Like the ripple of a stream ; their consciences convict them of the And so sweetly were the visions sin of a single stanza, indited pur
Pictured there with lively grace, posely to mystify some worthless That I half could read their import truism, through the embroidered veil By the changes on thy face. of its envelopement of gorgeous and gaudy words. The Sumphs
" When I sang of Ariadne, all now of the Shelley, or of the
Sang the old and mournful tale, Tennyson school — and, hear, 0
How her faithless lover, Theseus
Left her to lament and wail ; heavens! and give ear, ( earth! disciples of Wordsworth! Surely
Then thine eyes would fill and glisten, the soles of the feet of at least half a
Her complaint could soften theescore of them must now be tingling, Thou hast wept for Ariadneprescient of the bastinado. They are
Theseus' self might weep for me! all classical scholars, too, and keep « Thou may'st find another maiden chirping about Chapman's Homer. With a fairer face than mine
Now here are stanzas—by one of With a gayer voice, and sweeter, our young poets-conceived in the
And a spirit liker thine: true classical spirit. The heart-strings For if e'er my beauty bound thee, of Ovid would thrill to hear such a
Lost and broken is the spell ; lament from his own Enone.
But thou canst not find another
That will love thee half so well. On the holy mount of Ida,
thou hollow ship that bearest Where the pine and cypress grow, Paris o'er the faithless deep! Sate a young and lovely maiden,
Wouldst thou leave him on some island Weeping ever, weeping low.
Where alone the waters weep; Drearily throughout the forest
Where no human foot is moulded Did the winds of autumn blow,
In the wet and yellow sandAnd the clouds above were flying,
Leave him there, thou hollow vessel! And Scamander rolled below.
Leave him on that lonely land ! « Faithless Paris ! cruel Paris !"
Thus the poor deserted spake 6 Then his heart will surely soften, " Wherefore thus so strangely leave When his foolish hopes decay, me ?
And his older love rekindle, Why thy loving bride forsake ? As the new one dies away.