Behold, he is faint with hunger; the big tear standeth in his eye; And pain is stamped upon his face, while he wrestleth unequally with toil; No voice that shall be heard in his defence? no sentence to be passed on his oppressor? Yea, the sad eye of the tortured pleadeth pathetically for him: Yea, all the justice in heaven is roused in indignation at his woes: And hath no tear to shed when a cruel man is damned. OF FRIENDSHIP. As frost to the bud, and blight to the blossom, even such is self-interest to friendship: For Confidence cannot dwell where Selfishness is porter at the gate. If thou see thy friend to be selfish, thou canst not be sure of his honesty; And in seeking thine own weal, thou hast wronged the reliance of thy friend. Flattery hideth her varnished face when Friendship sitteth at his board; And perisheth, when artful praise proveth it is sought for a purpose. For the sum of life is in trifles, and though, in the weightier masses, A coarse man grindeth harshly the finer feelings of his brother; A common mind will soon depart from the dull companionship of wisdom; Come, I will show thee a friend; I will paint one worthy of thy trust: Thine heart shall not weary of him: thou shalt not secretly despise him. Thou art long in learning him, in unravelling all his worth ; And he dazzleth not thine eyes at first, to be darkened in thy sight afterward, But riseth from small beginnings, and reacheth the height of thy esteem. He remembereth that thou art only man; he expecteth not great things from thee; And his forbearance toward thee silently teacheth thee to be considerate unto him. He despiseth not courtesy of manner, nor neglecteth the decencies of life: For as an ill example strengtheneth the hands of the wicked, So to put forward thy guilt is a secret poison to thy friend: For the evil in his nature is comforted, and he warreth more weakly against it, If he find that the friend whom he honoureth, is a man more sinful than himself. I hear the communing of friends; ye speak out the fullness of your souls, And being but men, as men, ye own to all the sympathies of manhood: (26) Confidence openeth the lips, indulgence beameth from the eye, The tongue loveth not boasting, the heart is made glad with kindness: hand in hand, and carry each other's burdens. Choose thy friend discreetly, and see thou consider his station, For the graduated scale of ranks accordeth with the ordinance of heaven: If a low companion ripen to a friend, in the-full sunshine of thy confidence, Know, that for old age thou hast heaped up sorrow: For thou sinkest to that level, and thy kin shall scorn thee. Yea, and the menial thou hast pampered haply shall neglect thee in thy death: And if thou reachest up to high estates, thinking to herd with princes, What art thou but a footstool, though so near a throne ? O rush among the lilies, be taught thou art a weed; O brier among the cedars, hot contempt shall burn thee. For only friendship among men is the true republic, Where all have equality of service, and all have freedom of command. And yet, if thou wilt take my judgment, be shy of too much openness with any, Lest thou repent hereafter, should he turn and rend thee: For many an apostate friend hath abused unguarded confidence, And bent to selfish ends the secret of the soul. Absence strengtheneth friendship, where the last recollections were kindly; But it must be good wine at the last, or absence shall weaken it daily. A rare thing is faith, and friendship is a marvel among men, Yet strange faces call they friends, and say they believe, when they doubt. Be sparing of advice by words, but teach thy lesson by example; For the vanity of man may be wounded, and retort unkindly upon thee. There be some that never had a friend, because they were gross and selfish ; Worldliness, and apathy, and pride, leave not many that are worthy : For as thistle-down flieth abroad, and casteth its anchor in the soil, So philanthropy yearneth for a heart, where it may take root and blossom. Yet I hear the child of sensibility moaning at the wintry cold, suspicion. For, alas, how few be friends, of whom charity hath hoped well! And the world, that corrupteth all good, hath wronged that sacred name, There be few, O child of sensibility, who deserve to have thy confidence; And gladly seek they such as thou art, for seldom find they the occasion: For, though no man excludeth himself from the high capability of friendship, Yet verily is the man a marvel whom truth can write a friend. OF LOVE.. THERE is a fragrant blossom, that maketh glad the garden of the heart : Its companions are gentle flowers, and the brier withereth by its side. The violet rejoiced beneath it, the rose stooped down and kissed it; And yet what shall I say? Is a sordid man capable of-Love? Hath a seducer known it? Can an adulterer perceive it? Longing for another's happiness, yet often destroying its own; Chaste, and looking up to God, as the fountain of tenderness and joy; Quiet, yet flowing deep, as the Rhine among rivers; Lasting, and knowing not change-it walketh with Truth and Sincerity. Love-what a volume in a word, an ocean in a tear, Love is a sweet idolatry, enslaving all the soul, A mighty spiritual force, warring with the dullness of matter, An angel-mind breathed into a mortal, though fallen, yet how beautiful! All the devotion of the heart in all its depth and grandeur. Behold that pale geranium, pent within the cottage window ; How yearningly it stretcheth to the light its sickly long-stalked leaves, How it straineth upward to the sun, coveting his sweet influences, How real a living sacrifice to the God of all its worship! Such is the soul that loveth; and so the rose-tree of affection Its every blushing petal basketh in their light, And all its gladness, all its life, is hanging on their love. If the love of the heart is blighted, it buddeth not again; |