OF CHEERFULNESS. TAKE courage, prisoner of time, for there be many comforts, It may be well to look for change, but to trust in a continuance is better ; Thou hast need of fortitude and faith, for the adversaries come on thickly, Fight them, and the cravens flee; thy boldness is their panic; Fear them, and thy treacherous heart hath lent the ranks a legion : While Democrite, confident and cheerful, hath plucked up the standard of their camp. (*) Not few nor light are the burdens of life; then load it not with heaviness of spirit; Sickness, and penury, and travail,-there be real ills enow: We are wandering benighted, with a waning moon; plunge not rashly into jungles, Where cold and poisonous damps will quench the torch of hope : If your arms be slack for fear, ye shall not stem the torrent. A wise traveller goeth on cheerily, through fair weather or foul; He knoweth that his journey must be sped, so he carrieth his sunshine with him. Colamities come not as a curse,-nor prosperity for other than a trial; Struggle-thou art better for the strife, and the very energy shall hearten thee. Good is taught in a Spartan school,-hard lessons and a rough discipline, But evil cometh idly of itself, in the luxury of Capuan holidays ; 'There be three chief rivers of despondency; sin, sorrow, fear; Hope can pierce with quickening ray, and all those depths are lightened. duty. Verily, consider this for courage; that the fearful and the unbelieving runner. Moreover, in thy day of Grief,-for friends, or fame, or fortune, Well I wot the heart shall ache, and mind be numbed in torpor : Let nature weep; leave her alone; the freshet of her sorrow must run off; For regrets are an enervating folly, and the season for energy is come, Again, for empty fears, the harassings of possible calamity; Out of him there is no help, nor any sober courage. Feeble is the comfort of the faithless, a man without a God; Fear is the heritage of him, a portion wise and merciful, To drive the trembler into safety, if haply he may turn and flee: It were wise to talk undaunted even in an accidental chaos, For the brave man is at peace and free to get the mastery of circumstance I went heavily for cares, and fell into the trance of sorrow: And lamentable sounds came up, as of some that were smothering beneath. The child of Cheerfulness and Courage,-could his name be other than So, from his happy wife, when they both stood beside me on the mountain, The fond father took that babe, and set him on his shoulder in the sunshine. Again I peered into the valley, for I heard a gasping moan, A desolate weak cry, as muffled in the vapours. So down that crystal shaft into the poisonous mine I sped for charity to seek and save, and those I sought fled from me. At length, I spied far distant, a trembling withered dwarf, Who crouched beneath the cloak of a tall and spectral mourner; Until in a suffocating pit the wretched pair had perished,— And lo, their whitening bones were shaping out an epitaph of Failure. So I saw that despondency was death, and flung my burdens from me, Yea, in the strangeness of my vision, I seemed to soar on wings, OF YESTERDAY. SPEAK, poor almsman of to-day, whom none can assure of a to-morrow, Is it but a vision, unstable and unreal, which wise men soon forget? For, behold, those temples of Ellora, the Brahmin's rock-built shrine, Come, let me show thee an ensample, where Nature shall instruct us; The wedge is driven home,—and the saw is at its heart,—and lo, with solemn slowness, The shuddering monarch riseth from his throne, toppled with a crash,— and is fallen! Now, shall the mangled stump teach proud man a lesson; Now, can we from that elm-tree's sap distill the wine of Truth. These be the gathering of yesterdays, present all to-day, This is the tree's judgment, self-history that cannot be gainsaid: Seven years agone there was a drought, and the seventh ring is nar rowed; The fifth from hence was half a deluge,-the fifth is cellular and broad. Thus, Man, thou art a result, the growth of many yesterdays, That stamp thy secret soul with marks of weal or woe: Thou art an almanac of self, the living record of thy deeds; Spirit hath its scars as well as body, sore and aching in their season : Here is a knot,--it was a crime; there is a canker,-selfishness; Lo, here, the heart-wood rotten; lo, there, perchance, the sap-wood sound. Nature teacheth not in vain; thy works are in thee, of thee; Some present evil bent hath grown of older errors; And what if thou be walking now uprightly? Salve not thy wounds with poison, As if a petty goodness of to-day hath blotted out the sin of yesterdav: It is well, thou hast life and light; and the Hewer showeth mercy, Dressing the root, pruning the branch, and looking for thy tardy fruits; But, even here, as thou standest, cheerful belike and careless, The stains of ancient evil are upon thee, the record of thy wrong is in thee: For, a curse of many yesterdays is thine, many yesterdays of sin, Shall then a man reck nothing, but hurl mad defiance at his Judge, Knowing that less than an omnipotent cannot make the has been, not been? He ought,—so Satan spake; he must,—so Atheism urgeth; He may, it was the libertine's thought; he doth,—the bad world said it. But thou of humbler heart, thou student wiser for simplicity, While nature warneth thee betimes, heed the loving counsel of Religion. |