Know I not thy mount, O Carmel! Have I not voyaged on the Danube ? Nor seen the glare of Arctic snows, nor the black tents of the Tartar? Is it then a dream, that I remember the faces of them of old, While wandering in the grove with Plato, and listening to Zeno in the porch? Paul have I seen, and Pythagoras, and the Stagyrite hath spoken me friendly, And His meek eye looked also upon me, standing with Peter in the palace. Athens and Rome, Persepolis and Sparta, am I not a freeman of you all? And chiefly can my yearning heart forget thee, O Jerusalem ? For the strong magic of conception, mingled with the fumes of memory, Giveth me a life in all past time, yea, and addeth substance to the future. Be ye my judges, imaginative minds, full-fledged to soar into the sun, Whose grosser natural thoughts the chemistry of wisdom hath sub limed, Have ye not confessed to a feeling, a consciousness, strange and vague, That ye have gone this way before, and walk again your daily life, Tracking an old routine, and on some foreign strand, Where bodily ye have never stood, finding your own footsteps? Hath not at times some recent friend looked out an old familiar, Some newest circumstance or place teemed as with ancient mem ories ? A startling, sudden flash lighteth up all for an instant, And then it is quenched, as in darkness, and leaveth the cold spirit trembling. MEMORY is not wisdom; idiots can rote volumes : Yet, what is wisdom without memory? a babe that is strangled in its birth, The path of the swallow in the air, the path of the dolphin in the waters, A cask running out, a bottomless chasm; such is wisdom without memory. There be many wise, who cannot store their knowledge; Yet from themselves are they satisfied, for the fountain is within: Strive to store up what was thought, despising what was said. For the mind is a spirit, and drinketh in ideas, as flame melteth into flame; But for words, it must pack them as on floors, cumbrous and perishable merchandise. To be pained for a minute, to fear for an hour, to hope for a week how long and weary! But to remember fourscore years, is to look back upon a day. The multitude of cressets shall seem one, in the false picture of perspective; Even so, in sweet treachery, dealeth the aged with himself; He gazeth on the green hill-tops, while the marshes beneath are hidden, And the partial telescope of memory pierceth the blank between, Life is as a morsel of frankincense burning in the hall of Eternity: Life is as a lump of salt, melting in the temple-laver; It is gone, yet its savor reacheth to the farthest atom; Even so, for evil or for good, is life the criterion of a man, For its memories of sanctity or sin pervade all the firmament of being. There is but the flitting moment, wherein to hope or to enjoy, THE DREAM OF AMBITION.. I LEFT the happy fields that smile around the village of Content, Black scorpions thronged me round, with sharp, uplifted stings, So I stood on the mountain, and behold! before me a giant pyramid, And I clomb with eager haste its high and difficult steps; For I longed, like another Belus, to mount up, yea, to heaven, THEN I sat on my granite throne under the burning sun, And the world lay smiling beneath me, but I was wrapt in flames; (And I hoped, in glimmering consciousness, that all this torture was a dream, Yet life is oft so like a dream, we know not where we are.) And anon, as I sat scorching, the pyramid shuddered to its root, And I felt the quarried mass leap from its sand foundations: Awhile it tottered and tilted, as raised by invisible levers, (And now my reason spake with me; I knew it was a dream; Yet I hushed that whisper into silence, for I hoped to learn of wisdom, By tracking up my truant thoughts, whereunto they might lead,) And suddenly, as rolling upon wheels, adown the cliff it rushed, And I thought, in my hot brain, of the Muscovite's icy slope; A thousand yards in a moment we ploughed the sandy seas, way: Before me all was life, and joy, and full-blown summer, Behind me death and woe, the desert and simoom. Then I wept and shrieked aloud, for pity and for fear; But might not stop, for, comet-like, flew on the maddened mass And columns, razed as by a scythe, and high domes, shivered as an egg-shell, And deep embattled ranks, and women, crowded in the streets. Down, down, to that central vault, the bolted doors of hell; And on to the deepest deep, where the fierce flames were hottest, Blazing tenfold as conquering furiously the seas that rushed in with me, And there I stopped; and a fearful voice shouted in mine ear, "Behold the home of Discontent; behold the rest of Ambition!" OF SUBJECTION. LAW hath dominion over all things, over universal mind and matter; For there are reciprocities of right, which no creature can gainsay. Unto each there was added by its Maker, in the perfect chain of being, Dependencies and sustentations, accidents, and qualities, and powers; And each must fly forward in the curve, unto which it was forced from the beginning; Each must attract and repel, or the monarchy of Order is no more. Laws are essential emanations from the self-poised character of God, And they radiate from that sun to the circling edges of creation. Verily, the mighty Lawgiver hath subjected Himself unto laws, And God is the primal grand example of free, unstrained obedience: His perfection is limited by right, and cannot trespass into wrong, Because He hath stablished Himself as the fountain of only good, And in thus much is bounded, that the evil hath he left unto another, And that dark other hath usurped the evil which Omnipotence laid down. Unto God there exist impossibilities; for the True One cannot lie, Nor the Wise One wander from the track which he hath determined for himself; For his will was purposed from eternity, strong in the love of order; And that will altereth not, as the law of the Medes and Persians. God is the origin of order, and the first exemplar of his precept; For there is subordination of his Essence, self-guided unto holi ness; |