Part 22

Alas,--and bitter is their loss, the parents, and the children, Who, loving up and down the world, have missed each other's friendship. Haply, it had grown of careless life, for years go swiftly by; Or sprang of too much carefulness, that drank up all the streams: Haply, sullen disappointment came and quenched the fire; Haply, sternness, or misrule, crushed or warped the feelings. Then, ill-combined in tempers, they learnt not each the other; The growing child grew out of love, and drew the breath of fear; The youth, ill-trained, renounced his fears, and made a league with cunning; And so those hardened men were foes, that should have been chief friends. Where was the cause, the mutual cause? O hunt it out to kill it: And what the cure, the simple cure?--A mutual flash of love. For dull estrangement's daily air froze up those early sympathies By cold continuance in apathy, or cutting winds of censure; It was a slow process, which any fleeting hour could have melted; But every hour duly came, and passed without the sun. Caution, care, and dry distrust, obscured each other's minds, Till both those gardens, rich to yield, were rank with many weeds: And doubt, a hidden worm, gnawed at the root of their Society, They lacked of mutual confidence, and lived in mutual dread. Judge me, many fathers; and hearken to my counsel, many sons; I come with good in either hand, to reconcile contentions; For better friends can no man have, than those whom God hath given, And he that hath despised the gift, thought ill of that he knew not. Be ye wiser,--(I speak unto the sons,)--and win paternal friendships, Cultivate their kindness, seek them out with honour, and be the screening Japhet to their failings: And be ye wiser,--(I speak unto the fathers)--gain those filial comrades, Cherish their reasonable converse, and look not with coldness on your children. For the friendship of a child is the brightest gem set upon the circlet of Society, A jewel worth a world of pains--a jewel seldom seen.

The third cycle on the waters, another of those rings upon the onyx, A further definite broad zone, holdeth kith and kin: A motley band of many tribes, and under various banners; The intimate and strangers, the known and loved, or only seen for loathing: Some, dear for their deserts, shall honour and have honour of relationship, Some, despising duties, will add to it both burden and disgrace. A man's nearest kin are oftentimes far other than his dearest, Yet in the season of affliction those will haste to help him. For, note thou this, the providence of God hath bound up families together, To mutual aid and patient trial; yea, those ties are strong. Friends are ever dearer in thy wealth, but relations to be trusted in thy need, For these are God's appointed way, and those the choice of man: There is lower warmth in kin, but smaller truth in friends, The latter show more surface, and the first have more of depth: Relations rally to the rescue, even in estrangement and neglect, Where friends will have fled at thy defeat, even after promises and kindness; For friends come and go, the whim that bound may loose them, But none can dissever a relationship, and Fate hath tied the knot.

Wide, and edged with shadowy bounds, a distant boulevard to the city, The common crowd of social life is buzzing round about: That is as the outer court, with all defences levelled, Ranged around a man's own fortress, and his father's house. For many friends go in and out, and praise thee, finding pasture, And some are honeycomb to-day, who turn to gall to-morrow: And many a garrulous acquaintance with his frequent visit Will spend his leisure to thy cost, selling dulness dearly: For the idle call is a heavy tax, where time is counted gold, And even in the day of relaxation, haply he may spare his presence,-- He found himself alone, and came to talk,--till they that hear are tired; Let the man bethink him of an errand, that his face be not unwelcome.

But many friends there be, both well and wisely greeted, Gladly are they hailed upon the hills, and are chidden that they come so seldom. Of such are the early recollections, school friendships that have thriven to grey hairs, And veteran men are young once more, and talk of boyish pranks: And such, yet older on the list, are those who loved thy father, Thy father's friend, and thine, who tendereth thee tried love: Such also, many gentle hearts, whom thou hast known too lately, Hastening now to learn their worth, and chary of those minutes: And such, thy faithful pastor, coming to thy home with peace;-- Greet the good man heartily,--and bid thy children bless him!

Many thoughts, many thoughts,--who can catch them all? The best are ever swiftest winged, the duller lag behind: For, behold, in these vast themes, my mind is as a forest of the West, And flocking pigeons come in clouds, and bend the groaning branches; Here for a rest, then off and away,--they have sped to other climes, And leave me to my peace once more, a holiday from thoughts. I dare not lure them back, for the mighty subject of Society Would tempt to many a hackneyed note in many a weary key: Sage warnings, stout advice, experiences ever to be learned, The foolish floatiness of vanity, and solemn trumperies of pride,-- Economy, the poor man's mint,--extravagance, the rich man's pitfall, Harmful copings with the better, and empty-headed apings of the worse, Circumstance and custom, sympathies, antipathies, diverse kinds of conversation, Vapid pleasures, the weariness of gaiety, the strife and bustle of the world, Home comforts, the miseries of style, the cobweb lines of etiquette, The hollowness of courtesies, and substance of deceits,--idleness, business, and pastime,-- The multitude of matters to be done, the when, and where, and how, And varying shades of character, to do, undo, or miss them,-- All these, and many more alike, thick converging fancies, Flit in throngs about my theme, as honey-bees at even to their hive. Find an end, or make one: these seeds are dragon's teeth: Sown thoughts grow to things, and fill that field, the world: Many wise have gone before, and used the sickle well; Who can find a corner now, where none have bound the sheaves? So, other some may reap: I do but glean and gather: My sorry handful hath been culled after the ripe harvest of Society.

OF SOLITUDE.

Who hath known his brother,--or found him in his freedom unrestrained? Even he, whose hidden glance hath watched his deepest Solitude. For we walk the world in domino, putting on characters and habits, And wear a social Janus mask, while others stand around: I speak not of the hypocrite, nor dream of meant deceptions, But of that quick unconscious change, whereof the best know most.

For mind hath its influence on mind; and no man is free but when alone; Yea, let a dog be watching thee, its eye will tend to thy restraint: Self-possession cannot be so perfect, with another intellect beside thee, It is not as a natural result, but rather the educated produce: The presence of a second spirit must control thine own, And throw it off its equipoise of peace, to balance by an effort. The common minds of common men know of this but little; What then? they know nothing of themselves: I speak to those who know. The consciousness that some are hearing, cometh as a care, The sense that some are watching near, bindeth thee to caution; And the tree of tender nerves shrinketh as a touched mimosa, Drooping like a plant in drought, with half its strength decayed. There are antipathies warning from the many, and sympathies drawing to the few, But merchant-minds have crushed the first, and cannot feel the latter: Whereas to the quickened apprehension of a keen and spiritual intellect, Antipathies are galling, and sympathies oppress, and solitude is quiet.

He that dwelleth mainly by himself, heedeth most of others, But they that live in crowds, think chiefly of themselves. There is indeed a selfish seeming, where the anchorite liveth alone, But probe his thoughts,--they travel far, dreaming for ever of the world: And there is an apparent generosity, when a man mixeth freely with his fellows; But prove his mind, by day and night, his thoughts are all of self: The world, inciting him to pleasures, or relentlessly provoking him to toil, Is full of anxious rivals, each with a difference of interest; So must he plan and practise for himself, even as his own best friend; And the gay soul of dissipation never had a thought unselfish. The hermit standeth out of strife, abiding in a contemplative calmness; What shall he contemplate,--himself? a meagre theme for musing: He hath cast off follies, and kept aloof from cares; a man of simple wants; God and the soul, these are his excuse, a just excuse, for solitude: But he carried with him to his cell the half-dead feelings of humanity; There were they rested and refreshed; and he yearned once more on men.

Where is the wise, or the learned, or the good, that sought not solitude for thinking, And from seclusion's secret vale brought forth his precious fruits? Forests of Aricia, your deep shade mellowed Numa's wisdom, Peaceful gardens of Vaucluse, ye nourished Petrarch's love; Solitude made a Cincinnatus, ripening the hero and the patriot, And taught De Staël self-knowledge, even in the damp Bastile; It fostered the piety of Jerome, matured the labours of Augustine, And gave imperial Charles religion for ambition: That which Scipio praised, that which Alfred practised, Which fired Demosthenes to eloquence, and fed the mind of Milton, Which quickened zeal, nurtured genius, found out the secret things of science, Helped repentance, shamed folly, and comforted the good with peace,-- By all men just and wise, by all things pure and perfect, How truly, Solitude, art thou the fostering nurse of greatness!

Enough;--the theme is vast; sear me these necks of Hydra: What shall drive away the thoughts flocking to this carcase? Yea,--that all which man may think, hath long been said of Solitude: For many wise have proved and preached its evils and its good. I cannot add,--I will not steal; enough, for all is spoken: Yet heed thou these for practice, and discernment among men.

There are pompous talkers, solemn, oracular, and dull: Track them from society to solitude; and there ye find them fools. There are light-hearted jesters, taking up with company for pastime; How speed they when alone?--serious, wise, and thoughtful. And wherefore? both are actors, saving when in solitude, There they live their truest life, and all things show sincere: But the fool by pomposity of speech striveth to be counted wise, And the wise, for holiday and pleasance, playeth with the fool's best bauble. The solemn seemer, as a rule, will be found more ignorant and shallow Than those who laugh both loud and long, content to hide their knowledge.

For thee; seek thou Solitude, but neither in excess, nor morosely; Seek her for her precious things, and not of thine own pride. For there, separate from a crowd, the still small voice will talk with thee, Truth's whisper, heard and echoed by responding conscience; There, shalt thou gather up the ravelled skeins of feeling, And mend the nets of usefulness, and rest awhile for duties; There, thou shalt hive thy lore, and eat the fruits of study, For Solitude delighteth well to feed on many thoughts: There, as thou sittest peaceful, communing with fancy, The precious poetry of life shall gild its leaden cares: There, as thou walkest by the sea, beneath the gentle stars, Many kindling seeds of good will sprout within thy soul; Thou shalt weep in Solitude,--thou shalt pray in Solitude, Thou shalt sing for joy of heart, and praise the grace of Solitude. Pass on, pass on!--for this is the path of wisdom: God make thee prosper on the way; I leave thee well with Solitude.

RECAPITULATION.

Every beginning is shrouded in a mist, those vague ideas beyond, And the traveller setteth on his journey, oppressed with many thoughts, Balancing his hopes and fears, and looking for some order in the chaos, Some secret path between the cliffs, that seem to bar his way: So, he commenceth at a clue, unravelling its tangled skein, And boldly speedeth on to thread the labyrinth before him. Then as he gropeth in the darkness, light is attendant on his steps, He walketh straight in fervent faith, and difficulties vanish at his presence; The very flashing of his sword scattereth those shadowy foes; Confident and sanguine of success, he goeth forth conquering and to conquer.

Every middle is burdened with a weariness,--to have to go as far again,-- And Diligence is sick at heart, and Enterprise foot-sore: That which began in zeal, bursting as a fresh-dug spring, Goeth on doggedly in toil, and hath no help of nature: Then, is need of moral might, to wrestle with the animal re-action, Still to fight, with few men left, and still though faint pursuing. The middle is a marshy flat, whereon the wheels go heavily, With clouds of doubt above, and ruts of discouragement below: Press on, sturdy traveller, yet a league, and yet a league! While every step is binding wings on thy victorious feet.

Every end is happiness, the glorious consummation of design, The perils past, the fears annulled, the journey at its close: And the traveller resteth in complacency, home-returned at last: Work done may claim its wages, the goal gained hath won its prize: While the labour lasted, while the race was running, Many-times the sinews ached, and half refused the struggle: But now, all is quietness, a pleasant hour given to repose; Calmness in the retrospect of good, and calmness in the prospect of a blessing. Hope was glad in the beginning, and fear was sad midway, But sweet fruition cometh in the end, a harvest safe and sure. That which is, can never not have been: facts are solid as the pyramids: A thing done is written in the rock, yea, with a pen of iron. Uncertainty no more can scare, the proof is seen complete, Nor accident render unaccomplished, for the deed is finished. Thus the end shall crown the work, with grace, grace, unto the top-stone, And the work shall triumph in its crown, with peace, peace, unto the builder.

I have written, as other some of old, in quaint and meaning phrase, Of many things for either world, a crowd of facts and fancies: And will ye judge me, men of mind?--judge in kindly calmness; For bitter words of haste or hate have often been repented. Deep dreaming upon surface reading; imagery crowded over argument; Order less considered in the multitude of thoughts: this witnessing is just. Scripture gave the holier themes, the well-turned words and wisdom; While Fancy on her swallow's wing skimmed those deeper waters. And wilt thou say with shrewdness,--He hath burnished up old truths, But where he seemed to fashion new, the novelty was false? Alas, for us in these last days, our elders reaped the harvest: Alas, for all men in all times, who glean so many tares! That which is true, how should it be new? for time is old in years: That which is new, how should it be true? for I am young in wisdom: Nevertheless, I have spoken at my best, according to the mercies given me, Of high, and deep, and famous things, of Evil, or of Good. I have told of Errors near akin to Truth, and wholesomes linked with poison; Of subtle Uses in the humblest, and the deep laid plots of Pride: I have praised Wisdom, comforted thy Hope, and proved to thee the folly of Complainings; Hinted at the hazard of an Influence, and turned thee from the terrors of Ambition. I have shown thee thy captivity to Law: yet bade thee hide Humilities; I have lifted the curtains of Memory; and smoothed the soft pillow of Rest. Experience had his sober hour; and Character its keen appreciation; And holy Anger stood sublime, where Hatred fell condemned. Prayer spake the mind of God, even in His own good words: And Zeal, with kindness warmly mixt, allied him to Discretion. I taught thee that nothing is a Trifle, even to the laugh of Recreation; I led thee with the Train of Religion, to be dazzled at the name of the Triune. Thought confessed his unseen fears; and Speech declared his triumphs; I sang the blessedness of books; and commended the prudence of a letter: Riches found their room, either unto honour--or despising: Inventions took their lower place, for all things come of God. I scorned Ridicule; nor would humble me for Praise; for I had gained Self-knowledge; And pleaded fervently for Brutes, who suffer for man's sin. Then, I rose to Friendship; and bathed in all the tenderness of Love; Knew the purity of Marriage; and blest the face of Children. And whereas, by petulance or pride, I had haply said some evil, Mine after-thought was Tolerance, to bear the faults of all: Many faults, ill to bear, bred the theme of Sorrow; Many virtues, dear to see, induced the gush of Joy.

Thus, for awhile, as leaving thee in joy, was I loth to break that spell; I roamed to other things and thoughts, and fashioned other books. But in a season of reflection, after many days, A thought stood before me in its garment of the past,--and lo, a legion with it! They came in thronging bands,--I could not fight nor fly them,-- And so they took me to their tent, the prisoner of thoughts.

Then, I bade thee greet me well, and heed my cheerful counsels; For every day we have a Friend, who changeth not with time. Gladly did I speak of my commission, for I felt it graven on my heart, And could not hold my wiser peace, but magnified mine office. Mystery had left her echoes in my mind, and I discoursed her secret: And thence I turned aside to man, and judged him for his Gifts. Beauty, noble thesis, had a world of sweets to sing of, And dated all her praise from God, the birthday of the soul. Thence grew Fame; and Flattery came like Agag; But this was as the nauseous dregs, of that inspiring cup: Forth from Flattery sprang in opposition harsh and dull Neglect; And kind Contentment's gentle face to smile away the sadness. Life, all buoyancy and light, and Death, that sullen silence, Sped the soul to Immortality, the final home of man. Then, in metaphysical review, passed a triple troop, Swift Ideas, sounding Names, and heavily armed Things: Faith spake of her achievements even among men her brethren; And Honesty, with open mouth, would vindicate himself: The retrospect of Social life had many truths to tell of, And then I left thee to thy Solitude, learning there of Wisdom.

Friend and scholar, lover of the right, mine equal kind companion,-- I prize indeed thy favour, and these sympathies are dear: Still, if thy heart be little with me, wot thou well, my brother, I canvass not the smiles of praise, nor dread the frowns of censure. Through many themes in many thoughts, have we held sweet converse; But God alone be praised for mind! He only is sufficient, And every thought in every theme by prayer had been established: Who then should fear the face of man, when God hath answered prayer?-- I speak it not in arrogance of heart, but humbly as of justice, I think it not in vanity of soul, but tenderly, for gratitude,-- God hath blest my mind, and taught it many truths: And I have echoed some to thee, in weakness, yet sincerely: Yea, though ignorance and error shall have marred those lessons of His teaching, I stand in mine own Master's praise, or fall to His reproof. If thou lovest, help me with thy blessing; if otherwise, mine shall be for thee; If thou approvest, heed my words; if otherwise, in kindness be my teacher. Many mingled thoughts for self have warped my better aim; Many motives tempted still, to toil for pride or praise: Alas, I have loved pride and praise, like others worse or worthier; But hate and fear them now, as snakes that fastened on my hand: Scævola burnt both hand and crime; but Paul flung the viper on the fire: He shook it off, and felt no harm: so be it! I renounce them. Rebuke then, if thou wilt rebuke,--but neither hastily nor harshly; Or, if thou wilt commend, be it honestly, of right: I work for God and good.

BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.

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Transcriber's note:

Apparent typographical errors have been corrected.

Hyphenation has been made consistent.