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| To scatter seeds of life on barbarous shores;,,0.0 |
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| ,Again smile! —-and such a smile as speaks in ambiguity!”,3.0 |
| By virtue's holiest Powers attended., Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes;,2.0 |
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| To scatter seeds of life on barbarous shores;, It left unblest her loathed dishonour'd side;,0.0 |
| """Enceladus! it is Enceladus!” —-Pierre cried out in his sleep. |
| That moment the phantom faced him; and Pierre saw Enceladus no more; but on the Titan’s armless trunk, |
| his own duplicate face and features magnifiedly gleamed upon him with prophetic discomfiture and woe. ","I was, as everybody must be, I should think, very much struck by his magnificent countenance |
| --that prodigiously massive brow, those mighty eyes, that seem as if they were calmly looking down |
| the depths of ages, and that grand air of repose (which especially appeared to me to characterise his aspect) |
| have a sort of quiet mountainous grandeur about them that makes one think, that old Homer, |
| had he not been blind, might so have looked, or the awful Son of Coelus and Terra! ",3.0 |
| And pray that never child of song,"The year's best sweets shall duteous rise, |
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| I have travelled a good deal in Concord; and everywhere, in shops, and offices, and fields, the inhabitants |
| have appeared to me to be doing penance in a thousand remarkable ways. |
| For the pattern is new in every moment |
| And every moment is a new and shocking |
| Valuation of all we have been. The existing monuments form an ideal order among themselves, which is modified by the introduction of the new (the really new) work of art among them. |
| Yon tented sky, this laughing earth, |
| But his sublime intuitiveness also paints to him the sun-like glories of god-like truth and virtue; |
| which though ever obscured by the dense fogs of earth, still shall shine eventually in unclouded radiance, |
| casting illustrative light upon the sapphire throne of God.And above the firmament that was over their heads was the likeness of a throne, |
| as the appearance of a sapphire stone: and upon the likeness of the throne |
| was the likeness as the appearance of a man above upon it. |
| Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, Now sublimest triumph swelling, |
| |
| Oh God, that man should spoil and rust on the stalk, and |
| be wilted and threshed ere the harvest hath come! He, too, was struck, and day by day |
| Was wither’d on thestalk away. |
| But near it sat ecstatic Wonder, |
| Well, thought Captain Delano, if he has little breeding, the more need to show mine. He descended to the cabin |
| to bid a ceremonious, and, it may be, tacitly rebukeful adieu. But to his great satisfaction, Don Benito, as |
| if he began to feel the weight of that treatment with which his slighted guest had, not indecorously, |
| retaliated upon him, now supported by his servant, rose to his feet, and grasping Captain Delano’s hand, |
| stood tremulous; too much agitated to speak. But the good augury hence drawn was suddenly dashed, by his |
| resuming all his previous reserve, with augmented gloom, as, with half-averted eyes, he silently reseated |
| himself on his cushions. With a corresponding return of his own chilled feelings, Captain Delano bowed and |
| withdrew.After I had ordered my boat to be hauled up and manned, and as I was going to the side of the vessel, in order |
| to get into her, Don Bonito came to me, gave my hand a hearty squeeze, and as I thought, seemed to feel the |
| weight of the cool treatment with which I had retaliated. I had committed a mistake in attributing his apparent |
| coldness to neglect; and as soon as the discovery was made, I was happy to rectify it, by a prompt renewal of |
| friendly intercourse. He continued to hold my hand fast till I stepped off the gunwale down the side, when he |
| let it go, and stood making me compliments. |
| The genial meads, assign'd to bless",2.0 |
| To lead in memorable triumph home," And thou, thou rich-hair'd youth of morn, |
| And she, from out the veiling cloud, |
| The physician slain, and of his flesh and blood a receit made, that the patient might recover. |
| Yet once again, dear parted shade, |
| Now let us, as we float along, At solemn turney hung on high, |
| Meek Nature's Child, again adieu!",2.0 |
| "Mystery! Mystery! |
| Mystery of Isabel! |
| Mystery! Mystery! |
| Isabel and Mystery!","Within that awful volume lies |
| The mystery of mysteries! |
| Happiest they of human race, |
| To whom God has granted grace",3.0 |
| "Now let us, as we float along,","Or tears which Love and Pity shed,",2.0 |
| "Of the unnumbered Polynesian chains to the westward, not one partakes of the qualities of the Encantadas or |
| Gallipagos, the isles of St. Felix and St. Ambrose, the isles Juan-Fernandez and Massafuero. Of the first, |
| it needs not here to speak. The second lie a little above the Southern Tropic; lofty, inhospitable, and |
| uninhabitable rocks, one of which, presenting two round hummocks connected by a low reef, exactly resembles |
| a huge double-headed shot. The last lie in the latitude of 33°; high, wild and cloven. Juan Fernandez is |
| sufficiently famous without further description. Massafuero is a Spanish name, expressive of the fact, that |
| the isle so called lies more without, that is, further off the main than its neighbor Juan.","The earliest date concerning them that has been met with in the present investigation, |
| is given to the two islands named, one of them after its Islands discoverer, Juan Fernandez, and the other, |
| being more distant from the continent, Mas-a-fuera (more without). According to |
| the dictionary of Alcedo, these islands were first seen in 1565. |
| Juan Fernandez, the largest of the two, is in 33"" 42' South |
| latitude, and distant from the American coast 115 geographical |
| leaogues. Mas-a-fuera is 28 leagues to the West of J. Fernandez |
| and in latitude 33° 48' South. Whether they were inhabited or |
| not, at the time they were first discovered by Europeans, is not |
| noticed in the accounts of them. The land is habitable ; and |
| the writer of Commodore Anson's Voyage mentions, that Juan |
| Fernandez obtained a grant of the island, which bears his name, |
| on which he resided some time; but it was afterwards aban- |
| doned by him. |
| To breezy lawn, or forest deep, |
| Like split Syrian gourds left withering in the sun, they are cracked by an everlasting drought beneath |
| a torrid sky. “Have mercy upon me,” the wailing spirit of the Encantadas seems to cry, “and send Lazarus |
| that he may dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am tormented in this flame.”There was a certain rich man, which was clothed in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day: |
| And there was a certain beggar named Lazarus, which was laid at his gate, full of sores, |
| And desiring to be fed with the crumbs which fell from the rich man's table: |
| moreover the dogs came and licked his sores. |
| And it came to pass, that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels into Abraham's bosom: |
| the rich man also died, and was buried; |
| And in hell he lifted up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom. |
| And he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip |
| of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame. |
| But Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, |
| and likewise Lazarus evil things: but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented. |
| That, like the Red-cross Knight, they urge their way, With many a vow from Hope's aspiring tongue, ",0.0 |
| "How calm! how still! the only sound,", It left unblest her loathed dishonour'd side;,1.0 |
| May know that Poet's sorrows more. ," Young Fancy thus, to me divinest name,",1.0 |
| The dripping of the oar suspended!,"But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide",2.0 |
| "I now recalled all the quiet mysteries which I had noted in the man. I remembered that he never spoke |
| but to answer; that, though at intervals he had considerable time to himself, yet I had never seen him |
| reading —-no, not even a newspaper; that for long periods he would stand looking out, |
| at his pale window behind the screen, upon the dead brick wall; I was quite sure he never visited |
| any refectory or eating house; while his pale face clearly indicated that he never drank beer like Turkey, |
| or tea and coffee even, like other men; that he never went anywhere in particular that I could learn; |
| never went out for a walk, unless, indeed, that was the case at present; that he had declined telling |
| who he was, or whence he came, or whether he had any relatives in the world; that though so thin and pale, |
| he never complained of ill health. And more than all, I remembered a certain unconscious air of pallid |
| —-how shall I call it? —-of pallid haughtiness, say, or rather an austere reserve about him, |
| which had positively awed me into my tame compliance with his eccentricities, when I had feared |
| to ask him to do the slightest incidental thing for me, even though I might know, from his long-continued |
| motionlessness, that behind his screen he must be standing in one of those dead-wall reveries of his.","And now I begin to feel—and perhaps should have sooner felt—that we have talked enough of the Old Manse. |
| Mine honored reader, it may be, will vilify the poor author as an egotist for babbling through so many pages |
| about a mossgrown country parsonage, and his life within its walls, and on the river, and in the woods, |
| and the influences that wrought upon him from all these sources. My conscience, however, does not |
| reproach me with betraying anything too sacredly individual to be revealed by a human spirit |
| to its brother or sister spirit. How narrow --how shallow and scanty too —-is the stream of thought |
| that has been flowing from my pen, compared with the broad tide of dim emotions, ideas, |
| and associations which swell around me from that portion of my existence! How little have I told! |
| and of that little, how almost nothing is even tinctured with any quality that makes it exclusively my own! |
| Has the reader gone wandering, hand in hand with me, through the inner passages of my being? |
| and have we groped together into all its chambers and examined their treasures or their rubbish? |
| Not so. We have been standing on the greensward, but just within the cavern’s mouth, |
| where the common sunshine is free to penetrate, and where every footstep is therefore free to come. |
| I have appealed to no sentiment or sensibilities save such as are diffused among us all. |
| So far as I am a man of really individual attributes I veil my face; nor am I, nor have I ever been, |
| one of those supremely hospitable people who serve up their own hearts, delicately fried, with brain sauce, |
| as a tidbit for their beloved public.",2.0 |
| "there is a time for building |
| And a time for living and for generation |
| And a time for the wind to break the loosened pane |
| And to shake the wainscot where the field-mouse trots |
| And to shake the tattered arras woven with a silent motto.","To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance",5.0 |
| " That would lament her;Memphis, Tyre, are gone"," Might hope the magic girdle wear,",0.0 |
| "Ere ascending, however, to gaze abroad upon the Encantadas, this sea-tower itself claims attention. It is |
| visible at the distance of thirty miles; and, fully participating in that enchantment which pervades the group, |
| when first seen afar invariably is mistaken for a sail. Four leagues away, of a golden, hazy noon, it seems |
| some Spanish Admiral’s ship, stacked up with glittering canvas. Sail ho! Sail ho! Sail ho! from all three masts. |
| But coming nigh, the enchanted frigate is transformed apace into a craggy keep.","Towards sunset, the man on the look-out |
| cried out, a sail to the northwest! All sail was made in chase, |
| but in a short time we discovered from the masthead, by |
| our glasses, that it was one of two rocks that he off the |
| north end of Porter’s Island, which we have: called. Baines |
| bridge’s Rocks. ",3.0 |
| "Still, the inspiration which had thus far directed him had not been entirely mute and undivulging |
| as to many very bitter things which Pierre foresaw in the wide sea of trouble into which he was plunged.","To be or not to be—-that is the question: |
| Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer |
| The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, |
| Or to take arms against a sea of troubles |
| And, by opposing, end them.",4.0 |
| "How calm! how still! the only sound,","O! vales and wild woods, shall he say",2.0 |
| By these Religious saved for all posterity.," To few the godlike gift assigns, ",0.0 |
| "Look at the specimen, sir. One rod will answer for a house so small as this. Look over these recommendations. |
| Only one rod, sir; cost, only twenty dollars. Hark! There go all the granite Taconics and Hoosics dashed |
| together like pebbles. By the sound, that must have struck something. An elevation of five feet above the |
| house, will protect twenty feet radius all about the rod. Only twenty dollars, sir—a dollar a foot. Hark! |
| —-Dreadful! —-Will you order? Will you buy? Shall I put down your name? Think of being a heap of charred offal, |
| like a haltered horse burnt in his stall; and all in one flash!”","The plan adopted was that familiarly known as ""dooming,"" a method of raising money for public purposes then |
| common in Pittsfield. In accordance with it, the committee assessed upon each man of property in the parish, |
| a sort of semi-voluntary tax, pro-portioned not exactly to what they supposed his resources to be; but based |
| partly upon that, and in part upon his interest in the proposed object, his reputed liberality, and his sense |
| of duty in such matters. In short, they assigned to each individual that measure of contribution which they |
| believed he would voluntarily assume, were he as well-informed in the premises as themselves.",4.0 |
| "Judge, then, how all-desolating and withering the blast, that for Pierre, in one night, |
| stripped his holiest shrine of all overlaid bloom, and buried the mild statue of the saint beneath the |
| prostrated ruins of the soul’s temple itself.","Aye,in the very temple of |
| Delight Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine. |
| Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue |
| Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine ",3.0 |
| Thy own tongue blister the roof of thy mouth!,Blister’d be thy tongue For such a wish!,4.0 |
| May know that Poet's sorrows more. , Who feed on heaven's ambrosial flowers. ,1.0 |
| The whole earth is our hospital,For this world I count it not an inn but an hospital: a place not to live but to die in.,5.0 |
| "Then both hands dropped on the sheet; and in the twinkling shadows of the evening little Pierre seemed to see, |
| that while the hand which he held wore a faint, feverish flush, the other empty one was ashy white as a leper’s.","But Elisha said to him, “Was not my spirit with you when the man got down from his chariot to meet you? |
| Is this the time to take money or to accept clothes—or olive groves and vineyards, or flocks and herds, |
| or male and female slaves? |
| Naaman’s leprosy will cling to you and to your descendants forever.” |
| Then Gehazi went from Elisha’s presence and his skin was leprous—it had become as white as snow.",3.0 |
| For 'him' suspend the dashing oar;, Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering near!,2.0 |
| "below inveterate scars |
| Appeasing long forgotten wars.","Raze, lord, my sin's inveterate scars |
| For the pattern is new in every moment |
| And every moment is a new and shocking |
| Valuation of all we have been. You are not those who saw the harbour |
| Receding, or those who will disembark. |
| With all their Arts,but classic lore glides on Of all the sons of soul, was known; |
| Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thoughtWe who were living are now dying |
| With a little patience |
| And it is often to be observed, that as in digging for precious metals in the mines, |
| much earthy rubbish has first to be troublesomely handled and thrown out; |
| so, in digging in one’s soul for the fine gold of genius, much dullness and common-place is first brought |
| to light. Happy would it be, if the man possessed in himself some receptacle for his own rubbish of this sort: |
| but he is like the occupant of a dwelling, whose, refuse can not be dapped into his own cellar, |
| but must be deposited in the street before his own door, for the public functionaries to take care of.More specially may it now be declared that Professor Teufelsdrockh's acquirements, patience of research, |
| philosophic and even poetic vigor, are here made indisputably manifest; |
| and unhappily no less his prolixity and tortuosity and manifold ineptitude; |
| that, on the whole, as in opening new mine-shafts is not unreasonable, there is much rubbish in his Book, |
| though likewise specimens of almost invaluable ore.",4.0 |
| To their belovèd cells:or shall we say," Seraphic wires were heard to sound,",0.0 |
| For 'him' suspend the dashing oar;,"Long, long thy stone and pointed clay",2.0 |
| The evening darkness gathers round," And, 'mid the varied landscape weep. |
| That would lament her;Memphis, Tyre, are gone Strange shades o'erbrow the valleys deep,",0.0 |
| "all meditation is worthless, unless it prompt to action"," |
| The end of man is an action, and not a thought, though it were the noblest! ",3.0 |
| "A man who has at length found something to do will not need to get a new suit to do it in; for him the old |
| will do, that has lain dusty in the garret for an indeterminate period. Old shoes will serve a hero longer |
| than they have served his valet,—if a hero ever has a valet, —-bare feet are older than shoes, and he can make |
| them do. ","We will also take the liberty to deny altogether that of the witty Frenchman, That no man is a Hero to his |
| valet-de-chambre.",4.0 |
| "This to be my wife? I that but the other day weighed anhundred and fifty pounds of solid avoirdupois; |
| —-to wed this heavenly fleece? Methinks one husbandly embrace would breakher airy zone, |
| and she exhale upward to that heaven whenceshe hath hither come, condensed to mortal sight. ","I am too coarse for ladies; my embraces, That only am acquainted with alarums, Would break their tender bodies.",4.0 |
| "Love was first begot by Mirth and Peace, in Eden, when the |
| world was young.","keeps peace on earth, quietness by sea, mirth in the winds and elements . . .",3.0 |
| Talk of a divinity in man! ,I am part or particle of God.,5.0 |
| "The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant","Emptiness, absense, separating from God; |
| The horror of the effortless journey, to the empty land |
| Which is no land, only emptiness, absence, the Void.",4.0 |
| And pray that never child of song," Retiring, sat with her alone,",1.0 |
| "Ere ascending, however, to gaze abroad upon the Encantadas, this sea-tower itself claims attention. It is |
| visible at the distance of thirty miles; and, fully participating in that enchantment which pervades the group, |
| when first seen afar invariably is mistaken for a sail. Four leagues away, of a golden, hazy noon, it seems |
| some Spanish Admiral’s ship, stacked up with glittering canvas. Sail ho! Sail ho! Sail ho! from all three masts. |
| But coming nigh, the enchanted frigate is transformed apace into a craggy keep.","At length the cry of sail ho! and shortly afterwards another, seemed to electrify |
| every man on board, and it seemed now as if all our hopes and expectations were to be realized. But in a |
| few minutes those illusory prospects vanished, and as sudden dejection, proceeding from disappomtment, took |
| place; for the supposed sails proved to be only white appearances on the shore. ",4.0 |
| The evening darkness gathers round," And holy Genii guard the rock,",1.0 |
| "after all, what is so enthusiastically applauded as the march of mind, |
| --meaning the inroads of Truth into Error --which has |
| ever been regarded by hopeful persons as the one fundamental |
| thing most earnestly to be prayed for as the greatest possible |
| Catholic blessing to the world; —-almost every thinking man |
| must have been some time or other struck with the idea, that, in |
| certain respects, a tremendous mistake may be lurking here, |
| since all the world does never gregariously advance to Truth, |
| but only here and there some of its individuals do; |
| and by advancing, leave the rest behind; cutting themselves forever adrift from their sympathy, |
| and making themselves always liable to be regarded with distrust, dislike, and often, downright |
| though, ofttimes, concealed —-fear and hate.","Here I must think Wordsworth is deeper than Milton, though I think it has depended more upon the general |
| and gregarious advance of intellect, than individual greatness of Mind.",3.0 |
| "Through the dark cold and the empty desolation, |
| The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters |
| Of the petrel and the porpoise.","And he said, Come. And when |
| Peter was come down out of the |
| ship, he walked on the water, to go |
| to Jesus.",4.0 |
| The dripping of the oar suspended!,"The genial meads, assign'd to bless |
| |
| Long, long thy stone and pointed clay |
| In yonder grave a Druid lies, |
| As once,if, not with light regard, |
| Guide me, gird me, guard me, this day, ye sovereign powers! |
| Bind me in bonds I can not break; remove all sinister allurings from me; |
| eternally this day deface in me the detested and distorted images of all the convenient lies |
| and duty-subterfuges of the diving and ducking moralities of this earth.Lead us, Heavenly Father, lead us o'er the world's tempestuous sea; |
| Guard us, guide us, keep us, feed us . . . |
| All the shadowy tribes of mind, |
| though the age of authors be passing, the hours of earnestness shall remain! A silent great soul; he was one of those who cannot but be in earnest; |
| whom nature herself has appointed to be sincere. |
| “Let me see. Was it not at Criggan last week, about midnight on Saturday, that the steeple, the big elm, and |
| the assembly-room cupola were struck? Any of your rods there?” |
| “Not on the tree and cupola, but the steeple.” |
| “Of what use is your rod, then?” |
| “Of life-and-death use. But my workman was heedless. In fitting the rod at top to the steeple, he allowed a |
| part of the metal to graze the tin sheeting. Hence the accident. Not my fault, but his. Hark!”A pretty full prayer-meeting, supposed to number about three hundred, were in attendance at the lecture-room, |
| when the light- ning struck and descended the rod to the eaves. The rod had be- come detached from the building, |
| and swung loose. There the lightning parted. One portion descended the rod to the earth, and there made a |
| mighty display of its wonderful power. The other portion entered the lecture-room between the first and second |
| windows, carrying in the second window, to the large stove; followed the pipe to the chimney at the west end |
| of the house; descended until it met the stove-pipe in the lower room; thence followed the pipe north to the |
| stove in the north-west lower room, where it tore its way through the floor, and passed out through the |
| underpinning: leaving a visible trace of its irresistible course in the earth outside, and at the north-west |
| corner of the building. Although several were severely injured, yet God'sgreat goodness and mercy were |
| signally manifested in the preser- vation of the life of every one present.",4.0 |
| The dripping of the oar suspended!," From many a cloud that dropp'd ethereal dew, |
| O! vales and wild woods, shall he say |
| And here again, not unreasonably, might invocations go up |
| to those Three Weird Ones, that tend Life’s loom.The Weïrd Sisters, hand in hand, |
| Posters of the sea and land, |
| Thus do go about, about, |
| Thrice to thine and thrice to mine |
| While on its rich ambitious head, |
| But how do the poor minority fare? Perhaps it will be found, that just in proportion as some have been placed |
| in outward circumstances above the savage, others have been degraded below him. The luxury of one class is |
| counterbalanced by the indigence of another. On the one side is the palace, on the other are the almshouse and |
| “silent poor.”Another class of donations has been made to the town for the relief of the silent poor, --those individuals |
| who are needy, but do not wish to throw themselves on the town for support. |
| In vain--Such bliss to one alone, |
| With all their Arts,but classic lore glides on In braided dance, their murmurs join'd,",0.0 |
| "What a man thinks of himself, that it is which determines, or rather indicates, his fate. Self-emancipation |
| even in the West Indian provinces of the fancy and imagination, -— what Wilberforce is there to bring that |
| about?","The Imagination then I consider either as primary, or secondary. The primary Imagination I hold to be the |
| living Power and prime Agent of all human Perception, and as a repetition in the finite mind of the eternal |
| act of creation in the infinite I Am. The secondary I consider as an echo of the former, co-existing with |
| the conscious will, yet still as identical with the primary in the kind of its agency, and differing only in |
| degree, and in the mode of its operation. It dissolves, diffuses, dissipates, in order to re-create; or where |
| this process is rendered impossible, yet still at all events it struggles to idealize and to unify. It is |
| essentially vital, even as all objects (as objects) are essentially fixed and dead. |
| Fancy, on the contrary, has no other counters to play with, but fixities and definites. The Fancy is indeed |
| no other than a mode of Memory emancipated from the order of time and space; while it is blended with, and |
| modified by that empirical phenomenon of the will, which we express by the word CHOICE. But equally with the |
| ordinary memory the Fancy must receive all its materials ready made from the law of association.",3.0 |
| The evening darkness gathers round, In yonder grave your Druid lies! ,2.0 |
| " Whence they, like richly-laden merchants, come "," An Eden, like his own, lies spread:",0.0 |
| "In short, this chronometrical and horological conceit, in sum, seems to teach this: |
| —-That in things terrestrial (horological) a man must not be governed by ideas celestial (chronometrical)","It is not to be denied that before thedaies of Jerom there were Horologies, and several accounts of time",3.0 |
| "So that there was nothing he more spurned, than his own aspirations; |
| nothing he more abhorred than the loftiest part of himself.","You hate me, but your abhorrence cannot equal that with which I regard myself.",3.0 |
| "Time passed; and the following May, after a gentle shower upon the mountains—a little shower islanded in |
| misty seas of sunshine; such a distant shower—and sometimes two, and three, and four of them, all visible |
| together in different parts—as I love to watch from the piazza, instead of thunder storms, as I used to, |
| which wrap old Greylock, like a Sinai, till one thinks swart Moses must be climbing among scathed hemlocks |
| there; after, I say, that, gentle shower, I saw a rainbow, resting its further end just where, in autumn, |
| I had marked the mole.","And Moses brought forth the people out of the camp to meet with God; and they stood at the nether part of |
| the mount. 18And mount Sinai was altogether on a smoke, because the LORD descended upon it in fire: and |
| the smoke thereof ascended as the smoke of a furnace, and the whole mount quaked greatly. And when the voice |
| of the trumpet sounded long, and waxed louder and louder, Moses spake, and God answered him by a voice. |
| And the LORD came down upon mount Sinai, on the top of the mount: and the LORD called Moses up to the top |
| of the mount; and Moses went up. And the LORD said unto Moses, Go down, charge the people, lest they break |
| through unto the LORD to gaze, and many of them perish. And let the priests also, which come near to the LORD, |
| sanctify themselves, lest the LORD break forth upon them. And Moses said unto the LORD, The people cannot |
| come up to mount Sinai: for thou chargedst us, saying, Set bounds about the mount, and sanctify it. ",4.0 |
| May know that Poet's sorrows more. ,,1.0 |
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| , |
| ,3.0 |
| For 'him' suspend the dashing oar;,,1.0 |
| The evening darkness gathers round,,1.0 |
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| ,3.0 |
| By virtue's holiest Powers attended.," But near it sat ecstatic Wonder,",1.0 |
| "Now let us, as we float along,"," By which, as Milton lay, his evening ear,",1.0 |
| The dripping of the oar suspended!,And see the fairy valleys fade;,2.0 |
| "How calm! how still! the only sound,", Where is the bard whose soul can now,1.0 |
| "For indeed there was a reserved strength and masculineness in the character of his mother, |
| from which on all these points Pierre had every thing to dread.","Tho’ frail my sex, I have a soul as masculine |
| As any of thy race.",3.0 |
| "Oh, men are jailors all; jailors of themselves","But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts |
| Benighted walks under the midday sun; |
| Himself is his own dungeon.",3.0 |
| For 'him' suspend the dashing oar;,"The friend shall view yon whitening spire,",2.0 |
| O dark dark dark. ,"O dark dark dark, amid the blaze of the noon, |
| Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse |
| Without all hope of day! |
| O first-created beam, and thou great Word, |
| ""Let there be light, and light was over all,"" |
| Why am I thus bereaved thy prime decree? |
| The sun to me is dark |
| And silent as the Moon, |
| When she deserts the night, |
| Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.",5.0 |
| " Whence they, like richly-laden merchants, come "," All the shadowy tribes of mind,",0.0 |
| "How calm! how still! the only sound,", The wish of each love-darting eye;,1.0 |
| "let the dark come upon you |
| Which shall be the darkness of God.",[God] causes the soul to languish,4.0 |
| To lead in memorable triumph home, My trembling feet his guiding steps pursue;,0.0 |
| " Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, "," And Heaven, and Fancy, kindred powers,",0.0 |
| "Love was first begot by Mirth and Peace, in Eden, when the |
| world was young. The man oppressed with cares, he can not |
| love; the man of gloom finds not the god. So, as youth, for the |
| most part, has no cares, and knows no gloom, therefore, ever |
| since time did begin, youth belongs to love. Love may end in |
| grief and age, and pain and need, and all other modes of human |
| mournfulness; but love begins in joy. ","The reason why Love was still painted young, (as Phornutus and others will) |
| “is because young men are most apt to love; soft, fair, and fat, because such folks are soonest taken: |
| naked, because all true affection is simple and open: he smiles, because merry and given to delights: |
| hath a quiver, to show his power, none can escape: is blind, because he sees not where he strikes, |
| whom he hits, &c.”",3.0 |
| The evening darkness gathers round,"O! vales and wild woods, shall he say",2.0 |
| May know that Poet's sorrows more. ,,1.0 |
| Not sedentary all: there are who roam,,0.0 |
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| ,4.0 |
| Talk of a divinity in man! , |
| ,4.0 |
| , Ah! what will every dirge avail!,2.0 |
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| ,5.0 |
| The dripping of the oar suspended!,Now waft me from the green hill's side,2.0 |
| "So thoroughly and sincerely are we compelled to live, reverencing our life, and denying the possibility of |
| change. This is the only way, we say; but there are as many ways as there can be drawn radii from one centre. |
| All change is a miracle to contemplate; but it is a miracle which is taking place every instant.","He [Jesus] spoke of miracles; for he felt that man’s life was a miracle, and all that man doth, and he knew |
| that this daily miracle shines, as the man is diviner. But the very word Miracle, as pronounced by Christian |
| churches, gives a false impression; it is Monster. It is not one with the blowing clover and the falling rain.",4.0 |
| "A man who has at length found something to do will not need to get a new suit to do it in; for him the old |
| will do, that has lain dusty in the garret for an indeterminate period. Old shoes will serve a hero longer |
| than they have served his valet,—if a hero ever has a valet, —-bare feet are older than shoes, and he can make |
| them do. ",Few men have been admired by their domestics.,3.0 |
| "We may imagine a time when, in the infancy of the human race, some enterprising mortal crept into a hollow in |
| a rock for shelter. Every child begins the world again, to some extent, and loves to stay out doors, even in |
| wet and cold. It plays house, as well as horse, having an instinct for it. Who does not remember the interest |
| with which when young he looked at shelving rocks, or any approach to a cave? It was the natural yearning of |
| that portion of our most primitive ancestor which still survived in us.","Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; |
| The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star, |
| Hath had elsewhere its setting |
| And cometh from afar; |
| Not in entire forgetfulness, |
| And not in utter nakedness, |
| But trailing clouds of glory do we come |
| From God, who is our home: |
| Heaven lies about us in our infancy! |
| Shades of the prison-house begin to close |
| Upon the growing Boy, |
| But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, |
| He sees it in his joy; |
| The Youth, who daily farther from the east |
| Must travel, still is Nature’s priest, |
| And by the vision splendid |
| Is on his way attended; |
| At length the Man perceives it die away, |
| And fade into the light of common day. |
| Heaven lies about us in our infancy!",4.0 |
| For 'him' suspend the dashing oar;," Some chaste and angel friend to virgin fame,",1.0 |
| "he had himself, as it were, resigned his noble |
| birthright to a cunning kinsman for a mess of pottage, which |
| now proved all but ashes in his mouth.","And the boys grew: and Esau was a cunning hunter, a man of the field; and Jacob was a plain man, dwelling in tents. |
| And Isaac loved Esau, because he did eat of his venison: but Rebekah loved Jacob. |
| And Jacob sod pottage: and Esau came from the field, and he was faint: |
| And Esau said to Jacob, Feed me, I pray thee, with that same red pottage; for I am faint: therefore was his name called Edom. |
| And Jacob said, Sell me this day thy birthright. |
| And Esau said, Behold, I am at the point to die: and what profit shall this birthright do to me? |
| And Jacob said, Swear to me this day; and he sware unto him: and he sold his birthright unto Jacob. |
| Then Jacob gave Esau bread and pottage of lentiles; and he did eat and drink, and rose up, and went his way: thus Esau despised his birthright.",3.0 |
| "Pierre was the only son of an affluent, and haughty widow; alady who externally furnished a singular example of the preservative and beautifying influences of unfluctuating rank, health, and wealth,","My mother, who was as haughty as Lucifer with her descent from the Stuarts . . ",3.0 |
| Not sedentary all: there are who roam, My trembling feet his guiding steps pursue;,0.0 |
| "Now let us, as we float along,"," Some chaste and angel friend to virgin fame,",1.0 |
| "“The hottest, weariest hour of day, you mean? Sir, the sun gilds not this roof. It leaked so, |
| brother newly shingled all one side. Did you not see it? The north side, where the sun strikes most on |
| what the rain has wetted. The sun is a good sun; but this roof, in first scorches, and then rots. |
| An old house. They went West, and are long dead, they say, who built it. A mountain house. In winter no fox |
| could den in it. That chimney-place has been blocked up with snow, just like a hollow stump.”","Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat, |
| Nor any cloud would cross the vault, |
| But day increased from heat to heat, |
| On stony drought and steaming salt; |
| Till now at noon she slept again, |
| And seem'd knee-deep in mountain grass, |
| And heard her native breezes pass, |
| And runlets babbling down the glen. |
| She breathed in sleep a lower moan, |
| And murmuring, as at night and morn |
| She thought, My spirit is here alone, |
| Walks forgotten, and is forlorn. |
| Pausing at the threshold, or rather where threshold once had been, I saw, through the open door-way, |
| a lonely girl, sewing at a lonely window. A pale-cheeked girl, and fly-specked window, |
| with wasps about the mended upper panes. I spoke. She shyly started, like some Tahiti girl, |
| secreted for a sacrifice, first catching sight, through palms, of Captain Cook. Recovering, |
| she bade me enter; with her apron brushed off a stool; then silently resumed her own. |
| With thanks I took the stool; but now, for a space, I, too, was mute. |
| This, then, is the fairy-mountain house, and here, the fairy queen sitting at her fairy window.Glancing back over what I have written, it seems but the scattered reminiscences of a single summer. |
| In fairyland there is no measurement of time; and, in a spot so sheltered from the turmoil of life’s ocean, |
| three years hastened away with a noiseless flight, as the breezy sunshine chases the cloud-shadows |
| across the depths of a still valley. Now came hints, growing more and more distinct, that the owner of |
| the old house was pining for his native air. Carpenters next, appeared, making a tremendous racket |
| among the outbuildings, strewing the green grass with pine shavings and chips of chestnut joists, |
| and vexing the whole antiquity of the place with their discordant renovations. Soon, moreover, |
| they divested our abode of the veil of woodbine which had crept over a large portion of its southern face. |
| All the aged mosses were cleared unsparingly away; and there were horrible whispers about brushing up |
| the external walls with a coat of paint, —-a purpose as little to my taste as might be that of |
| rouging the venerable cheeks of one’s grandmother. But the hand that renovates is always more sacrilegious |
| than that which destroys. In fine, we gathered up our household goods, drank a farewell cup of tea |
| in our pleasant little breakfast-room, —-delicately fragrant tea, an unpurchasable luxury, |
| one of the many angel gifts that had fallen like dew upon us, |
| -—and passed forth between the tall stone gate-posts as uncertain as the wandering Arabs |
| where our tent might next be pitched. Providence took me by the hand, and—an oddity of dispensation |
| which, I trust, there is no irreverence in smiling at —-has led me, as the newspapers announce |
| while I am writing, from the Old Manse into a custom-house. As a story-teller, I have often contrived |
| strange vicissitudes for my imaginary personages, but none like this. |
| Whence they, like richly-laden merchants, come |
| I hate the world, and could trample all lungs of mankind as |
| grapes, and heel them out of their breath, to think of the woe |
| and the cant, --to think of the Truth and the Lie! I have troden the winepresse alone, and of the people there was none with me: |
| for I will tread them in mine anger, and trample them in my furie, |
| and their blood shall be sprinkled upon my garments, and I will staine all my raiment. |
| Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock, |
| that, to be restored, our sickness must grow worse.Descend lower, descend only |
| Into the world of perpetual solitude, |
| World not world, but that which is not world, |
| Internal darkness, deprivation |
| And destitution of all property, |
| Desiccation of the world of sense, |
| Evacuation of the world of fancy, |
| Inoperancy of the world of spirit; |
| Society demands an Avatar, a Curtius, my boy! |
| At these wailed words from Isabel, Lucy shrunk up like a scroll, and noiselessly fell at the feet of Pierre.And all the host of heaven shall be dissolved, and the heavens shall be rolled together as a scroll: |
| and all their host shall fall down, as the leaf falleth off from the vine, and as a falling fig |
| from the fig tree. |
| |
| An Eden, like his own, lies spread: |
| No Cornwall miner ever sunk so deep a shaft beneath the sea, as Love will sink beneath the floatings |
| of the eyes. Love sees ten million fathoms down, till dazzled by the floor of pearls. |
| The eye is Love’s own magic glass, where all things that are not of earth, glide in supernatural light. |
| There are not so many fishes in the sea, as there are sweet images in lovers’ eyes. In those |
| miraculous translucencies swim the strange eye-fish with wings, that sometimes leap out, instinct with joy; |
| moist fish-wings wet the lover’s cheek. Love’s eyes are holy things; therein the mysteries of life are lodged; |
| looking in each other’s eyes, lovers see the ultimate secret of the worlds; |
| and with thrills eternally untranslatable, feel that Love is god of all. |
| Man or woman who has never loved, nor once looked deep down into their own lover’s eyes, |
| they know not the sweetest and the loftiest religion of this earth. But love, first learnèd in a lady’s eyes, |
| Lives not alone immurèd in the brain, |
| But with the motion of all elements |
| Courses as swift as thought in every power, |
| And gives to every power a double power, |
| Above their functions and their offices. |
| It adds a precious seeing to the eye. |
| A lover’s eyes will gaze an eagle blind. |
| “Pretty serious sport, truly,” rejoined Captain Delano. “Had such a thing happened on board the Bachelor’s |
| Delight, instant punishment would have followed.” |
| At these words the Spaniard turned upon the American one of his sudden, staring, half-lunatic looks; then, |
| relapsing into his torpor, answered, “Doubtless, doubtless, Señor.” |
| Is it, thought Captain Delano, that this hapless man is one of those paper captains I’ve known, who by policy |
| wink at what by power they cannot put down? I know no sadder sight than a commander who has little of command |
| but the name.I told him it appeared to me to be rather serious sport, as the wound had caused the boy to lose about a |
| quart of blood. Several similar instances of unruly conduct, which, agree- ably to my manner of thinking, |
| demanded immediate resistance and punishment, were thus easily winked at, and passed over. |
| I felt willing, however, to make some allowances even for con- duct so gross, when I considered them to have |
| been broken down with fatigue and long suffering. |
| Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thoughtDescend lower, descend only |
| Into the world of perpetual solitude, |
| World not world, but that which is not world, |
| Internal darkness, deprivation |
| And destitution of all property, |
| Desiccation of the world of sense, |
| Evacuation of the world of fancy, |
| Inoperancy of the world of spirit; |
| This is the one way, and the other |
| Is the same, not in movement |
| But abstention from movement; while the world moves |
| In appetency, on its metalled ways |
| Of time past and time future. |
| The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacantDe Bailhach, Fresca, Mrs. Camel, whirled |
| Beyond the circuit of the shuddering Bear |
| In fractured atoms. |
| That would lament her;Memphis, Tyre, are gone |
| So that up to this period, in his breast, all remained as it had been; and to Pierre, |
| his fathers shrine seemed spotless, and still new as the marble of the tomb of him of Arimathea.When the even was come, there came a rich man of Arimathaea, named Joseph, who also himself was Jesus' disciple: |
| He went to Pilate, and begged the body of Jesus. Then Pilate commanded the body to be delivered. |
| And when Joseph had taken the body, he wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, |
| And laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn out in the rock: and he rolled a great stone to the door of the sepulchre, and departed. ",5.0 |
| "By and by, in a little time, the outward world puts on a drear austerity. On some October morning there is a |
| heavy hoarfrost on the grass and along the tops of the fences; and at sunrise the leaves fall from the trees |
| of our avenue, without a breath of wind, quietly descending by their own weight. All summer long they have |
| murmured like the noise of waters; they have roared loudly while the branches were wrestling with the |
| thunder-gust; they have made music both glad and solemn; they have attuned my thoughts by their quiet sound as |
| I paced to and fro beneath the arch of intermingling boughs. Now they can only rustle under my feet. Henceforth |
| the gray parsonage begins to assume a larger importance, and draws to its fireside,—for the abomination of the |
| air-tight stove is reserved till wintry weather,—draws closer and closer to its fireside the vagrant impulses |
| that had gone wandering about through the summer. ","Not less excellent, except for our less susceptibility in the afternoon, was the charm, last evening, of a |
| January sunset. The western clouds divided and subdivided themselves into pink flakes modulated with tints of |
| unspeakable softness; and the air had so much life and sweetness, that it was a pain to come within doors. |
| What was it that nature would say? Was there no meaning in the live repose of the valley behind the mill, |
| and which Homer or Shakspeare could not reform for me in words? The leafless trees become spires of flame in |
| the sunset, with the blue east for their back-ground, and the stars of the dead calices of flowers, and every |
| withered stem and stubble rimed with frost, contribute something to the mute music.",4.0 |
| "How calm! how still! the only sound,"," Lo! to each other nymph, in turn, applied,",1.0 |
| "In short, this chronometrical and horological conceit, in sum, seems to teach this: |
| —-That in things terrestrial (horological) a man must not be governed by ideas celestial (chronometrical)","Repeated smoke-clouds, whereon, as on a culinary horologe, I might read the hour of the day.",3.0 |
| "“With a rusty dagger-fragment in one hand, and a bit of a wine-jar in another, I sat me down |
| on the ruinous green sofa I have spoken of, and bethought me long and deeply of these same Buccaneers. |
| Could it be possible, that they robbed and murdered one day, reveled the next, and rested themselves |
| by turning meditative philosophers, rural poets, and seat-builders on the third? Not very improbable, |
| after all. For consider the vacillations of a man. Still, strange as it may seem, I must also abide |
| by the more charitable thought; namely, that among these adventurers were some gentlemanly, |
| companionable souls, capable of genuine tranquillity and virtue.”","When summer was dead and buried the Old Manse became as lonely as a hermitage. Not that ever—in my time |
| at least—it had been thronged with company; but, at no rare intervals, we welcomed some friend out of |
| the dusty glare and tumult of the world, and rejoiced to share with him the transparent obscurity |
| that was floating over us. In one respect our precincts were like the Enchanted Ground through |
| which the pilgrim travelled on his way to the Celestial City. The guests, each and all, |
| felt a slumberous influence upon them; they fell asleep in chairs, or took a more deliberate siesta |
| on the sofa, or were seen stretched among the shadows of the orchard, looking up dreamily through the boughs. |
| They could not have paid a more acceptable compliment to my abode nor to my own qualities as a host. |
| I held it as a proof that they left their cares behind them as they passed between the stone gate-posts |
| at the entrance of our avenue, and that the so powerful opiate was the abundance of peace and quiet within |
| and all around us. Others could give them pleasure and amusement or instruction, -—these could be picked up |
| anywhere; but it was for me to give them rest,—rest in a life of trouble. What better could be done |
| for those weary and world-worn spirits? -—for him whose career of perpetual action was impeded and harassed |
| by the rarest of his powers and the richest of his acquirements? —-for another who had thrown his ardent heart |
| from earliest youth into the strife of politics, and now, perchance, began to suspect that one lifetime |
| is too brief for the accomplishment of any lofty aim? —-for her oil whose feminine nature had been imposed |
| the heavy gift of intellectual power, such as a strong man might have staggered under, and with it |
| the necessity to act upon the world?—in a word, not to multiply instances, what better could be done |
| for anybody who came within our magic circle than to throw the spell of a tranquil spirit over him? |
| And when it had wrought its full effect, then we dismissed him, with but misty reminiscences, |
| as if he had been dreaming of us. ",2.0 |
| And pray that never child of song,"And, oft as ease and health retire",2.0 |
| "Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought","Who are you now? |
| You don't know any more than I do, |
| But rather less. You are nothing but a set |
| Of obsolete responses. The one thing to do |
| Is to do nothing. Wait. |
| It is hard to have a southern overseer; it is worse to have a northern one; but worst of all when you are |
| the slave-driver of yourself. The worst tyrants are those which establish themselves in our own breast. The man who wants force of |
| principle and purpose is a slave, however free the air he breathes. |
| And, 'mid the varied landscape weep.",2.0 |
| "Now let us, as we float along,", Whose cold turf hides the buried friend!,2.0 |
| "those long since under earth |
| Nourishing the corn.","ashes to the earth |
| Which is already flesh, fur and faeces, |
| Bone of man and beast, cornstalk and leaf.",4.0 |
| "Then all the fair philosophic or Faith-phantoms that he raised from the |
| mist, slide away and disappear as ghosts at cock-crow.",It faded on the crowing of the cock. ,4.0 |
| He mourned that so delicious a feeling as fraternal love had been denied him. ,"Had I found ... a sister, all might have been changed . . . But this blessing, which I have ever considered the choicest boon of nature, was denied me. I was alone.",4.0 |
| The vacant interstellar spaces,"The sun to me is dark |
| And silent as the Moon, |
| When she deserts the night, |
| Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.",5.0 |
| By virtue's holiest Powers attended., And Joy desert the blooming year.,2.0 |
| And pray that never child of song,,1.0 |
| the wainscot where the field-mouse trots, |
| |
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| ,,1.0 |
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| ,,0.0 |
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| The wounded surgeon,,4.0 |
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| ,4.0 |
| , And Joy desert the blooming year.,2.0 |
| |
| ,This is the time of tension between dying and birth,3.0 |
| Dawn points, |
| |
| ,4.0 |
| May know that Poet's sorrows more. ,Yet lives there one whose heedless eye,2.0 |
| "That a nothing should torment a nothing; for I am a nothing. |
| It is all a dream —-we dream that we dreamed we dream.","how light |
| Must dreams themselves be; seeing they’re more slight |
| Than the mere nothing that engenders them! |
| Then wherefore sully the entrusted gem |
| Of high and noble life with thoughts so sick? |
| Why pierce high-fronted honour to the quick For |
| nothing but a dream?",3.0 |
| "So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years—","In the middle of the journey of our life, |
| I found myself in a dark wood, |
| Having lost the straight path.",3.0 |
| "I now recalled all the quiet mysteries which I had noted in the man. I remembered that he never spoke |
| but to answer; that, though at intervals he had considerable time to himself, yet I had never seen him |
| reading —-no, not even a newspaper; that for long periods he would stand looking out, |
| at his pale window behind the screen, upon the dead brick wall; I was quite sure he never visited |
| any refectory or eating house; while his pale face clearly indicated that he never drank beer like Turkey, |
| or tea and coffee even, like other men; that he never went anywhere in particular that I could learn; |
| never went out for a walk, unless, indeed, that was the case at present; that he had declined telling |
| who he was, or whence he came, or whether he had any relatives in the world; that though so thin and pale, |
| he never complained of ill health. And more than all, I remembered a certain unconscious air of |
| pallid—how shall I call it?—of pallid haughtiness, say, or rather an austere reserve about him, |
| which had positively awed me into my tame compliance with his eccentricities, when I had feared to ask him |
| to do the slightest incidental thing for me, even though I might know, from his long-continued motionlessness, |
| that behind his screen he must be standing in one of those dead-wall reveries of his. ","When summer was dead and buried the Old Manse became as lonely as a hermitage. Not that ever—- |
| in my time at least —-it had been thronged with company; but, at no rare intervals, we welcomed |
| some friend out of the dusty glare and tumult of the world, and rejoiced to share with him |
| the transparent obscurity that was floating over us. In one respect our precincts were like |
| the Enchanted Ground through which the pilgrim travelled on his way to the Celestial City. |
| The guests, each and all, felt a slumberous influence upon them; they fell asleep in chairs, |
| or took a more deliberate siesta on the sofa, or were seen stretched among the shadows of the orchard, |
| looking up dreamily through the boughs. They could not have paid a more acceptable compliment |
| to my abode nor to my own qualities as a host. I held it as a proof that they left their cares |
| behind them as they passed between the stone gate-posts at the entrance of our avenue, and that |
| the so powerful opiate was the abundance of peace and quiet within and all around us. |
| Others could give them pleasure and amusement or instruction,—these could be picked up anywhere; |
| but it was for me to give them rest, -—rest in a life of trouble. What better could be done for |
| those weary and world-worn spirits? -—for him whose career of perpetual action was impeded and harassed |
| by the rarest of his powers and the richest of his acquirements? -—for another who had thrown |
| his ardent heart from earliest youth into the strife of politics, and now, perchance, began to suspect |
| that one lifetime is too brief for the accomplishment of any lofty aim? -—for her oil whose feminine nature |
| had been imposed the heavy gift of intellectual power, such as a strong man might have staggered under, |
| and with it the necessity to act upon the world?—in a word, not to multiply instances, |
| what better could be done for anybody who came within our magic circle than to throw the spell |
| of a tranquil spirit over him? And when it had wrought its full effect, then we dismissed him, |
| with but misty reminiscences, as if he had been dreaming of us. ",3.0 |
| "Now let us, as we float along,","But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide",2.0 |
| but Mohammed hath his own dispensation.,"though as to incest, he had the boldness to forbid it to his followers, |
| and to allow it to himself by a special privilege",3.0 |
| "when his day’s work was done, sat by him in the twilight, and played |
| her mystic guitar till Pierre felt chapter after chapter bom of its wondrous suggestiveness; |
| but alas! eternally incapable of being translated into words; for where the deepest words end, |
| there music begins with its supersensuous and all-confounding intimations.","Who is there that, in logical words, can express the effect music has on us? A |
| kind of inarticulate unfathomable speech, which leads us to the edge of |
| the infinite and lets us for moments gaze into it",3.0 |
| "and the hermit-sun, hutted in an Adullum cave, well towards the south, according to his season, did little else |
| but, by indirect reflection of narrow rays shot down a Simplon pass among the clouds, just steadily paint |
| one small, round, strawberry mole upon the wan cheek of northwestern hills.","—Brook and road |
| Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy Pass, |
| And with them did we journey several hours |
| At a slow step. The immeasurable height |
| Of woods decaying, never to be decayed, |
| The stationary blasts of waterfalls, |
| And in the narrow rent, at every turn, |
| Winds thwarting winds bewildered and forlorn, |
| The torrents shooting from the clear blue sky, |
| The rocks that muttered close upon our ears, |
| Black drizzling crags that spake by the wayside |
| As if a voice were in them, the sick sight |
| And giddy prospect of the raving stream, |
| The unfettered clouds and region of the heavens, |
| Tumult and peace, the darkness and the light— |
| Were all like workings of one mind, the features |
| Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree, |
| Characters of the great Apocalypse, |
| The types and symbols of Eternity, |
| Of first and last, and midst, and without end. ",4.0 |
| "Climbing the side, the visitor was at once surrounded by a clamorous throng of whites and blacks, but the |
| latter outnumbering the former more than could have been expected, negro transportation-ship as the stranger |
| in port was. But, in one language, and as with one voice, all poured out a common tale of suffering; in which |
| the negresses, of whom there were not a few, exceeded the others in their dolorous vehemence. The scurvy, |
| together with the fever, had swept off a great part of their number, more especially the Spaniards. |
| Off Cape Horn they had narrowly escaped shipwreck; then, for days together, they had lain tranced without wind; |
| their provisions were low; their water next to none; their lips that moment were baked.","As soon as I got on deck, the captain, mate, people and slaves crowded around me to relate their stories, |
| and to make known their griev- ances; which could not but impress me with feelings of pity for their sufferings. |
| They told me they had no water, as is related in their different accounts and depositions. After promising to |
| relieve all the wants they had mentioned.",5.0 |
| To lead in memorable triumph home, Who feed on heaven's ambrosial flowers. ,0.0 |
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| May know that Poet's sorrows more. ," I view that oak, the fancied glades among,",1.0 |
| By these Religious saved for all posterity., My trembling feet his guiding steps pursue;,0.0 |
| "Who made them serfs of the soil? Why should they eat their sixty acres, when man is condemned to eat only his |
| peck of dirt? Why should they begin digging their graves as soon as they are born? They have got to live a |
| man’s life, pushing all these things before them, and get on as well as they can. ","Few men know, as yet, what a man is. They know his clothes, his complexion, his property, his rank, his |
| follies, and his outward life. But the thought of his inward being, his proper humanity, has hardly dawned |
| on multitudes; and yet, who can live a man’s life that does not know what is the distinctive worth of a human |
| being?",4.0 |
| For 'him' suspend the dashing oar;, Where slowly winds the stealing wave!;,2.0 |
| "With trembling frame he started from |
| his chair, and woke from that ideal horror to all his actual grief. ","The greatness of man is great in that he knows himself to be miserable. |
| A tree does not know itself to be miserable. It is then being miserable to know oneself to be miserable; |
| but it is also being great to know that one is miserable.",3.0 |
| For 'him' suspend the dashing oar;," Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock, ",1.0 |
| "As the vine flourishes, and the grape empurples close up to the very walls and muzzles of cannoned Ehrenbreitstein; |
| so do the sweetest joys of life grow in the very jaws of its perils.","Here Ehrenbreitstein, with her shattered wall |
| Black with the miner's blast, upon her height |
| Yet shows of what she was, when shell and ball |
| Rebounding idly on her strength did light; |
| A tower of victory! from whence the flight |
| Of baffled foes was watch'd along the plain: |
| But Peace destroy'd what War could never blight, |
| And laid those proud roofs bare to Summer's rain— |
| On which the iron shower for years had pour'd in vain. |
| How calm! how still! the only sound, Where he who thinks, with rapture blind, |
| Now, for a house, so situated in such a country, to have no piazza for the convenience of those who might |
| desire to feast upon the view, and take their time and ease about it, seemed as much of an omission as if |
| a picture-gallery should have no bench; for what but picture-galleries are the marble halls of these same |
| limestone hills?—galleries hung, month after month anew, with pictures ever fading into pictures ever fresh. |
| And beauty is like piety—you cannot run and read it; tranquillity and constancy, with, now-a-days, an easy |
| chair, are needed. For though, of old, when reverence was in vogue, and indolence was not, the devotees of |
| Nature, doubtless, used to stand and adore—just as, in the cathedrals of those ages, the worshipers of |
| a higher Power did—yet, in these times of failing faith and feeble knees, we have the piazza and the pew. Nor, in truth, had the Old Manse ever been profaned by a lay occupant until that memorable summer afternoon |
| when I entered it as my home. A priest had built it; a priest had succeeded to it; other priestly men from |
| time to time had dwelt in it; and children born in its chambers had grown up to assume the priestly character. |
| It was awful to reflect how many sermons must have been written there. The latest inhabitant alone --he by |
| whose translation to paradise the dwelling was left vacant --had penned nearly three thousand discourses, |
| besides the better, if not the greater, number that gushed living from his lips. How often, no doubt, had he |
| paced to and fro along the avenue, attuning his meditations to the sighs and gentle murmurs and deep |
| and solemn peals of the wind among the lofty tops of the trees! In that variety of natural utterances he could |
| find something accordant with every passage of his sermon, were it of tenderness or reverential fear. |
| The boughs over my head seemed shadowy with solemn thoughts, as well as with rustling leaves. I took shame |
| to myself for having been so long a writer of idle stories, and ventured to hope that wisdom would descend |
| upon me with the falling leaves of the avenue, and that I should light upon an intellectual treasure in the |
| Old Manse well worth those hoards of long-hidden gold which people seek for in moss-grown houses. |
| Profound treatises of morality; a layman’s unprofessional, and therefore unprejudiced, views of religion; |
| histories (such as Bancroft might have written had he taken up his abode here, as he once purposed) bright |
| with picture, gleaming over a depth of philosophic thought, --these were the works that might fitly have |
| flowed from such a retirement. In the humblest event, I resolved at least to achieve a novel that should |
| evolve some deep lesson, and should possess physical substance enough to stand alone. |
| |
| Now let us, as we float along, Himself in some diviner mood, |
| |
| Presently, while standing with his host, looking forward upon the decks below, he was struck by one of those |
| instances of insubordination previously alluded to. Three black boys, with two Spanish boys, were sitting |
| together on the hatches, scraping a rude wooden platter, in which some scanty mess had recently been cooked. |
| Suddenly, one of the black boys, enraged at a word dropped by one of his white companions, seized a knife, |
| and, though called to forbear by one of the oakum-pickers, struck the lad over the head, inflicting a gash |
| from which blood flowed. |
| In amazement, Captain Delano inquired what this meant. To which the pale Don Benito dully muttered, that |
| it was merely the sport of the lad.An instance of this occurred in the conduct of the four cabin boys, spoken of by the captain. They were eating |
| with the slave boys on the main deck, when, (as I was afterwards in- formed) the Spanish boys, feeling some |
| hopes of release, and not having prudence sufficient to keep silent, some words dropped respecting their |
| expectations, which were understood by the slave boys. One of them gave a stroke with a knife on the head of |
| one of the Spanish boys, which penetrated to the bone, in a cut four inches in length. I saw this and inquired |
| what it meant. The captain replied that it was merely the sport of the boys, who had fallen out. |
| The childish and savage taste of men and women for new patterns keeps how many shaking and squinting through |
| kaleidoscopes that they may discover the particular figure which this generation requires today. |
| The manufacturers have learned that this taste is merely whimsical. Of two patterns which differ only by a |
| few threads more or less of a particular color, the one will be sold readily, the other lie on the shelf, |
| though it frequently happens that after the lapse of a season the latter becomes the most fashionable. |
| Comparatively, tattooing is not the hideous custom which it is called. It is not barbarous merely because |
| the printing is skin-deep and unalterable.Were I asked if the beauteous form of Fayaway was altogether free from the hideous blemish of tattooing, I |
| should be constrained to answer that it was not. But the practitioners of the barbarous art, so remorseless |
| in their inflictions upon the brawny limbs of the warriors of the tribe, seem to be conscious that it needs |
| not the resources of their profession to augment the charms of the maidens of the vale. |
| That a nothing should torment a nothing; for I am a nothing. |
| It is all a dream —-we dream that we dreamed we dream.I am nothing; or if not, |
| Nothing to be were better. |
| How calm! how still! the only sound, |
| Separately, and together, we brand thee, in thy every lung-cell, a liar; —-liar, |
| because that is the scornfullest and loathsomest title for a man; which in itself is |
| the compend of all infamous things. There is no Vice, that doth so cover a Man with Shame, as to be found false, and perfidious. |
| |
| “With a rusty dagger-fragment in one hand, and a bit of a wine-jar in another, I sat me down |
| on the ruinous green sofa I have spoken of, and bethought me long and deeply of these same Buccaneers. |
| Could it be possible, that they robbed and murdered one day, reveled the next, and rested themselves |
| by turning meditative philosophers, rural poets, and seat-builders on the third? Not very improbable, |
| after all. For consider the vacillations of a man. Still, strange as it may seem, I must also abide |
| by the more charitable thought; namely, that among these adventurers were some gentlemanly, |
| companionable souls, capable of genuine tranquillity and virtue.”And now I begin to feel—and perhaps should have sooner felt—that we have talked enough of the Old Manse. |
| Mine honored reader, it may be, will vilify the poor author as an egotist for babbling through so many pages |
| about a mossgrown country parsonage, and his life within its walls, and on the river, and in the woods, |
| and the influences that wrought upon him from all these sources. My conscience, however, does not |
| reproach me with betraying anything too sacredly individual to be revealed by a human spirit |
| to its brother or sister spirit. How narrow --how shallow and scanty too —-is the stream of thought |
| that has been flowing from my pen, compared with the broad tide of dim emotions, ideas, |
| and associations which swell around me from that portion of my existence! How little have I told! |
| and of that little, how almost nothing is even tinctured with any quality that makes it exclusively my own! |
| Has the reader gone wandering, hand in hand with me, through the inner passages of my being? |
| and have we groped together into all its chambers and examined their treasures or their rubbish? |
| Not so. We have been standing on the greensward, but just within the cavern’s mouth, |
| where the common sunshine is free to penetrate, and where every footstep is therefore free to come. |
| I have appealed to no sentiment or sensibilities save such as are diffused among us all. |
| So far as I am a man of really individual attributes I veil my face; nor am I, nor have I ever been, |
| one of those supremely hospitable people who serve up their own hearts, delicately fried, with brain sauce, |
| as a tidbit for their beloved public. |
| By a seeming fate, commonly called necessity, they are employed, as it says in an old book, laying up treasures |
| which moth and rust will corrupt and thieves break through and steal. Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break |
| through and steal. |
| Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, All the shadowy tribes of mind, |
| though Folly be out teacher, Sense is the lesson she teaches |
| Yet they honestly think there is no choice left. But alert and healthy natures remember that the sun rose |
| clear. It is never too late to give up our prejudices. No way of thinking or doing, however ancient, can be |
| trusted without proof. What everybody echoes or in silence passes by as true to-day may turn out to be |
| falsehood to-morrow, mere smoke of opinion, which some had trusted for a cloud that would sprinkle fertilizing |
| rain on their fields. What old people say you cannot do you try and find that you can. Old deeds for old |
| people, and new deeds for new. Old people did not know enough once, perchance, to fetch fresh fuel to keep |
| the fire a-going; new people put a little dry wood under a pot, and are whirled round the globe with the speed |
| of birds, in a way to kill old people, as the phrase is. Age is no better, hardly so well, qualified for an |
| instructor as youth, for it has not profited so much as it has lost. One may almost doubt if the wisest man |
| has learned any thing of absolute value by living. Practically, the old have no very important advice to give |
| the young, their own experience has been so partial, and their lives have been such miserable failures, for |
| private reasons, as they must believe; and it may be that they have some faith left which belies that |
| experience, and they are only less young than they were. I have lived some thirty years on this planet, and |
| I have yet to hear the first syllable of valuable or even earnest advice from my seniors. They have told me |
| nothing, and probably cannot tell me any thing to the purpose. Here is life, an experiment to a great extent |
| untried by me; but it does not avail me that they have tried it. If I have any experience which I think |
| valuable, I am sure to reflect that this my Mentors said nothing about.You see, Sir, that in this enlightened age I am bold enough to confess that we are generally men of untaught |
| feelings: that, instead of casting away all our old prejudices, we cherish them to a very considerable degree; |
| and, to take more shame to ourselves, we cherish them because they are prejudices; and the longer they have |
| lasted, and the more generally they have prevailed, the more we cherish them. We are afraid to put men to live |
| and trade each on his own private stock of reason; because we suspect that the stock in each man is small, and |
| that the individuals would do better to avail themselves of the general bank and capital of nations and of ages. |
| Many of our men of speculation, instead of exploding general prejudices, employ their sagacity to discover the |
| latent wisdom which prevails in them. If they find what they seek, (and they seldom fail,) they think it more |
| wise to continue the prejudice, with the reason involved, than to cast away the coat of prejudice, and to |
| leave nothing but the naked reason; because prejudice, with its reason, has a motive to give action to that |
| reason, and an affection which will give it permanence. Prejudice is of ready application in the emergency; |
| it previously engages the mind in a steady course of wisdom and virtue, and does not leave the man hesitating |
| in the moment of decision, skeptical, puzzled, and unresolved. Prejudice renders a man's virtue his habit, and |
| not a series of unconnected acts. Through just prejudice, his duty becomes a part of his nature.",5.0 |
| "No fence was seen, no inclosure. Near by --ferns, ferns, ferns; further --woods, woods, woods; |
| beyond —-mountains, mountains, mountains; then —-sky, sky, sky. Turned out in aerial commons, |
| pasture for the mountain moon. Nature, and but nature, house and, all; even a low cross-pile of silver birch, |
| piled openly, to season; up among whose silvery sticks, as through the fencing of some sequestered grave, |
| sprang vagrant raspberry bushes --willful assertors of their right of way. ","By and by, in a little time, the outward world puts on a drear austerity. On some October morning |
| there is a heavy hoarfrost on the grass and along the tops of the fences; and at sunrise the leaves |
| fall from the trees of our avenue, without a breath of wind, quietly descending by their own weight. |
| All summer long they have murmured like the noise of waters; they have roared loudly while the branches |
| were wrestling with the thunder --gust; they have made music both glad and solemn; they have attuned |
| my thoughts by their quiet sound as I paced to and fro beneath the arch of intermingling boughs. |
| Now they can only rustle under my feet. Henceforth the gray parsonage begins to assume a larger importance, |
| and draws to its fireside, -—for the abomination of the air-tight stove is reserved till wintry weather, |
| —-draws closer and closer to its fireside the vagrant impulses that had gone wandering about |
| through the summer. ",2.0 |
| "“With a rusty dagger-fragment in one hand, and a bit of a wine-jar in another, I sat me down |
| on the ruinous green sofa I have spoken of, and bethought me long and deeply of these same Buccaneers. |
| Could it be possible, that they robbed and murdered one day, reveled the next, and rested themselves |
| by turning meditative philosophers, rural poets, and seat-builders on the third? Not very improbable, |
| after all. For consider the vacillations of a man. Still, strange as it may seem, I must also abide |
| by the more charitable thought; namely, that among these adventurers were some gentlemanly, |
| companionable souls, capable of genuine tranquillity and virtue.”","The treasure of intellectual gold which I hoped to find in our secluded dwelling had never come to light. |
| No profound treatise of ethics, no philosophic history, no novel even, that could stand unsupported |
| on its edges. All that I had to show, as a man of letters, were these, few tales and essays, |
| which had blossomed out like flowers in the calm summer of my heart and mind. Save editing (an easy task) |
| the journal of my friend of many years, the African Cruiser, I had done nothing else. With these idle weeds |
| and withering blossoms I have intermixed some that were produced long ago, --old, faded things, reminding me |
| of flowers pressed between the leaves of a book, --and now offer the bouquet, such as it is, to any |
| whom it may please. These fitful sketches, with so little of external life about them, |
| yet claiming no profundity of purpose, --so reserved, even while they sometimes seem so frank, |
| --often but half in earnest, and never, even when most so, expressing satisfactorily the thoughts |
| which they profess to image, --such trifles, I truly feel, afford no solid basis for a literary reputation. |
| Nevertheless, the public --if my limited number of readers, whom I venture to regard rather as a circle |
| of friends, may be termed a public --will receive them the more kindly, as the last offering, |
| the last collection of this nature which it is my purpose ever to put forth. Unless I could do better, |
| I have done enough in this kind. For myself the book will always retain one charm, --as reminding me |
| of the river, with its delightful solitudes, and of the avenue, the garden, and the orchard, and |
| especially the dear Old Manse, with the little study on its western side, and the sunshine glimmering |
| through the willow branches while I wrote.",2.0 |
| "The boat was immediately dispatched back to pick up the three swimming sailors. Meantime, the guns were in |
| readiness, though, owing to the San Dominick having glided somewhat astern of the sealer, only the aftermost |
| one could be brought to bear. ","I hailed the Perseverance, ordering the ports got up, and the guns run out as soon as possible. We pulled as |
| fast as we could on board; and then despatched the boat for the man who was left in the water, whom we |
| succeeded to save alive.",5.0 |
| What is his destiny to him compared with the shipping interests? Does not he drive for Squire Make-a-stir?,"It was my good fortune to enjoy the company of a gentleman--one Mr. Smooth-it-away-- who, though he had never |
| actually visited the Celestial City, yet seemed as well acquainted with its laws, customs, policy, and |
| statistics, as with those of the city of Destruction, of which he was a native townsman. ",4.0 |
| Loveth she me with the love past all understanding?,"The peace, the rest, the central security which belong to love that is past all |
| understanding,--these could return no more.",4.0 |
| " Whence they, like richly-laden merchants, come "," Of rude access, of prospect wild,",0.0 |
| The dripping of the oar suspended!,"And, oft as ease and health retire",2.0 |
| What mean ye by saying that the poor ye have always with you ,For ye have the poor always with you; but me ye have not always.,5.0 |
| "Vain! vain! vain! said the face to him. Fool! fool! fool! said |
| the face to him. Quit! quit! quit! said the face to him. But when |
| he mentally interrogated the face as to why it thrice said Vain! |
| Fool! Quit! to him; here there was no response. For that face |
| did not respond to any thing. Did I not say before that that |
| face was something separate, and apart; a face by itself? Now, any |
| thing which is thus a thing by itself never responds to any other |
| thing. If to affirm, be to expand one’s isolated self; and if to deny, |
| be to contract one’s isolated self; then to respond is a |
| suspension of all isolation. Though this face in the tower was |
| so dear and so mild; though the gay youth Apollo was enshrined |
| in that eye, and paternal old Saturn sat cross-legged on |
| that ivory brow; yet somehow to Pierre the face at last wore a |
| sort of malicious leer to him.","""Fool!"" said the sophist, in an under-tone |
| Gruff with contempt; which a death-nighing moan |
| From Lycius answer'd, as heart-struck and lost, |
| He sank supine beside the aching ghost. |
| Fool! Fool! repeated he, while his eyes still |
| Relented not, nor mov'd; ""from every ill |
| Of life have I preserv'd thee to this day, |
| And shall I see thee made a serpent's prey?""",3.0 |
| " Truth, their immortal Una? Babylon,"," Long by the loved enthusiast woo'd, |
| Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, |
| How calm! how still! the only sound, |
| And gaze her visions wild, and feel unmix'd her flame!",1.0 |
| The evening darkness gathers round, Far from the sainted growing woof:,1.0 |
| Talk of a divinity in man! ,"Men, as by a natural inspiration, have agreed to speak of conscience as the voice of God, as the Divinity |
| within us. This principle, reverently obeyed, makes us more and more partakers of the moral perfection of |
| the Supreme Being, of that very excellence, which constitutes the rightfulness of his sceptre, and enthrones |
| him over the universe.",5.0 |
| "True, there never was and is not likely soon to be a nation of philosophers, nor am I certain it is desirable |
| that there should be. ",But a nation of philosophers is as little to be expected as the philosophical race of kings wished for by Plato.,5.0 |
| "Hippocrates has even left directions how we should cut our nails; that is, even with the ends of the fingers, |
| neither shorter nor longer.",The nails neither to exceed nor come short of the finger tips.,5.0 |
| "Now let us, as we float along,"," Of rude access, of prospect wild,",1.0 |
| The dripping of the oar suspended!," No sedge-crown'd sister now attend, |
| It is possible, |
| You are the consciousness of your unhappy family, |
| Its bird sent flying through the purgatorial flame. |
| Indeed it is possible. You may learn hereafter, |
| Moving along through flames of ice, chosen |
| To resolve the enchantment under which we suffer. |
| Seating himself in the stern, Captain Delano, making a last salute, ordered the boat shoved off. The crew had |
| their oars on end. The bowsmen pushed the boat a sufficient distance for the oars to be lengthwise dropped. |
| The instant that was done, Don Benito sprang over the bulwarks, falling at the feet of Captain Delano; at the |
| same time calling towards his ship, but in tones so frenzied, that none in the boat could understand him. |
| But, as if not equally obtuse, three sailors, from three different and distant parts of the ship, splashed |
| into the sea, swimming after their captain, as if intent upon his rescue. |
| The dismayed officer of the boat eagerly asked what this meant. To which, Captain Delano, turning a disdainful |
| smile upon the unaccountable Spaniard, answered that, for his part, he neither knew nor cared; but it seemed |
| as if Don Benito had taken it into his head to produce the impression among his people that the boat wanted |
| to kidnap him.When I had seated myself in the boat, and ordered her to be shoved off, the people having their oars up on |
| end, she fell off at a sufficient distance to leave room for the oars to drop. After they were down, the |
| Spanish captain, to my great astonishment, leaped from the gunwale of the ship into the middle of our boat. |
| As soon as he had recovered a little, he called out in so alarming a manner, that I could not understand him; |
| and the Spanish sailors were then seen jumping overboard and making for our boat. These proceedings excited |
| the wonder of us all. The officer whom I had with me anxiously inquired into their meaning. I smiled and told |
| him, that I neither knew, nor cared; but it seemed the captain was trying to impress his people with a belief |
| that we intended to run away with him. |
| In that lonely little closet of his, Pierre foretasted all that this world hath either of praise or dispraise; |
| and thus foretasting both goblets, anticipatingly hurled them both in its teeth. |
| All panegyric, all denunciation, all criticism of any sort, would come too late for Pierre.I have been so praised elsewhere and abused, alternately, that mere habit has rendered me |
| as indifferent to both as a man of twenty-six can be to anything |
| Now let us, as we float along, Of all the sons of soul, was known; |
| Our moulting season, like that of the fowls, must be a crisis in our lives. The loon retires to solitary ponds |
| to spend it. Thus also the snake casts its slough, and the caterpillar its wormy coat, by an internal industry |
| and expansion; for clothes are but our outmost cuticle and mortal coil. Otherwise we shall be found sailing |
| under false colors, and be inevitably cashiered at last by our own opinion, as well as that of mankind. When we have shuffled off this mortal coil |
| Must give us pause. |
| Whence they, like richly-laden merchants, come To few the godlike gift assigns, |
| |
| Thou art my heaven, Lucy; and here I lie thy shepherd-king, watching for new eye-stars to rise in thee. One, chief, in gracious dignity enthroned, |
| Shines o’er the rest, the pastoral queen, and rays |
| Her smiles sweet-beaming on her shepherd-king; |
| But Charles was a boy; advice often seems the most wantonly |
| wasted of all human breath; man will not take wisdom on trust; |
| may be, it is well; for such wisdom is worthless; we must find |
| the true gem for ourselves; and so we go groping and groping |
| for many and many a day.Direct not him whose way himself will choose: ’Tis breath thou lack’st, and that breath wilt thou lose. |
| Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac’d; |
| No hat upon his head; his stockings foul’d. |
| Ungarter’d, and down-gyved to his ankle; |
| Pale as his shirt; his kneesknocking each other; |
| And with a look so piteous in purport |
| As if he had been loosed out of hell |
| To speak of horrors, he came beforeme.On the previous undetermined days, Pierre had solicitously |
| sought to disguise his emotions from his mother, by a certain |
| carefulness and choiceness in his dress. But now, since his very |
| soul was forced to wear a mask, he would wear no paltry palliatives and disguisements on his body. |
| He went to the cottage of Lucy as disordered in his person, as haggard in his face. |
| |
| The dance along the artery |
| The circulation of the lymph |
| Are figured in the drift of stars |
| Long by the loved enthusiast woo'd,",1.0 |
| By virtue's holiest Powers attended., Whose cold turf hides the buried friend!,2.0 |
| , His loveliest elfin queen has blest;,0.0 |
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| To seek the general mart of Christendom;,,0.0 |
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| ,3.0 |
| For 'him' suspend the dashing oar;,,1.0 |
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| , Where is the bard whose soul can now,0.0 |
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| The evening darkness gathers round, Ah! what will every dirge avail!,2.0 |
| ,,0.0 |
| ,,0.0 |
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| ,5.0 |
| For 'him' suspend the dashing oar;, Him whose school above the rest,1.0 |
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| For 'him' suspend the dashing oar;,,1.0 |
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| ,4.0 |
| And pray that never child of song, And Joy desert the blooming year.,2.0 |
| , Where is the bard whose soul can now,0.0 |
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| ,3.0 |
| By virtue's holiest Powers attended., Where slowly winds the stealing wave!;,2.0 |
| "In their boyhood and earlier adolescence, Pierre and Glen had cherished a much more than |
| cousinly attachment At the age of ten, they had furnished an example of the truth, that |
| the friendship of fine-hearted, generous boys, nurtured amid the romance-engendering comforts |
| and elegancies of life, sometimes transcends the bounds of mere boyishness, and revels |
| for a while in the empyrean of a love which only comes short, by one degree, |
| of the sweetest sentiment entertained between the sexes. Nor is this boy-love |
| without the occasional fillips and spicinesses, which at times, by an apparent abatement, |
| enhance the permanent delights of those more advanced lovers who love beneath the cestus of Venus. |
| Jealousies are felt.",My school-friendships were with me passions,3.0 |
| "I have sat on earth’s saddle till I am weary; I must now vault over to the other saddle awhile. |
| Oh, seems to me, there should be two ceaseless steeds for a bold man to ride, —-the Land and the Sea; |
| and like circus-men we should never dismount, but only be steadied and rested by leaping from one |
| to the other, while still, side by side, they both race round the sun. |
| I have been on the Land steed so long, oh I am dizzy!","Once more upon the waters! yet once more! |
| And the waves bound beneath me as a steed that knows his rider.",3.0 |
| "So thoroughly and sincerely are we compelled to live, reverencing our life, and denying the possibility of |
| change. This is the only way, we say; but there are as many ways as there can be drawn radii from one centre. |
| All change is a miracle to contemplate; but it is a miracle which is taking place every instant.","He [Jesus] spoke of miracles; for he felt that man’s life was a miracle, and all that man doth, and he knew |
| that this daily miracle shines, as the man is diviner. But the very word Miracle, as pronounced by Christian |
| churches, gives a false impression; it is Monster. It is not one with the blowing clover and the falling rain.",4.0 |
| To their belovèd cells:or shall we say, And placed her on his sapphire throne;,0.0 |
| "Nor is this boy-love without the occasional fillips and spicinesses, which at times, |
| by an apparent abatement, enhance thepermanent delights of those more advanced lovers |
| who love beneath the cestus of Venus.","In sickness the soul begins to dress herself for immortality. And, first, she unties the |
| strings of vanity that made her upper garment cleave to the world and sit uneasy; first, she |
| puts off the light and fantastic summer robe of lust and wanton appetite; and as soon as that |
| cestus, that lascivious girdle is thrown away, then the reins chasten us, and give us warning |
| in the night; then that which called us formerly to serve the manliness of the body, and the |
| childishness of the soul, keeps us waking, to divide the hours with the intervals of prayer, |
| and to number the minutes with our penitential groans; then the flesh sets uneasily and |
| dwells in sorrow; and then the spirit feels itself at ease, freed from the petulant solicitations |
| of those passions which in health were as busy and restless as atoms in the sun, always |
| dancing, and always busy, and never sitting down, till a sad night of grief and uneasiness |
| draws the veil, and lets them die alone in secret dishonour.",3.0 |
| And pray that never child of song, Or curtain'd close such scene from every future view.,1.0 |
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| May know that Poet's sorrows more. , In yonder grave your Druid lies! ,2.0 |
| To seek the general mart of Christendom;," To few the godlike gift assigns, ",0.0 |
| For 'him' suspend the dashing oar;," At solemn turney hung on high,",1.0 |
| And pray that never child of song, Listening the deep applauding thunder;,1.0 |
| The evening darkness gathers round, On which that ancient trump he reach'd was hung:,1.0 |
| Nor leaves her Speech one word to aid the sigh, And all thy subject life was born! ,0.0 |
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| To scatter seeds of life on barbarous shores;, And placed her on his sapphire throne;,0.0 |
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| May know that Poet's sorrows more. ," At solemn turney hung on high,",1.0 |
| To their belovèd cells:or shall we say," Nigh sphered in heaven, its native strains could hear;",0.0 |
| " That would lament her;Memphis, Tyre, are gone"," In vain--Such bliss to one alone,",0.0 |
| By virtue's holiest Powers attended., And placed her on his sapphire throne;,1.0 |
| For 'him' suspend the dashing oar;,,2.0 |
| And pray that never child of song,,1.0 |
| Or quit with zealous step their knee-worn floors,,0.0 |
| ,,0.0 |
| For 'him' suspend the dashing oar;,,1.0 |
| By virtue's holiest Powers attended.,"The friend shall view yon whitening spire,",2.0 |
| "But Charles was a boy; advice often seems the most wantonly |
| wasted of all human breath; man will not take wisdom on trust; |
| may be, it is well; for such wisdom is worthless; we must find |
| the true gem for ourselves; and so we go groping and groping |
| for many and many a day.","Vex not yourself nor strive not with your breath, |
| For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.",4.0 |
| "“The hottest, weariest hour of day, you mean? Sir, the sun gilds not this roof. It leaked so, |
| brother newly shingled all one side. Did you not see it? The north side, where the sun strikes most on |
| what the rain has wetted. The sun is a good sun; but this roof, in first scorches, and then rots. |
| An old house. They went West, and are long dead, they say, who built it. A mountain house. In winter no fox |
| could den in it. That chimney-place has been blocked up with snow, just like a hollow stump.”","All day within the dreamy house, |
| The doors upon their hinges creak'd; |
| The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse |
| Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd, |
| Or from the crevice peer'd about. |
| Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors |
| Old footsteps trod the upper floors, |
| Old voices called her from without. |
| She only said, My life is dreary, |
| He cometh not, she said; |
| She said, I am aweary, aweary, |
| I would that I were dead! |
| Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, Long by the loved enthusiast woo'd,",0.0 |
| " That, like the Red-cross Knight, they urge their way,"," And dress'd with springs and forests tall, |
| Whence they, like richly-laden merchants, come And thou, thou rich-hair'd youth of morn,",0.0 |
| The dripping of the oar suspended!,Yet lives there one whose heedless eye,2.0 |
| May know that Poet's sorrows more. , Where slowly winds the stealing wave!;,2.0 |
| , |
| ,4.0 |
| By these Religious saved for all posterity.,,0.0 |
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| ,Now is the winter of our discontent / Made glorious summer by this son of York.,5.0 |
| ,,3.0 |
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| ,I don’t know that I sha’n’t end with insanity ,3.0 |
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| The dripping of the oar suspended!,,1.0 |
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| By virtue's holiest Powers attended.," Of all the sons of soul, was known;",1.0 |
| " Whence they, like richly-laden merchants, come "," The whiles, the vaulted shrine around,",0.0 |
| "It is as if the skycope were rent, and from the black valley of Jehoshaphat, he |
| caught upper glimpses of the seraphim in the visible act of adoring.","In the year that king Uzziah died I saw also the Lord sitting upon a throne, |
| high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple. |
| Above it stood the seraphims: each one had six wings; |
| with twain he covered his face, and with twain he covered his feet, and with twain he did fly.",4.0 |
| " Truth, their immortal Una? Babylon,"," Where he who thinks, with rapture blind,",0.0 |
| By virtue's holiest Powers attended.,,1.0 |
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| ,3.0 |
| , My trembling feet his guiding steps pursue;,1.0 |
| ,,2.0 |
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| ,,1.0 |
| ,,3.0 |
| May know that Poet's sorrows more. ,Now waft me from the green hill's side,2.0 |
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| , By whose the tarsel's eyes were made;,0.0 |
| "What man, who is a man, does not feel livelier and more generous emotions toward the great god of Sin —-Satan, |
| -—than toward yonder haberdasher, who only is a sinner in the small and entirely honorable way of trade?","Nothing can exceed the energy and magnificence of the character of Satan as expressed in ""Paradise Lost"".",3.0 |
| "In any weather, at any hour of the day or night, I have been anxious to improve the nick of time, and notch it |
| on my stick too; to stand on the meeting of two eternities, the past and future, which is precisely the present |
| moment; to toe that line.","This narrow isthmus ’twixt two boundless seas, |
| The past, the future, —-two eternities!",4.0 |
| "Seating himself in the stern, Captain Delano, making a last salute, ordered the boat shoved off. The crew had |
| their oars on end. The bowsmen pushed the boat a sufficient distance for the oars to be lengthwise dropped. |
| The instant that was done, Don Benito sprang over the bulwarks, falling at the feet of Captain Delano; at the |
| same time calling towards his ship, but in tones so frenzied, that none in the boat could understand him. |
| But, as if not equally obtuse, three sailors, from three different and distant parts of the ship, splashed |
| into the sea, swimming after their captain, as if intent upon his rescue.","At four P.M. a breeze sprung up from the souther quarter, which brought the Spanish ship into the roads. She |
| anchored about two cables length to the south east of our ship. Immediately after she anchored, our captain |
| with his boat was shoving off from along side the Spanish ship; when to his great surprise the Spanish captain |
| leaped into the boat, and called out in Spanish that the slaves on board had risen and murdered many of the |
| people; and that he did not then command her; on which manoeuvre, several of the Spaniards who remained on |
| board, jumped overboard, and swam for our boat, and were picked up by our people.",5.0 |
| And pray that never child of song," And holy Genii guard the rock,",1.0 |
| "Upon the beach of James’s Isle, for many years, was to be seen a rude finger-post, pointing inland. |
| And, perhaps, taking it for some signal of possible hospitality in this otherwise desolate spot—some good |
| hermit living there with his maple dish—the stranger would follow on in the path thus indicated, |
| till at last he would come out in a noiseless nook, and find his only welcome, a dead man—his sole |
| greeting the inscription over a grave. Here, in 1813, fell, in a daybreak duel, a lieutenant of |
| the U.S. frigate Essex, aged twenty-one: attaining his majority in death. ","Be that as it might, the tradition, says that the lad now left his task and hurried to the battle-field |
| with the axe still in his hand. The British had by this time retreated; the Americans were in pursuit; |
| and the late scene of strife was thus deserted by both parties. Two soldiers lay on the ground, -—one was |
| a corpse; but, as the young New-Englander drew nigh, the other Briton raised himself painfully |
| upon his hands and knees and gave a ghastly stare into his face. The boy, -—it must have been a nervous impulse, |
| without purpose, without thought, and betokening a sensitive and impressible nature rather than |
| a hardened one, -—the boy uplifted his axe and dealt the wounded soldier a fierce and fatal blow upon the head.",2.0 |
| "For the pattern is new in every moment |
| And every moment is a new and shocking |
| Valuation of all we have been. ","What we know of other people |
| Is only our memory of the moments |
| During which we know them |
| And they have changed since then.",3.0 |
| "The chill ascends from feet to knees, |
| The fever sings in mental wires.","The trilling wire in the blood |
| Sings below inveterate scars",4.0 |
| " In order to arrive there, |
| To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not, |
| You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy. |
| In order to arrive at what you do not know |
| You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance. |
| In order to possess what you do not possess |
| You must go by the way of dispossession. |
| In order to arrive at what you are not |
| You must go through the way in which you are not.","In order to arrive at having pleasure in everything, |
| Desire to have pleasure in nothing. |
| In order to arrive at possessing everything, |
| Desire to possess nothing. |
| In order to arrive at being everything, |
| Desire to be nothing. |
| In order to arrive at knowing everything, |
| Desire to know nothing. |
| In order to arrive at that wherein thou hast no pleasure, |
| Thou must go by a way wherein thou hast no pleasure. |
| In order to arrive at that which thou knowest not, |
| Thou must go by a way that thou knowest not. |
| In order to arrive at that which thou possessest not, |
| Thou must go by a way that thou possessest not. |
| In order to arrive at that which thou are not, |
| Thou must go through that thou are not.",4.0 |
| "That was in the lion month of March. Not forgotten are the blue noses of the carpenters, and how they |
| scouted at the greenness of the cit, who would build his sole piazza to the north. But March don’t last |
| forever; patience, and August comes. And then, in the cool elysium of my northern bower, I, Lazarus in |
| Abraham’s bosom, cast down the hill a pitying glance on poor old Dives, tormented in the purgatory of |
| his piazza to the south.","There was a certain rich man, which was clothed in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day: |
| And there was a certain beggar named Lazarus, which was laid at his gate, full of sores, |
| And desiring to be fed with the crumbs which fell from the rich man's table: |
| moreover the dogs came and licked his sores. |
| And it came to pass, that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels into Abraham's bosom: |
| the rich man also died, and was buried; |
| And in hell he lifted up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom. |
| And he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip |
| of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame. |
| But Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, |
| and likewise Lazarus evil things: but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented. ",5.0 |
| "Wherefore whoso storms the sky gives best proof he came from thither! |
| But whatso crawls contented in the moat before that crystal fort, |
| shows it was born within that slime, and there forever will abide.","What are they which dwell |
| So humbly in their pride, as to sojourn |
| With worms in clay? ",4.0 |
| May know that Poet's sorrows more. , Listening the deep applauding thunder;,1.0 |
| For 'him' suspend the dashing oar;,,1.0 |
| But men labor under a mistake. The better part of the man is soon plowed into the soil for compost. , |
| ,4.0 |
| |
| ,On the left stands the slender octagon tower of the horologe.,3.0 |
| ,,4.0 |
| |
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| , |
| ,4.0 |
| May know that Poet's sorrows more. , Have now o'erturn'd the inspiring bowers; ,1.0 |
| The evening darkness gathers round, Have now o'erturn'd the inspiring bowers; ,1.0 |
| "“And lonesome; lonesome, because so wide. Sometimes, ’tis true, of afternoons, I go a little way; |
| but soon come back again. Better feel lone by hearth, than rock. The shadows hereabouts I know —-those |
| in the woods are strangers.” |
| “But the night?” |
| “Just like the day. Thinking, thinking—a wheel I cannot stop; pure want of sleep it is that turns it.” |
| “I have heard that, for this wakeful weariness, to say one’s prayers, and then lay one’s head upon a |
| fresh hop pillow—-”","Her tears fell with the dews at even; |
| Her tears fell ere the dews were dried; |
| She could not look on the sweet heaven, |
| Either at morn or eventide. |
| After the flitting of the bats, |
| When thickest dark did trance the sky, |
| She drew her casement-curtain by, |
| And glanced athwart the glooming flats. |
| She only said, ""The night is dreary, |
| He cometh not,"" she said; |
| She said, ""I am aweary, aweary, |
| I would that I were dead!"" ",4.0 |
| "Because in us love is profane, since it mortally reaches toward the heaven in ye!",If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine . . .,4.0 |
| "How calm! how still! the only sound,","But thou who own'st that earthly bed, |
| Seraphic wires were heard to sound, |
| Another feature in these isles is their emphatic uninhabitableness. It is deemed a fit type of all-forsaken |
| overthrow, that the jackal should den in the wastes of weedy Babylon; but the Encantadas refuse to harbor even |
| the outcasts of the beasts.Man and wolf alike disown them. Little but reptile life is here found: tortoises, |
| lizards, immense spiders, snakes, and that strangest anomaly of outlandish nature, the aguano. No voice, no |
| low, no howl is heard; the chief sound of life here is a hiss.And Babylon shall become heaps, a dwellingplace for dragons, an astonishment, and an hissing, without an inhabitant. |
| They shall roar together like lions: they shall yell as lions' whelps.",5.0 |
| " Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, ", And all the bright uncounted powers,0.0 |
| "What mean ye by saying that the poor ye have always with you, or that the fathers have eaten sour grapes, |
| and the children’s teeth are set on edge?","What mean ye, that ye use this proverb concerning the land of Israel, saying, The fathers have eaten sour |
| grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge? |
| And she, from out the veiling cloud, |
| The association of man and woman |
| In daunsinge, signifying matrimonie— |
| A dignified and commodious sacrament. |
| Two and two, necessarye coniunction, |
| Holding eche other by the hand or the arm |
| Whiche betokeneth concorde.It is diligently to be noted that the associatinge of man and woman in daunsing, they both obseruinge one nombre and tyme in their meuynges, was not begonne without a speciall consideration, as well for the necessarye coniunction of those two persons, as for the initimation of sondry vertues: whiche be by them represented. And for as moche as by the association of a man and a woman in daunsinge may be signified matrimonie, I coulde in declarynge the dignitie and commoditie of that sacrament, make intiere volumes |
| In every daunce of a most auncient custome, there daunseth together a man and a woman, holding eache other by the hande or the arme : whiche betokeneth concorde. |
| The myriads who built the pyramids to be the tombs of the Pharaohs were fed on garlic, and it may be were |
| not decently buried themselves.There are writings on the pyramids in Egyptian characters showing how much was spent on purges and onions and |
| garlic for the workmen. |
| But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide |
| This incident; suggestive as it was at the time, in the sequel had a surprising effect upon Pierre. |
| For he considered with what infinite readiness now, the most faithful portrait of any one |
| could be taken by the Daguerreotype,whereas in former times a faithful portrait |
| was only within the power of the moneyed, or mental aristocrats of the earth. |
| How natural then the inference, that instead of, as in old times, immortalizing a genius, |
| a portrait now only dayalized a dunce. Besides, when every body has his portrait published, |
| true distinction lies in not having yours published at all. For if you are published along with |
| Tom, Dick, and Harry, and wear a coat of their cut, how then are you distinct from Tom, Dick, and Harry? |
| Therefore, even so miserable a motive as downright personal vanity helped to operate in this matter with Pierre.almost everybody is having his mug engraved nowadays; so that |
| this test of distinction is getting to be reversed; and therefore, to see one's ""mug"" in a magazine, |
| is presumptive evidence that he's a nobody. So being as vain a man as ever lived, |
| and believing that my illustrious name is famous throughout the world |
| --I respectfully decline being oblivionated |
| There is surely a peece of Divinity in us; something that was before the Elements, and owes no homage unto |
| the Sun. |
| Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom; |
| Has the reader gone wandering, hand in hand with me, through the inner passages of my being? and have we |
| groped together into all its chambers and examined their treasures or their rubbish? Not so. We have been |
| standing on the greensward, but just within the cavern’s mouth, where the common sunshine is free to penetrate, |
| and where every footstep is therefore free to come. I have appealed to no sentiment or sensibilities save such |
| as are diffused among us all. The object of the man, the aim of these moments, is to make daylight shine through him, to suffer the law to |
| traverse his whole being without obstruction, so that on what point soever of his doing your eye falls it |
| shall report truly of his character, whether it be his diet, his house, his religious forms, his society, his |
| mirth, his vote, his opposition. Now he is not homogeneous, but heterogeneous, and the ray does not traverse; |
| there are no thorough lights, but the eye of the beholder is puzzled, detecting many unlike tendencies and a |
| life not yet at one. |
| And, oft as ease and health retire |
| The walls swept to and fro, like the foliage of a forest with blazonings of conquerors’ flags. Naught outside |
| the hall was visible. No windows were within four-and-twenty feet of the floor. Cut off from all other sights, |
| I was hemmed in by one splendid spectacle—splendid, I mean, everywhere, but as the eye fell toward the floor. |
| That was foul as a hovel’s—as a kennel’s; the naked boards being strewed with the smaller and more wasteful |
| fragments of the feast, while the two long parallel lines, up and down the hall, of now unrobed, shabby, |
| dirty pine-tables were piled with less trampled wrecks. The dyed banners were in keeping with the last night’s |
| kings: the floor suited the beggars of to-day. The banners looked upon the floor as from his balcony Dives upon |
| Lazarus. A line of liveried men kept back with their staves the impatient jam of the mob, who, otherwise, |
| might have instantaneously converted the Charity into a Pillage. Another body of gowned and gilded officials |
| distributed the broken meats—the cold victuals and crumbs of kings. One after another the beggars held up |
| their dirty blue tickets, and were served with the plundered wreck of a pheasant, or the rim of a pasty—like |
| the detached crown of an old hat—the solids and meats stolen out.There was a certain rich man, which was clothed in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day: |
| And there was a certain beggar named Lazarus, which was laid at his gate, full of sores, |
| And desiring to be fed with the crumbs which fell from the rich man's table: |
| moreover the dogs came and licked his sores. |
| And it came to pass, that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels into Abraham's bosom: |
| the rich man also died, and was buried; |
| And in hell he lifted up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom. |
| And he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip |
| of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame. |
| But Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, |
| and likewise Lazarus evil things: but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented. |
| The least impatience, any quickness of temper, a sharp remonstrating word from a customer in a seedy coat, |
| or betraying any other evidence of poverty, however minute and indirect (for in that pecuniary |
| respect they are the most piercing and infallible of all the judgers of men), |
| will be almost sure to provoke, in such cases, their least endurable disdain.The gross lines are legible to the dull: the cabman is phrenologist so far: |
| he looks in your face to see if his shilling is sure. |
| Whence they, like richly-laden merchants, come Himself in some diviner mood, |
| But in other hours, Nature satisfies by its loveliness, and without any mixture of corporeal benefit. I see |
| the spectacle of morning from the hill-top over against my house, from day-break to sun-rise, with emotions |
| which an angel might share. The long slender bars of cloud float like fishes in the sea of crimson light. |
| From the earth, as a shore, I look out into that silent sea. I seem to partake its rapid transformations: |
| the active enchantment reaches my dust, and I dilate and conspire with the morning wind. How does Nature deify |
| us with a few and cheap elements! Give me health and a day, and I will make the pomp of emperors ridiculous. |
| The dawn is my Assyria; the sun-set and moon-rise my Paphos, and unimaginable realms of faerie; broad noon |
| shall be my England of the senses and the understanding; the night shall be my Germany of mystic philosophy |
| and dreams.The reader must not, from any testimony of mine, contract a dislike towards our slumberous stream. In the light |
| of a calm and golden sunset it becomes lovely beyond expression; the more lovely for the quietude that so well |
| accords with the hour, when even the wind, after blustering all day long, usually hushes itself to rest. |
| Each tree and rock and every blade of grass is distinctly imaged, and, however unsightly in reality, assumes |
| ideal beauty in the reflection. The minutest things of earth and the broad aspect of the firmament are pictured |
| equally without effort and with the same felicity of success. All the sky glows downward at our feet; the rich |
| clouds float through the unruffled bosom of the stream like heavenly thoughts through a peaceful heart. We will |
| not, then, malign our river as gross and impure while it can glorify itself with so adequate a picture of the |
| heaven that broods above it; or, if we remember its tawny hue and the muddiness of its bed, let it be a symbol |
| that the earthiest human soul has an infinite spiritual capacity and may contain the better world within its |
| depths. But, indeed, the same lesson might be drawn out of any mud-puddle in the streets of a city; and, being |
| taught us everywhere, it must be true. |
| The terrors of the face were not those of Gorgon; not by repelling hideousness did it smite him so; |
| but bewilderingly allured him, by its nameless beauty, and its long-suffering, hopeless anguish.They ferry over this Lethean Sound |
| Both to and fro, thir sorrow to augment, |
| And wish and struggle, as they pass, to reach |
| The tempting stream, with one small drop to loose |
| In sweet forgetfulness all pain and woe, |
| All in one moment, and so neer the brink; |
| But Fate withstands, and to oppose th' attempt |
| Medusa with Gorgonian terror guards |
| The Ford, and of it self the water flies |
| All taste of living wight, as once it fled |
| The lip of Tantalus.",3.0 |
| "In all this, how unadmonished was our Pierre by that foreboding and prophetic lesson taught, not less by Palmyra’s quarries, than by Palmyra’s ruins.","‘Behold,’ the Fairy cried, |
| 'Palmyra’s ruined palaces! |
| Behold where grandeur frowned! |
| Behold where pleasure smiled! |
| What now remains? -the memory |
| Of senselessness and shame. |
| that, to be restored, our sickness must grow worse.I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you |
| Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre, |
| The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed |
| With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness, |
| And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama |
| And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away— |
| Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations |
| And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence |
| And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen |
| Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about; |
| Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing— |
| I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope |
| For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love, |
| For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith |
| But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting. |
| Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: |
| So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing. |
| Nigh sphered in heaven, its native strains could hear; |
| Whence they, like richly-laden merchants, come To whom, prepared and bathed in heaven, |
| The uncommon vigor of the child at length roused the mother. She started up, at a distance facing Captain |
| Delano. But as if not at all concerned at the attitude in which she had been caught, delightedly she caught |
| the child up, with maternal transports, covering it with kisses. |
| There’s naked nature, now; pure tenderness and love, thought Captain Delano, well pleased. |
| This incident prompted him to remark the other negresses more particularly than before. He was gratified with |
| their manners: like most uncivilized women, they seemed at once tender of heart and tough of constitution; |
| equally ready to die for their infants or fight for them. Unsophisticated as leopardesses; loving as doves. |
| Ah! thought Captain Delano, these, perhaps, are some of the very women whom Ledyard saw in Africa, and gave |
| such a noble account of.I do not recollect a single instance of hardheartedness towards mein the women. In all my wanderings and |
| wretchedness, I found |
| them uniformly kind and compassionate; and I can truly say, as my predecessor Mr. Ledyard has eloquently said |
| before me: |
| To a woman, I never addressed myself in the language of de- cency and friendship, without receiving a decent |
| and friendly answer. If I was hungry or thirsty, wet or sick, they did not hesitate, like the men, to perform |
| a generous action. In so free andso kind a manner did they contribute to my relief, that if I wasdry I drank |
| the sweetest draught, and if hungry I ate the coarsest morsel with a double relish. |
| Long, long thy stone and pointed clay |
| Descend lower, descend only |
| Into the world of perpetual solitude, |
| World not world, but that which is not world, |
| Internal darkness, deprivation |
| And destitution of all property, |
| Desiccation of the world of sense, |
| Evacuation of the world of fancy, |
| Inoperancy of the world of spirit; |
| This is the one way, and the other |
| Is the same, not in movement |
| But abstention from movement; while the world moves |
| In appetency, on its metalled ways |
| Of time past and time future. |
| The dangerous passions kept aloof, |
| Look at the teamster on the highway, wending to market by day or night; does any divinity stir within him? Tis the Divinity that stirs within us; |
| ’Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter, |
| And intimates eternity to man. |
| I am wont to think that men are not so much the keepers of herds as herds are the keepers of men, the former |
| are so much the freer. Men and oxen exchange work; but if we consider necessary work only, the oxen will be |
| seen to have greatly the advantage, their farm is so much the larger.So long as cattle are used in agriculture, it is very evident that man will remain a slave, whether he be |
| proprietor or hireling. The driving of cattle beyond their natural and pleasurable exertion; the waiting upon |
| them as cook and chambermaid three parts of the year; the excessive labor of mowing, curing and housing hay, |
| and of collecting other fodder, and the large extra quantity of land needful to keep up this system, forms a |
| combination of unfavorable circumstances. |
| Truth, their immortal Una? Babylon, With many a vow from Hope's aspiring tongue, ",0.0 |
| "This view might have been considered rather tame than otherwise, deficient in what landscape painters |
| call “life.” But, if so, the view from the other end of my chambers offered, at least, a contrast, |
| if nothing more. In that direction, my windows commanded an unobstructed view of a lofty brick wall, |
| black by age and everlasting shade; which wall required no spy-glass to bring out its lurking beauties, |
| but, for the benefit of all near-sighted spectators, was pushed up to within ten feet of my window panes. |
| Owing to the great height of the surrounding buildings, and my chambers being on the second floor, |
| the interval between this wall and mine not a little resembled a huge square cistern.","In furtherance of my design, and as if to leave me no pretext for not fulfilling it, there was in the rear |
| of the house the most delightful little nook of a study that ever afforded its snug seclusion to a scholar. |
| It was here that Emerson wrote Nature; for he was then an inhabitant of the Manse, and used to watch |
| the Assyrian dawn and Paphian sunset and moonrise from the summit of our eastern hill. When I first saw |
| the room, its walls were blackened with the smoke of unnumbered years, and made still blacker by the |
| grim prints of Puritan ministers that hung around. These worthies looked strangely like bad angels, |
| or at least like men who had wrestled so continually and so sternly with the Devil that somewhat of |
| his sooty fierceness had been imparted to their own visages. They had all vanished now; a cheerful coat |
| of paint and golden-tinted paper-hangings lighted up the small apartment; while the shadow of a willow-tree |
| that swept against the overhanging eaves atempered the cheery western sunshine. In place of the grim prints |
| there was the sweet and lovely head of one of Raphael’s Madonnas, and two pleasant little pictures of the Lake |
| of Como. The only other decorations were a purple vase of flowers, always fresh, and a bronze one containing |
| graceful ferns. My books (few, and by no means choice; for they were chiefly such waifs as chance had thrown |
| in my way) stood in order about the room, seldom to be disturbed.",2.0 |
| The evening darkness gathers round,"With him, sweet Bard, may fancy die;",2.0 |
| "In that lonely little closet of his, Pierre foretasted all that this world hath either of praise or dispraise; |
| and thus foretasting both goblets, anticipatingly hurled them both in its teeth. |
| All panegyric, all denunciation, all criticism of any sort, would come too late for Pierre.","I have been so praised elsewhere and abused, alternately, that mere habit has rendered me |
| as indifferent to both as a man of twenty-six can be to anything",3.0 |
| "That the starry vault shall surcharge the heart with all rapturous marvelings, |
| is only because we ourselves are greater miracles, and superber trophies than all the |
| stars in universal space.","We are the miracle of miracles, —-the great inscrutable mystery of God. We cannot understand it, |
| we know not how to speak of it; but we may feel and know, if we like, that it is verily so.",4.0 |
| "On either hand dung to by a girl who would have laid down her life for him; Pierre, nevertheless, |
| in his deepest, highest part, was utterly without sympathy from any thing divine, human, brute, or vegetable. |
| One in a city of hundreds of thousands of human beings, Pierre was solitary as at the Pole.","But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, |
| To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, |
| And roam along, the world's tired denizen, |
| With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; |
| Minions of splendour shrinking from distress! |
| None that, with kindred consciousness endued, |
| If we were not, would seem to smile the less |
| Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued; |
| This is to be alone; this, this is solitude! |
| He is learning how to live, by rehearsing the part of death.for the sake of the future, one postpones and loses the present. |
| But thou who own'st that earthly bed,",2.0 |
| "the darkness into which they peered |
| Or from which they turned their eyes.","In the middle of the journey of our life, |
| I found myself in a dark wood, |
| Having lost the straight path.",3.0 |
| Or quit with zealous step their knee-worn floors," The band, as fairy legends say,",0.0 |
| The dripping of the oar suspended!, Dun Night has veil'd the solemn view!,2.0 |
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| Nor leaves her Speech one word to aid the sigh,,0.0 |
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| ,Grimpen Mire,4.0 |
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| ,See! how she leans her cheek upon her hand: O! that I were a glove upon that hand. That I might touch that cheek.,4.0 |
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| , Ah! what will every dirge avail!,2.0 |
| For 'him' suspend the dashing oar;,,1.0 |
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| ,I—- this thought which is called I—- is the mould into which the world is poured like melted wax.,3.0 |
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| The evening darkness gathers round,,2.0 |
| And pray that never child of song,,2.0 |
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