Life Without and Life Within Part 34

RICHTER.

Poet of Nature, gentlest of the wise, Most airy of the fanciful, most keen Of satirists, thy thoughts, like b.u.t.terflies, Still near the sweetest scented flowers have been: With t.i.tian's colors, thou canst sunset paint; With Raphael's dignity, celestial love; With Hogarth's pencil, each deceit and feint Of meanness and hypocrisy reprove; Canst to Devotion's highest flight sublime Exalt the mind; by tenderest pathos' art Dissolve in purifying tears the heart, Or bid it, shuddering, recoil at crime; The fond illusions of the youth and maid, At which so many world-formed sages sneer, When by thy altar-lighted torch displayed, Our natural religion must appear.

All things in thee tend to one polar star; Magnetic all thy influences are; A labyrinth; a flowery wilderness.

Some in thy "slip-boxes" and honeymoons Complain of--want of order, I confess, But not of system in its highest sense.

Who asks a guiding clew through this wide mind, In love of nature such will surely find, In tropic climes, live like the tropic bird, Whene'er a spice-fraught grove may tempt thy stray; Nor be by cares of colder climes disturbed: No frost the summer's bloom shall drive away; Nature's wide temple and the azure dome Have plan enough for the free spirit's home.

THE THANKFUL AND THE THANKLESS.

With equal sweetness the commissioned hours Shed light and dew upon both weeds and flowers.

The weeds unthankful raise their vile heads high, Flaunting back insult to the gracious sky; While the dear flowers, with fond humility, Uplift the eyelids of a starry eye In speechless homage, and, from grateful hearts, Perfume that homage all around imparts.

PROPHECY AND FULFILMENT.

When leaves were falling thickly in the pale November day, A bird dropped here this feather upon her pensive way.

Another bird has found it in the snow-chilled April day; It brings to him the music of all her summer's lay.

Thus sweet birds, though unmated, do never sing in vain; The lonely notes they utter to free them from their pain, Caught up by the echoes, ring through the blue dome, And by good spirits guided pierce to some gentle home.

The pencil moved prophetic: together now men read In the fair book of nature, and find the hope they need.

The wreath woven by the river is by the seaside worn, And one of fate's best arrows to its due mark is borne.

VERSES

GIVEN TO W. C. WITH A BLANK BOOK, MARCH, 1844.

Thy other book to fill, more than eight years Have paid chance tribute of their smiles and tears; Many bright strokes portray the varied scene-- Wild sports, sweet ties the days of toil between; And those related both in mind and blood, The wise, the true, the lovely, and the good, Have left their impress here; nor such alone, But those chance toys that lively feelings own Weave their gay flourishes 'mid lines sincere, As 'mid the shadowy thickets bound the deer Accept a volume where the coming time Will join, I hope, much reason with the rhyme, And that the stair his steady feet ascend May prove a Jacob's ladder to my friend, Peopled with angel-shapes of promise bright, And ending only in the realms of light.

May purity be stamped upon his brow, Yet leave the manly footsteps free as now; May generous love glow in his inmost heart, Truth to its utterance lend the only art; While more a man, may he be more the child; More thoughtful be, but the more sweet and mild; May growing wisdom, mixed with sprightly cheer, Bless his own breast and those which hold him dear; Each act be worthy of his worthiest aim, And love of goodness keep him free from blame, Without a need straight rules for life to frame.

Good Spirit, teach him what he ought to be, Best to fulfil his proper destiny, To serve himself, his fellow-men, and thee.

These pages then will show how Nature wild Accepts her Master, cherishes her child; And many flowers, ere eight years more are done, Shall bless and blossom in the western sun.

EAGLES AND DOVES.

GOETHE.

A new-fledged eaglet spread his wings To seek for prey; Then flew the huntsman's dart and cut The right wing's sinewy strength away.

Headlong he falls into a myrtle grove; There three days long devoured his grief, And writhed in pain Three long, long nights, three days as weary.

At length he feels The all-healing power Of Nature's balsam.

Forth from the shady bush he creeps, And tries his wing; but, ah!

The power to soar is gone!

He scarce can lift himself Along the ground In search of food to keep mere life awake; Then rests, deep mourning, On a low rock by the brook; He looks up to the oak tree's top, Far up to heaven, And a tear glistens in his haughty eye.

Just then come by a pair of fondling doves, Playfully rustling through the grove.

Cooing and toying, they go tripping Over golden sand and brook; And, turning here and there, Their rose-tinged eyes descry The inly-mourning bird.

The dove, with friendly curiosity, Flutters to the next bush, and looks With tender sweetness on the wounded king.

"Ah, why so sad?" he cooes; "Be of good cheer, my friend!

Hast thou not all the means of tranquil bliss Around thee here?

Canst thou not meet with swelling breast The last rays of the setting sun On the brook's mossy brink?

Canst wander 'mid the dewy flowers, And, from the superfluous wealth Of the wood-bushes, pluck at will Wholesome and delicate food, And at the silvery fountain quench thy thirst?

O friend! the spirit of content Gives all that we can know of bliss; And this sweet spirit of content Finds every where its food."

"O, wise one!" said the eagle, deeper still Into himself retiring; "O wisdom, thou speakest as a dove!"

TO A FRIEND, WITH HEARTSEASE.

Content in purple l.u.s.tre clad, Kingly serene, and golden glad; No demi hues of sad contrition, No pallors of enforced submission; Give me such content as this, And keep a while the rosy bliss.

ASPIRATION.

LINES WRITTEN IN THE JOURNAL OF HER BROTHER R. F. F.

Foreseen, forespoken not foredone,-- Ere the race be well begun, The prescient soul is at the goal, One little moment binds the whole; Happy they themselves who call To risk much, and to conquer all; Happy are they who many losses, Sore defeat or frequent crosses, Though these may the heart dismay, Cannot the sure faith betray; Who in beauty bless the Giver; Seek ocean on the loveliest river; Or on desert island tossed, Seeing Heaven, think nought lost.

May thy genius bring to thee Of this life experience free, And the earth vine's mysterious cup, Sweet and bitter yield thee up.

But should the now sparkling bowl Chance to slip from thy control, And much of the enchanted wine Be spilt in sand, as 'twas with mine, Let blessings lost being consecration, Change the pledge to a libation.

For the Power to whom we bow Has given his pledge, that, if not now, They of pure and steadfast mind, By faith exalted, truth refined, Shall hear all music, loud and clear, Whose first notes they ventured here.

Then fear not thou to wind the horn Though elf and gnome thy courage scorn; Ask for the castle's king and queen, Though rabble rout may come between, Beat thee, senseless, to the ground, In the dark beset thee round; Persist to ask, and they will come.

Seek not for rest a humbler home, And thou wilt see what few have seen, The palace home of king and queen.

THE ONE IN ALL.