WEALTH AND BEAUTY. 
 
 "pS ^^"^^ — 
 
 A P'O E M 
 
 KEAI) BEFORE 
 
 THE PHI BETA KAPPA SOCIETY 
 
 IN CAMBRIDGE, JULY 19, 1855. 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY HURLBUT. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE: 
 JOHN BARTLETT. 
 
 M DCCC LV. 
 
WEALTH AND BEAUTY. 
 
 A P E 31 
 
 KEAD BKFOEE 
 
 THE PHI BETA KAPPA SOCIETY 
 
 IX CAMBRIDGE, JULY 19, 1856. 
 
 WILLIAM HEXRY HURLBUT. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE: 
 JOHN BARTLETT. 
 
 M DCCC LY. • 
 
D**- 
 
 
 CAMIiRIDGE : 
 ALLEN AND FARNHAM, PRINTERS. 
 
 
WEALTH AND BEAUTY. 
 
 There are two natures in the mould of man, 
 Two worlds of glory sleep within the span 
 Of the frail dome, whose heaven-lit arches hold 
 Whatever hands have done, or tongues have told ; 
 The world of Wealth, — of all the conquered 
 
 Earth 
 Yields to her INIaster's comfort or his mirth, 
 The sweet results of sore and sweatinsf toil 
 From field and forest wrung, from sea and soil ; 
 The world of Beauty, — shapes sublimely wrought 
 From the rich ores of Passion and of Thought, 
 Immortal banquets of the hungry heart. 
 The mild majestic miracles of Art ! 
 
Two different worlds I — how weary, or how vain 
 Life, quite divorced from either of the twain ! 
 Turn to the Nations! — Though a thousand arts 
 Decked her fair streets, and filled her glittering 
 
 marts. 
 Though all the tides of splendid commerce 
 
 rolled 
 Where purple Carthage served her gods of gold. 
 The soulless grandeur of the sensual state 
 Passed, at the touch of earth-dissolving Fate, 
 And left the memories of the prosperous land 
 Like Egypt's columns, to a grave of sand ! 
 Not less the sadness, though the scorn be less 
 Where Fame but gilds a people's wretchedness ; 
 See Titian's Venice, Buonarotti's Rome, 
 Beauty enshrined, and man without a home ! 
 The private annals of the passing age 
 Repeat the lessons of the historic page, 
 Show to the mind, in many a modern home, 
 A lesser Carthage or a humbler Rome, 
 And the soul saddens, still condemned to meet 
 Dolts in the palace, sages on the street. 
 
Crowns without sense, or sense without a crown, 
 The starving poet, or the pampered clown I 
 
 Thus doubly framed, to exquisite desires 
 Of Wealth that fills, of Beauty that inspires, 
 Shall Man, regardless of that inward sight 
 Which aches for visions of undying light. 
 Find, in mere fulness of the things of Time 
 The coronation of his hopes sublime ? 
 The life of Nations is the life of men, 
 Each generation soars beyond the ken 
 Of earthly watchers : and the unseen fates 
 That deal with mortals, deal with mortal states ; 
 Is Justice noble in the humblest soul ? 
 Not less it honors the imperial whole ! 
 The foul ambitions that degrade the man 
 But blight the deeper in their wider span ; 
 One law of Light, of Grandeur, and of Grace, 
 Hangs o'er the Cottage, and controls the Kace ! 
 Yes ! let Invention's mitigating hand 
 Win stubborn Nature to her blest command, 
 
Sow States in deserts, star with sails the seas, 
 And soothe the world to rich Saturnian ease; — 
 But thou I the loftiest of the gifts of God ! 
 Thou, by whose help selected souls have trod 
 The sacred silence of prolific space, 
 Imagination ! whose informing grace 
 Dilates our life, and frees the aspiring soul 
 From earthly fetters and from Time's control ! 
 If thou withdraw thy sanctions from the scene, 
 How poor is wealth, and majesty how mean ! 
 
 Sweet is the morn just freshening into Day, 
 Sweet the cool evening, touched with pensive 
 
 ray 
 Of the first stars, that, from the darkening 
 
 skies, 
 Shine soft as Mercy in angelic eyes I 
 And, like the morn. Imagination opes 
 Dim vistas kindling with immortal hopes, 
 And, like the eve. Imagination's life 
 With purer passions stills the spirit's strife ! 
 
Turn with me then, as one who, worn with 
 cares 
 Of crowded life, to ampler scenes repairs, 
 And swells his spirit with the large delight 
 Of the green forests, or the ocean bright ; 
 Turn but one moment ! give a short vacation 
 To thousfhts of stocks and steam and aunexa- 
 
 o 
 
 tion ; 
 Turn to the Past I and bid its voice relate 
 What makes great nations most supremely 
 
 great, 
 What shines the fairest in their prosperous 
 
 days, 
 And makes their name a memory and a praise. 
 
 Forth from the East proceed, with equal ray. 
 The Dawn of genius, and the Dawn of day, 
 Touch the blue trembling of the ^gean Sea, 
 The isles awake, — and Greece begins to be ! 
 The lithe Athenian lifts his searching eyes, 
 And the strong Spartan stretches for his prize, 
 
8 
 
 The sluasrish silence of the lone Levant 
 Starts at the echoes of the sailor's chant, 
 And far barbarians hurry to their shores 
 Roused by the chime of long resounding oars ! 
 'Tis Freedom's breath that swells the prospering 
 
 sails, 
 'Tis Freedom's smile that lights the hills, the 
 
 vales, 
 'T is Freedom's strength that bids the cities 
 
 rise. 
 The sounding cities arched with shining skies ! 
 Greatness she gives, and glory and delight, 
 Joy to the day, and comfort to the night ! 
 O'er every field the bees of Cecrops sing. 
 On every slope Minerva's olives spring. 
 Light in the air, and motion on the earth. 
 The May of History blossoms at the birth I 
 
 When soft returning, with a sweet surprise 
 Spring's first green morning greets our gladdened 
 
How doth the landscape, quickening on the- 
 
 sight, 
 Transfuse our being with a subtler light ! 
 The soul delighted, breathes its own perfumes,. 
 So bud the thoughts, and so the spirit blooms ! 
 Not less the Grecian, when his beauteous home- 
 Rose, fresh as Venus, from the sparkling foam. 
 Found, in the secret of his soul's delight, 
 A fairer world than met his sensual sight ; 
 In changing radiance changeless Light he- 
 found. 
 Eternal voices in a fleeting sound ; 
 Poured out to Nature all his passionate heart. 
 And Nature, smiling, blessed his love with Art I 
 
 Happy the bard, in those delicious days, 
 When Greece, enamoured, hung upon his lays. 
 And the strong race, rejoicing in the sun. 
 Thrilled to all passions, frowning upon none I 
 Or if the rage of Troy's heroic time. 
 Ring through his soul and rouse him into rhyme ;, 
 
10 
 
 Or if he follow with admiring eyes 
 
 The varying fates that make the wanderer 
 
 wise; 
 Or statelier treading the pathetic stage 
 Bid Love and Sorrow moralize the age : 
 Or light the Nation with the lyric fire, 
 And with the Ode Ambition's self inspire ; 
 Or softly singing in the pastoral vale 
 See dove-eyed maidens pensive with the tale ; 
 By turns as rapid, the impetuous throng 
 Sway to the impulse of his genuine song I 
 Nor pleads the poet in his words alone. 
 He charms in color, and he speaks in stone. 
 Till street, and temple, grove, and agora shine 
 With silent shapes of eloquence divine ! 
 The light of Beauty, lovelier than the day, 
 Touches all Nature with its generous ray. 
 Makes the skies bluer, makes the fields more 
 
 green. 
 And o'er-informs with meaning every scene ; 
 A viewless presence of pervasive power, 
 It warms the root and paints the perfect flower; 
 
11 
 
 The peasant feels it, and his eye grows bright, 
 It fills the poet with creative might, 
 As one soft breeze brings summer to the oak 
 And to small violets nestling in their nook. 
 
 The mirthful Chian from his goblet quaffed 
 The merry light that o'er his vines had laughed ; 
 Fair dreams that dallied with the thymy bowers 
 Glowed in the honey of Hymettus' flowers ; 
 Ay I every rapture of the soul or sense 
 Felt the fine glory. Life grew more intense ; 
 Joy taught the Grecian, joy, and strength, and 
 
 health. 
 The worth of Beauty in a land of Wealth I 
 Tru-e, the luxuriance of that wondrous prime 
 Ennobling virtue, still enhanced crime,; 
 So from one lump of rich redundant Nile 
 Soars a gay fly, and crawls a serpent vile ; * 
 
 * This image I have borrowed from the Poems of the late T. L. 
 Beddocs, of England, a man of great but imperfect genius. 
 
12 
 
 Yet where the stream his genial flood restrains, 
 The poisonous viper lords it o'er the plains, 
 And duller realms which ne'er the muses knew. 
 Saw the worst revels of Silenus' crew. 
 
 Yes, Greece was glorious ! and her sons 
 sublime 
 Reared her proud State beyond the reach 
 
 of Time ; 
 In vain the blight of factions and of war. 
 In vain the setting of her earthly star. 
 In vain the rout of Chseronea's field. 
 The humbled banner, the deserted shield ; 
 And ah I in. vain that crowning shame of shames, 
 When Grecian myriads at the Isthmian games 
 Snatched, as a boon by scornful Romans flung. 
 The prize their fathers from the Persian wrung! 
 In vain Destruction summoned to her work 
 The stern Venetian and the ruthless Turk ; 
 The ghost of Greece hath more of life to-day 
 Than the gross bulk of populous Cathay ! 
 
13 
 
 When the Mind's Merchant, in his quest of light, 
 Turns to the Eastward and the fountains bright, 
 Still o'er his path the Sunian star prevails, 
 Still the PirsBus furls his grateful sails ; 
 Light, strength, and beauty, till the world shall 
 
 cease. 
 Glow on the mountains and the plains of Greece ; 
 Marked on the splendors of the spirit's sphere 
 Parnassus dwarfs the giants of Cashmere, 
 And shrunk Ilissus rolls a statelier tide 
 Than wild Missouri or La Plata wide I 
 
 With Man's bold heart and ever busy brain 
 Strive Time and Change, but still they strive in 
 
 vain ; 
 The soldier's laurel is a barren bloom, 
 Each wave of Ocean is a sailor's tomb, 
 But still young Honor, in the trumpet's breath, 
 Hears the high promise of a glorious death. 
 And still the white sails sparkle o'er the sea 
 As thick as daisies on the summer lea I 
 
14 
 
 When on that hill the traveller takes his stand 
 Where Pope and Caesar rule on either hand, 
 Now downward gazing on the flowery heaps 
 Of that vast grave where Rome imperial 
 
 sleeps, 
 Now pensive staying his entranced eye 
 Where Peter's Dome still floats upon the sky, 
 What thoughts, what memories, what emotions 
 
 roll. 
 Full as Niagara^ on his thrilling soul ! 
 How doth his mind with lightning swiftness 
 
 range 
 Through ringing centuries of colossal change ! 
 There, at his feet, in hopeless ruin hurled, 
 Lie all the terrors that controlled the world ; 
 To all the grandeurs of a glorious state, "1 
 
 By subject millions deemed embodied Fate, )- 
 One doom was granted, though a longer date, J 
 With last year's snows, that in the wintry light. 
 Shone, for a moment, on Soracte's height ! 
 And yet, dread vision of remorseless Time, 
 Is man's firm will less solemn and sublime ? 
 
15 
 
 See, in the presence of thy mightiest spoils 
 Man still undaunted, recommence his toils. 
 Range the vast relics of the ancient day 
 Into new splendors of a fresh array, 
 Hang the Pantheon higher in the air. 
 And statelier build the Capitolian square ! 
 
 When the wild billows of the Northern flood 
 Had whelmed the nations in their sea of blood, 
 And, slow subsiding with an angry roar. 
 Let the first dayspring kiss the Italian shore. 
 The dove of commerce, harbinger of peace, 
 Brought Beauty's olive from the hills of Greece ; 
 First the rich mistress of the Adrian wave 
 Imperial welcome to the wanderer gave. 
 Then North and South the graceful creature flew. 
 And all things brightened in her blissful view.. 
 The saintly visions of great Augustine 
 Took shape and color. — Stately and serene 
 The purer Psyche of a loftier Faith 
 Filled the new genius with seraphic breath. L 
 
16 
 
 O'er every sea the proud Republics bore 
 Their haughty standards, and to every shore. 
 Their merchants braved it at the courts of kings ; 
 The Ocean gloried in their bridal rings ; 
 The gems of Syria and the gold of Spain 
 Fed the deep coffers of their daily gain ; 
 Crusading Europe, thundering on its prey, 
 Must wait till Venice opes the golden way ; 
 The sword of Genoa shivers all the spells 
 That barred the portals of the Dardanelles ; 
 The Pisan valor and the Pisan skill 
 Bend the proud Arab to the Pisan's will ; 
 And English Edward, taming down his glance, 
 Must sue to Florence ere he threatens France ! 
 
 Alas! how changed from that triumphant time 
 'The living aspect of the glorious clime! 
 Florence and Pisa, bound in common shame, 
 Blush at the memories of their ancient fame ; 
 And Venice, voiceless in her proud despair. 
 Her dark eyes drooping, and her golden hair, — 
 
17 
 
 Looks on the sea-waves moaning at her feet, 
 And pales to hear the drums of Austria beat! 
 The world, that trembled when the Bull of 
 
 Rome 
 Once, furious snorting, left his Papal home, 
 With hoofs of silver, and with horns of gold 
 To toss the recreants of the Christian fold. 
 Now laughs with pity on his altered shape. 
 By plotting Frenchmen led, in strings of tape ! 
 The throne of Naples is a huckster's seat 
 Where the " gross Bourbon," prescient of defeat, 
 Ransacks Vesuvius, and, when sulphur sells, 
 Buys of the Alps their venal William Tells I 
 All, all is slavery, but in one brave land 
 Where stout Sardinia keeps her steady stand, 
 Watched by her mountains, cherished by the 
 
 sea. 
 She waits for Fortune, but she will be free I 
 
 Yet, spite of sorrow and of deep disgrace, 
 Wherever Beauty makes her dwelling-place 
 2 
 
18 
 
 A sacred lustre ne'er deserts the day, 
 
 And thronging pilgrims crowd the mournful 
 
 way. 
 Still, in the glories of Italian Art 
 Italian greatness speaks to every heart ; 
 And the best scions of the noblest lands 
 Haste to her shores in still increasing bands ; 
 Fair is the land, but oh how fair the light 
 That streams in blessings on the inward sight, 
 The light immortal of her glorious prime, 
 When Faith was lovely. Genius was sublime ! 
 O'er every scene that light delicious lies. 
 Transfiguring Nature in the gazer's eyes. 
 Where gleam the splendors of the iUpine wall 
 O'er many a rustling grove, and glittering fall ; 
 Where Garda's waves of burning azure roll — 
 A dream of Titian painted on the soul ; — 
 Or wide Maggiore's far retreating sweeps 
 Mirror the Alps in amethystine deeps. 
 Or blissful Como softlier winds, between 
 Song-haunted shores, and heights of happy 
 
 green, 
 
19 
 
 Or hidden Orta's breezy summer fills 
 The purple silence of the Lombard hills ; 
 Where Venice, gorgeous as an Eastern dream,. 
 Takes the first crimson of the morning's beam ;; 
 Where, in the silence of Ferrara's street, 
 We seem to hear the heart of Tasso beat ; 
 Where gay Boyardo charms, with silver strain^ 
 The drowsy noontide of the Mantuan plain ; 
 Where in the soft light of Urbino's skies 
 The soul of Raphael rises on our eyes ; 
 O'er Milan's marbles, and Verona's towers, 
 O'er Padua's domes, and sunny Parma's flowers ; 
 O'er that sweet quiet where Petrarca sleeps 
 Lulled by the pines on Euganean steeps ; 
 O'er shining Florence, and the fertile vales 
 Where wandering Arno tells in song his tales ; 
 O'er the dim grandeurs of that one vast dome 
 Which, like the Alps, o'erlooks the fates of 
 
 Rome ; 
 O'er Poestum's temples, where the past re- 
 poses. 
 Soothed by the sea, and canopied with roses ;, 
 
20 
 
 O'er the soft waters of the Elysian bay, 
 Where Naples opens to the perfect day, 
 That ripe pomegranate, bursting in the sun. 
 Which whoso finds, esteems his journeys done ; 
 O'er all the land, that light immortal plays, 
 Eedeems the sorrows of degraded days, 
 Persuades affection with resistless power. 
 And cheers with hope the darkness of the hour ! 
 
 Imagination made the Past sublime. 
 Imagination mocks the touch of Time. 
 The great, the noble are our own forever. 
 Their presence and their glory leave us never ; 
 Still, musing Petrarch, crowned with fragrant 
 
 flowers, 
 Bends o'er his Virgil in his laurel bowers ; 
 Still Dante, chafing like the salt sea foam, 
 Watches night deepen round the Tuscan 
 
 dome ; 
 Still Ariosto, with his magic lyre 
 Charms words to roses, kindles thoughts to fire ; 
 
21 
 
 Where mothers laugh to see their children's 
 
 grace, 
 There smiles Correggio with his earnest face ; 
 The sunset's warm Apocalyptic skies 
 Still glow and gleam in Tintoretto's eyes ; 
 The Archangelic Prince of every art 
 Still in all grandeur bears the grandest part ; 
 And, hid in Summer's most delicious glooms, 
 Boccace looks downward thro' the orange 
 
 blooms, 
 Where Arab maidens wreathed in Attic bands 
 Dance off the moonlight from Sorrento's sands I 
 
 Turned to the Westward, our delighted eyes 
 See glorious England from the waters rise ; 
 The proud old Island I scornful in her might, 
 Her heart as noble as her cliffs are white I 
 Land of our fathers ! though the long debate 
 Of angry years have fostered mutual hate, 
 A secret impulse, vigorous in our souls, 
 O'erleaps the ocean that between us rolls. 
 
22 
 
 And the young wanderer from the further West 
 Thrills as he touches thine ancestral breast ; 
 How dear, how tempting the delicious theme" 
 Once more, in fancy, to revive the dream 
 Of days that glided, like a summer stream 
 Full of the heavens, through many a tranquil 
 
 scene 
 Of ivied England's immemorial green ! 
 Past ancient castles, and cathedrals gray, 
 And bowery hamlets hidden from the day ; 
 Morn came in music from the heavenward 
 
 lark, 
 Sweet bells persuaded the delaying dark. 
 Sweet bells, that breathed along the fragrant 
 
 air, 
 A psalm of mercy and a painless prayer ! 
 
 What seeks the pilgrim on the English soil? 
 Her ports of traffic or her marts of toil ? 
 The mighty forges, which in War or Peace 
 JBeat out dominion without stint or cease ? 
 
23 
 
 No I the fair England that the pilgrim sees 
 Draws wealth and strength from other springs 
 
 than these ; 
 He sees a land whose light shall not be dim 
 Till once again the stars lift up their hymn ! 
 A land more pleasant and more calm than ours, 
 Forever gay with birds, and bright with flowers ; 
 There Chaucer, with a rosebud in his hand, 
 On his white palfrey ambles through the land ; 
 There Spenser, pacing in a woodland aisle, 
 Dreams of Orlando with a pure proud smile ; 
 There high-souled Milton, with immortal eyes. 
 Reads Truth and History shining in the skies ; 
 And that great poet in whose boundless heart 
 All thoughts, all passions had by turns a part, 
 Walks wise and happy, finding something good 
 In London alleys, as in Stratford wood I 
 There Sidney sings some sonnet of the South ; 
 There Herrick's laughter shakes his ruddy 
 
 mouth ; 
 There all the JMermaid brethren, frank and free, 
 Make night ambrosial with their generous glee ; 
 
24 
 
 And in the meetings of that genial race, 
 
 The guests of Will's and Button's find a place, 
 
 The witty roysterers of a jovial time 
 
 Ere sack was sinful, and champaigne a crime ! 
 
 There Goldsmith shines, a diamond vilely set, 
 
 And at the Doctor quite forgets to fret ; — 
 
 Nor these alone : there all the souls we find 
 
 Who reared the immortal England of the mind ; 
 
 There rich and happy, dwell those shining ones, 
 
 Unvexed by critics, unpursued by duns. 
 
 Benignant poets ! such your kindly art, 
 You loved all beauty with a human heart ; 
 In secret sadness of the loftiest mind. 
 In sweet communions with our happy kind, 
 In loneliest sorrow, and most social mirth, 
 We turn to England out of all the earth 1 
 
 Last in the race of empire and renown. 
 Our Western genius waits his double crown ; 
 
25 
 
 Lord of a land whose rich resources flow 
 At the mere menace of the invoking blow, 
 Wise as Ulysses, with as firm a will 
 To sail, and seek, and know, and conquer still, 
 His home is happy with all earthly weal. 
 And the whole world too narrow for his zeal ; 
 His dreams are golden, and his waking hours 
 See his dreams dimmed by Californian showers; 
 He pants for conquest, — and the neighboring 
 
 lands, 
 Ripe pears of Empire, drop into his hands ; 
 Nor laws nor dangers stay his onward course, 
 He storms with flattery, or cajoles with force ; 
 He wins and worries, — and supremely blest. 
 Eats his proud heart in passionate unrest I 
 Alas ! the patriots whose devoted faith 
 Snatched Freedom's charter from the arms of 
 
 death. 
 Staining with life the consecrated ground, 
 Saw other visions than the hope to found 
 The most extensive of all known concerns. 
 First in large profits and in quick returns ! 
 
26 
 
 Nor vain their visions! Beauty's latest Spring 
 Shall wake our Iowa in her turn to sing. 
 And fill the valleys of the fateful West 
 With Time's last music and perchance his best. 
 
 What lacks the poet in this glorious clime 
 To stir his rapture, and inspire his rhyme ? 
 
 'Tis true the lineage of our ardent race 
 Boasts more of passion than of kindling grace, 
 Among the fathers of the Pilgrim band 
 No fair Apollo wooed the virgin land ; 
 Harsh were the men who sowed the imperial 
 
 seed. 
 Their only Muses Sternhold and their creed ; 
 The savage beauty of the shores they found 
 Fled from their axes' devastating sound ; 
 Their wronged divines, with righteous wrath 
 
 imbued. 
 The church's cherubs with her priests es- 
 chewed : 
 
27 
 
 On their seared hearts the old monastic aisles 
 Fell more like sneers, alas ! than " pensive 
 
 smiles ;" 
 Filled with the spirit of the Pyms and Vanes, 
 This thought was with them when they reared 
 
 their fanes. 
 To build God's shrine and not the shrine of 
 
 Gaud, 
 The House of Praise, but not the house of 
 
 Laud ; 
 Grim visaged Mather warmed his toes and 
 
 soul. 
 In the chill Maytime with the crackling pole ; 
 They cheered their spirits with a strangling 
 
 witch, 
 Or Quaker squirming from the godly switch, 
 And for excitement took the sharp debate 
 With Death and Pequots at the farm-house gate. 
 
 We have no castles, for we had no lords ; 
 No solemn ruins, wrought by ruthless hordes I 
 
28 
 
 The grand deposits of antique romance 
 Strew Europe's soil from Hungary to France, 
 But ah I what anguish of forgotten ages 
 Is writ and stamped upon those crumbling 
 
 pages ! 
 The ivy that inspires our modern song 
 Strikes thro' dead hearts, and roots in ancient 
 
 wrong I 
 
 Yet if we find not in our early years 
 Homeric princes nor romantic peers, 
 We have our heroes, kingliest of the earth. 
 Whose royal death transcends all royal birth. 
 What need of princes for the glorious West, 
 Born in the purple of a royal vest ? 
 God gave us kings that for their country's 
 
 good, 
 Died in the purple of a patriot's blood ! 
 Their names are trumpets sounding from the 
 
 past, 
 To shame our weakness with a generous blast ; 
 
29 
 
 They fill the landscape with a glorious host, 
 Each sod surrendering its heroic ghost ; 
 And oh ! what memories of the brave and stronfi: 
 Should stir a Nation to the mood of song 
 More than the thought of that tremendous 
 
 day, 
 When Freedom thundered over Boston Bay, 
 And full and fiercely, in the oppressor's path, 
 From Bunker's batteries, blazed a people's 
 
 wrath ! 
 Or what proud passion of the Tale of Troy 
 More grandly moves than Yorktown's solemn 
 
 Nor fail the sweet thoughts that the poet 
 takes 
 From fields and forests, rivers, hills, and lakes ; 
 O'er us the sky as blue and solemn bends 
 As over Spenser and his stately friends. 
 The wind-swept pines of Massachusetts Bay 
 Murmur the legends of Creation's day ; 
 
30 
 
 A thousand blossoms, tender as the morn, 
 Earth's loving fancies, of the sunlight born, 
 Like timid angels nestling in the grass. 
 Breathe soft persuasion, wheresoe'er we pass. 
 Forever Beauty wanders o'er the Earth ; 
 No land her home, for none can claim her birth; 
 An Inspiration and a breath of Heaven, 
 To man the Immortal mercifully given. 
 Where'er he lifts his spirit with his eyes, 
 Behold she greets him, smiling from the skies ! 
 As Science, scorning all the bounds of space, 
 Makes every clime her chosen dwelling-place, 
 And cheers her votary with an equal smile, 
 On Switzer-Alp and Caribbean isle, 
 So Beauty hastens to the beauteous heart. 
 And the warm love begets the perfect Art I 
 
 The dream of Summer by the Hudson fills 
 The soul of Irving with delightful thrills ; 
 The winding Concord with low music streams 
 Thro' the rich wisdom of our Saadi's dreams ; 
 
31 
 
 And the deep shadows of the Acadian pine 
 Fall on the sweet face of Evangeline ! 
 
 This thing we want ; the sympathizing heart, 
 The passion and the ecstasy of Art ! 
 The poet's triumph must proceed again 
 Like Cimabue's, through the ways of men ; 
 Nor shall the priests of Beauty raise their song 
 "While grosser altars draw the clamorous throng ! 
 Be this our care — to cherish and inspire 
 The general glow of Love's creative fire ; 
 Then shall return Imagination's Spring ; 
 The towns grow fair; the lonely places sing; 
 And shapes of Beauty, grander than of yore, 
 Teach Truths of Love ill-understood before ! 
 
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