; ! # LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, # ie I UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, THE POEMS OF D UVALL J / ;3 ) ORTEI^ J. 13. BELL & CO., Publishers. 1875. Entered according to Act of Congress, in tbe tear 1875, by J. P. BELL & CO., In the Office of the Librarian at Washington. BELL, BROWNE & CO., PRINTERS, 49 Ninth St., Lynchburg, Va. TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER, THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED. INTRODUCTION, In keeping with a time-honored custom, we will detain the reader a few moments with an explanation of the book he is about to peruse. As Patrick Henry said, " it is natural for man to indulge in the illusions of hope," and it is more natural still for a writer of books to indulge in the same pleasant recreation, for w^e opine but few men enter literary life, without having, as they suppose, some data at least upon which to base their calculation of success. Further- more, it has been truly said that the child of the mind is dearer than the child of the body, and we are inclined to believe the assertion true. The author, then, ventures upon this work with the usual alternations of hope and fear ; and while he will be gratified beyond measure should he succeed, and disappointed if he fails, he is too w^ell aw^are, that whatever the estimate the reading public may put upon his work, that it is in the main, too, correct, to dispute its conclusions. As to the contents, a few w^ords. The reader will find a variety of subjects treated, but the author has adopted that mode of versification best adapted to express his thoughts and ideas, and in consequence, he will not find that difFuseness of style and method, which is a distinguishing feature in the works of Tennyson. Most of the poems were written under strong conviction, and should the energy of the language used at certain passages, encroach upon the limits of taste, it is hoped that the purity of the motive may condone the want of a true regard for that refined and delicate sense. With this, w^e commend our undertaking to a generous public, ever willing to bestow praise wiien deserved, and brave enough to deny it when undeserved. THE AUTHOE. CONTENTS. Narrative Poems. PAGE. AlphoDso: A Romance in four cantos, - - - - 1 Eureka, 35 Richard Yulgiis : A Tale of Modern Society, - - oJ The Story of Perditus : A Tale of Real Life, - - GJ p RiTicAL Poems The Millenium, 80 Art V. Artifice, 130 Virginia, --T 135 Miscellaneous Poems. The Retrospect, 141 Imogen, 159 Some Truths About Lying, 160 My Ideal, 163 The Refuge, 165 To A Little Lady, 167 A Reminiscence, - - -• 168 Speculation, 170 The Drunkard's Lament, 171 Ambition, 172 When Hope is Extinguished, 176 Why I Am Sad, --.....- 176 The Drunkard's Separation, 177 Submission, - - 179 On Leaving Virginia, 180 VI CONTEXTS. The First Kiss, 180 Twilight, - - - 181 When Looking on Thee Lucile, 182 The Methodists, ...-...- 182 To A Deceiver, - 183 Tears, 184 Adieu Romance, 185 A Vision, 186 To Lizzie, 187 The Silent Land, 187 Metempsychosis — To Lucy, ------ 188 The Pedagogue's Soliloquy, 189 Could She Whom I Love, 191 Contentment, - 191 Lines To , 192 Parson Please- All, 193 Unrest, 197 Truth, 199 To Incognita, 200 Love, 201 Altho' My Heart, - 202 Skepticism, 203 Farewell, for the Words Thou Hast Spoken, - - 204 In Memoriam, 205 The Hypocrite, - 207 Youth, 209 Death : An Ode to a Melancholy Friend, - - - 211 Air Castles, 213 Lines to E, 215 Music, 215 Unwritten Sorrow, 216 My Mother, 217 Acrostic, 218 To A Friend, 218 To Matilda, the Poetess, 219 Sabbath Evening, 219 CONTEN rS. VII Tbo' Fate Hath Doomed Me, 2-JO Night, (In the City,) - - 221 Last Words, - - - 223 My Birthday, - 225 First Love, - 227 Foe's Soliloquy, 229 The Belle's Review, 231 The Beau's Review, -.-..._ 236 The Story of an Outcast, 243 Which?, - - - 245 The Author's First Attempt, 247 Poetic Difficulties, ----.--_ 252 The Four Sisters, - - 253 At First Sight, -..---.. 257 Lines to A Student, ---_-.. 257 Mid the Hours Devoted to Pleasure, - - - . 258 Now and Then, 258 The Unwritten Thought, 259 Woman, 260 Money, 261 Robert E. Lee, 264 Lines to Our Poet, Walt, 268 Success, 270 To a Noted Philanthropist, 272 Remorse, 273 Inherited Sin, .--.----- 273 Self-Consciousness, - - 274 Good-Bye, - 275 Mi^^Un$ §n$m% ALPHONSO : A EOMAXCE IX FOUR CAXTOS Not far from whence, a sweet, majestic stream E'er rolls its way in ceaseless monotone Thro' fertile fields, where smiling harvests teem, Till broad Atlantic claims it as its own, Was born and rear'd the hero of my story, Obscure, unknown and on no page of glory. But e'en in youth he felt the hidden fire Of genius, kindling in his eager mind, And liv'd in realms, great souls alone desire. And beauties saw, where darker souls were blind, Fields, fruits and flowers, nurs'd that peculiar flame Which men call genius, — a thing without a name. In youth he was a strange, abstracted being, Dwelling in ideals, beauties only known To him, whom Heaven, imparts the longing, seeing Of hidden worlds, whose light has never shone For souls unworthy, worms may dwell in dust But genius never, dwell in heavens it must. Oft was he seen, when blazing lightnings jflayed In shapes grotesque upon the angry cloud, Ascend some steep, or lofty palisade, And watch the tempest, the giant oaks that bowed Their lofty tops, as though the sight conveyed The latent storm, which in his bosom preyed. ALPHONSO. Oil genius I ! akin to madness as thou art, Who, Tvithout rapture, coulcl'st know thine early dream ; What, if from madness, but a hair's breadth apart. Who knoweth but madness may with beauty teem The tallest towers are they that soonest fall The brilliant mind, — a maniac's for all. The lofty mountain and deep ocean nurse The soul of genius in its childish years. But woman, nay love, commands from it the verse That makes it human, baptises it in tears, Imbuing it with ecstacy and feeling Which Nature has no power of revealing. Tis the sad misfortune of poetic minds To seek that here, which only dwells above. Whose own eJffulgence, but too often blinds, And, part creates, the object of its love. Till alas; too late, an aching heart must feel Ideals unworthy of its balHed zeal. Love makes the poet, he cannot exist Devoid of all its ecstacy and x)ain ; Love is the food on Avhich he must subsist, Tis love supplies his sweet inspiring strain. Rob him of this and jar and discord swell ; His highest heaven becomes his lowest hell. Alphonso in his early youth did love A being cast, he deem'd in beauty's mould, And what earth lack'd he borrow'd from above. Till she became the thing his fancy told. Poetic minds, despite the sense of sight Can frame perfection ; what is wrong make right. ALPHOXSO. Fair Nature now, at ouce he quite forsook, And made a truce witli tiowers, fields and skies Save when anon he wander'd by the brook, In pensive mood, or such as love supplies. All passion, phantasy and fondness hers, With all pure thought that early love first stirs. Oh, Spirit of Love ! full adequate art thou To stir to action powers of the soul. To create thoughts, that hence, no more, nor now Shall sleep, or brook right reason's stern control. An Eden brighter can lovers' mind create Than Adam knew ere he received his mate. One master-passion of the human breast Controls all else as with an iron rod ; Like Joseph's sheaf, excelling all the rest, They make obeisance to the bosom's god, Which rules the mind with more despotic sway Than Turkish Sultan or Morocco's Bey. Each desire and passion but feeds this flame. As lesser streams into the ocean flow, Till glory, riches, reputation, fame Are thrown aside, if by that fearful throw We could attain, by this attain alone A dream, perhaps — still what we doat upon. Soon to our hero all nature wore Another aspect ; fields, flowers, streams and sky, Were types of Heaven, seem'd to him far more Than senseless things, for lovers' soul supply The voids of nature, all must harmonize With his imaginings, else the vision flies. ALPHOXSO. Love cliaDges onr being: tlie hue of LinniaD miuds Becomes celestial ; love purifies The clross of nature, and the lover finds Delights in common place, his fancy Hies On wings seraphic, till what is human Becomes angelic, and not a woman. Alphonso was chang'd ere busy time had wrought That change upon his face : such lines begin When brows contract with contemplation, thought. And furrows mar the beauty of the skin. His face was calm, yet in his bosom swell'd Intensest agony — a love withheld. Oft was he known at even's quiet hour, When lov^eless mortals are buried in repose. Repair alone to grove or secret bower ; For crowds are solitude to him who knows The ecstasies of love, a shooting star Disturbs his soul as with a sudden jar. His love was pure ; aye such a love as spurns The base alloy that mingles with the clod, A si)ark akin to those that brightly burn In hearts seraphic around the throne of God ; The hidden source, the golden tie that binds In one, the earthly, with celestial minds. But ah, how little a cold world can know The deep emotions finer minds may feel, The joy refin'd, the rapture, or the woe. The thoughts of Heaven, that thro' its senses steal, Yet know such thrills of joy intense or pain Are deem'd as wand'riugs of a mind insane. ALPHONSO. Passions, contending elements that shake The soul of genius, are eccentricities To vulgar minds, Tvhose vision cannot take A deeper meaning than the multiplicities Of outward seeming, measure all mankind By compass meant but for a shallow mind. Poor World ! wretched, blind and piteous thing, To patronize genius while genius holds Humanity spell-bound, the only king Of Spirit soul and mind, its spirit moulds' The destinies of nations : States may fall And be forgotten ; it survives thro' all. Artists and i)oets lead two lives in one, Two worlds are theirs — the one by right divine, The other in common, neither can they shun The carnal sense, altho' the spirit pine In natures noble for the realms of art For food to sate the hunger of the heart. Ideals are perfect, the mind can frame A Heav'n of its own, construct its hell. The real tho' can never be the same, Perfection never, purposed e'er so well Attends the execution some fault will mar The finest picture, dim the brightest star. The maid Alphonso lov'd — who would not love A maid so fair and beautiful as she ? All minds that have affinities above. And must, per force, ne'er from its spell be free ; And altho' small the spark to mortals given, 'Tis all thev know or ever feel of Heaven. ALPHOXS0. Alphonso's love was lioly, pure and deep As minds poetic never feign but feel, A love remember'd even in his sleep, Which in sweet dreams did o'er his senses steal,- An imi^ress leaving upon unconscious hours As dews from Heaven refresh the faded flowers,. No manw^alks the earth in solitude. For solitude is yet a thing unknown, Except in name; for spirits, ill or good. Are with us in crowds or when we seem alone. Tho' they be hid thro' life from sensual view, Are there not times when they can speak to you But love alone, for mere created good Deprives the soul of power to attain This higher sphere and causes it to brood O'er fancied ills and self-inflicted pain, Or cheats itself with sensual delights, Till woman bounds the limit of its flio:hts. Ah, had he ne'er from such sweet dreams awoke^- It had been well and he had never borne The load of sorrow, or with torture broke Upon the wheel of fate, nor inly torn By the heart's dread demon — a fell despair, Which only feels a spirit doom'd to bear. Sweet vision of bliss, of sublunary bliss, How trusting hearts become an easy prey To thy sweet flatteries in a world like this, Where naught is sweet save what our souls convey From self-built heavens to slake immortal thirst. And hunger for fruits sin hath not marr'd nor curst. ALPHOXSO. But bound iu Love's elysian bauds he lay A willing captive, thinking he was free, While ev'ry fetter tightened day by day With that delusion love alone can see. Yet lovers' hopes can swim upon a straw, And love can see what reason never saw. Perhaps the pangs the spirit torn endures In such a state is harder to be borne Than pure despair, the antidote that cures The sore from which the bandage should be torn ; Love, to be heal'd, must have a cruel nurse, Sympathy only makes the patient worse. Love must be met with love, one cannot quench Longings insatiate with sympathy alone ; Better the flower we sever at a wrench Than pluck it by piecemeal till it be gone, 'Tis death by subtraction, an instant blow Is far more merciful, it ends all woe. But deeply, purely as our hero lov'd. His was a common fate, he lov'd in vain. By love the least a woman's heart is moved, Love gains the least what it is wont to gain, A mad conceit, oh wild impetuous heart. To think that woman is won except by art. A woman true is Heaven's richest gift, A woman false a ruin and a curse. The first can elevate our souls and lift Our minds above a darkened universe. Up to the throne and bright abode of Him, Around whom dwell the glowing seraphim. ALPHONSO. The darkest story a lunatic can tell, Is a blighted love, yet all may not be told Unless our eyes could see each secret hell Consuming hearts, the dross as well as gold, How woman false can rivet, chain and bind. And poison the fountains of a feeling mind. The deepest minds are those that suffer most, The shallow one, not dignified with sorrow ; The one allied to a celestial host, The other earthy, cannot lend nor borrow. Poverty wretched, of life as well as thought. Ciphers on life's state standing there for naughts There does exist in mind, as well as matter Abhorence of nothingness ; so we create Where naught exists, and endow the latter With functions spiritual, this boon hath fate Vouchsafed to minds creative, sea, earth and sky, Are more than matter to a poet's eye. The mind therefore that sorrow does not sway. Nor love excite, nor fame enchant at least, Is hardly more, nor scarcely less than clay Impress'd by forms methodically pieced. And put together, lacking all essentials Entitlinfj man to divine credentials. •o Alphonso's hour had come, the hour when he Should speak to one the pathos of his heart. When he should seek an humble an humble devotee. Devoid of no feeling the immortal part Of man's nature cannot feign but feel, When brouoht so near to future wo or weaL ALPHOXSO. But our hero like to some artless cliild With the knife of fate in his skilUess hands Impetuous, excitable and wild, Gashes himself, and sees the silken strands Of hope asunder part, and this is life To stab our own hearts with a borrowed knife. Alphonso fail'd, the maiden was unmoved By all that beam'd from his pleading eyes, By time alone to eager hearts is proved, How vain are all our tenderness and sighs, Unless our idol in our feelings share, And in our love, a due proportion bear. Ko life is perfect that has not met deceit. And more is woman lov'd as she betrays And her sweet falsities have power to cheat The heart of man, still Delilah's now-adays Yet swindle man's love : Eve, the first and best, Frail as she was, but typifies the rest. And whom does woman love ? Let those decide Whom stern experience surely guides aright, The flashy rake with all things else denied Except a tongue, he is the depth and height Of her imaginings of an ideal man. This may be slander ; deny it if you can. This is the usual woman, there are of course Exceptions ever to a general rule. Such rules us'd only as a last resource When press'd in argument, and yet a fool May wed a woman of as good a kind As the rufi:or'd ojiant in the world of mind. 10 ALPHONSO. But Love — the heaven of the youthful heart, The source of sweets, Thee must we deify In spite of commou sense, and play our part In that wild romance where tear and sigh And smile are magnified and made to mean Indices of destiny in some trivial scene. Love unrequited, bitter are thy pangs To youthful hearts, and wrenching at a hlow The fairest flower, and in a moment hangs The door of fate in face of all below, Deem'd earthly happiness, bitter fate indeed To one who sees young joy's dream recede. Ah, then the forms seem vile of this fair world, Save Natures only and a living ray Illumines the inanimate, with forms unfurled Doth Beauty beam, where once but darkless lay, Yet doom'd by fate most cruel and unkind. The soul still starves for love it cannot find. Yet in all Natures' multifarious forms No voice ministers to the soul of man Like hers we love, the crash of storms, The zephyr's sigh, in turn may serve to fan Poetic fire, yet cannot be a cure For wounds that wretched hearts alone endure. Alphonso's soul became a ceaseless prey To melanchol}^, every bird that sung, Seem'd chanting a requiem of hope's burial day, For but one hope had cheer'd his heart when young ; And that was gone, a dark and dreamless void. With naught save memory of a love destroyed. ALPHONSO. 11 The saddest sight to see another's joy When we are wretched, contrast digs a hell That awes the devil, and laughter can destroy A man's philosophy, for who can quell The demon within us, put to open shame By heartless mirth or real, all the same. But why repine, the universal soul Of Nature only bids man rejoice, If in his gay moments, her charms cajole And for his sad ones, a sympathising voice, It shows a heart untrue, a will perverse, Not to he sooth'd by such a genial nurse. Then after all, perhaps for whom you sigh Sighs for another who does not love her more Than she does you, and who could not deny Himself of bliss in order to secure A lov'd one's happiness, but no one can, Unless an Angel, never selfish man. But ah ! too deeply had Alphonso loved And too unselfishly, no single blow Can sever hearts, that spell must be removed By time and distance, till the long ago Looms up once more, a heaven — not a hell And experience tells us that it ended well. Yet strange indeed that ever man should yearn And sigh for her whose sighs are not for him, That he will from each pleasing prospect turn To gaze on pictures feelingless and dim, Nor snap at once the smallest thread that binds The corpse that fate hath fasten'd our minds. 12 ALPHOXSO. More foolish still that brilliant minds are wasted In efforts fruitless to win an icy heart, 'Twere better far love's sweetness were untasted, Than for it lose existence' better part ; For, after all, ^tis but a dubious chase, AVhere oft times worst is he who wins the race. And yet despair, ah who can better know it Than he alone, whom fate hath made to feel ; Untohl b}^ all the frenzies of the poet, Language is imi:)otent its horrors to reveal, And so to shun and feel that we are free. We cling to hope and will not let her llee. Of all the strange delusions of our youth This is perhaps the strangest of them all : That we will shut our eyes against the truth, As if afraid that truth would ruin all, And nurse love lost as children would a sore, Which, to be heal'd, needs but neglect — no more. This truth at last llash'd o'er Alphonso's mind, And, strange to him, it made his heart serene, And made him seek, by leaving hope behind, Another joy amid a change of scene ; Yet, ere he left, his soul was wont to pour This plaintive lay to all he lov'd before : " 'Tis sad to know when I am gone Thou'lt cease to think of me. Of one whose heart was all thine own, His dearest thought for thee. But when thy heart and hand shall be For one who loves thee less. Let not one painful thought of me E'er pain thee or distress. ALPHOXSO. 13 Tho' to a bleak and barren world I turn Avith aching heart, With all my heaven in chaos hurl'd And pierced with sorrows dart. Be thou the joyous maiden still Thou wert in hours past, My anguish time at length must kill, Love but with hope can last. Tho' for thy love I would have given This dreary world beside, My sweetest thought this side of Heaven That you would be my bride. Twas not thy fault thou could'st not feel All I have felt for thee, But mine to mourn a baffled zeal, For hopes unkind to me. Amid a cheerless world shall I Be fated yet to find That love that beams from woman's eye To soothe a darken'd mind.'^ CANTO II. The love of life is one of nature's laws, The fear of death a counterpart to this. Which seems to be an intervening clause In every way man hath of earthly bliss ; For pleasure and pain, nay e'en death and life Are terms convertible, so are peace and strife. B 14 ALPHOXSO. And what is life? At best to all, not some, A few brief years the circle must complete, When the warm heart mnst wither and become Food for the worms that crawl beneath our feet^ And this is life, at least the common lot. To breathe, to die, and then to be forgot. Yet some, in one, may live out many lives, Each part of which would make another's whole- They are, to whom, both God and Nature give So much of heart, of sentiment and soul. Who feel far more, no doubt, within a year Than others do throughout a life's career. And such are they who win a deathless name Yet fail to win what they so madly sought, One object loved, and what solace hath fame Unshared by those so dear to ev'ry thought ? None that we know of save the innate pride That we achieve that for which millions died. In proof of this immortal Petrarch lives Along with Laura, while Byron brightly shines And dazzles Mary with the light he gives From his own great soul that beams in all his lines. Ah, rustic maid, the charms of brawny youth Were more to thee than miHitiest fame forsooth. assiou's storm iiatli spent itself in vain, And coldness meets its elements of lire, Like "barren Avastes that drink the genial rain. And yield no fruit, except the thorn and briar. The mind recoils upon itself to feel The sharpest pangs of its nn pitied zeal. The heart recedes, the mind again appears To body forth scenes of sublimer beauty, Music mysterious in nature hears, The full force feels, of doing ev'ry duty Despite life's petty ills, subdued by sorrow. Strong to prevail o'er what may come to-morrovr. A world of beauty, despite what cynics' say ; Aye, worthy Him who made andform'd it all, Creation's lamp, the glorious orb of day, The moon that beams when shades nocturnal fall, The starry host. Who is not made to feel A sense of beauty o'er his spirit steal ? Moments there are, when mortals seem to stand Upon the line, the measureless frontier. Which bars the earthly from celestial land ; Our spirits there, alas our bodies here ! But ah, too soon, does passion bubble up And senses spoil the nectar in our cup. And it was thus Alphonso's mind became A part and parcel of all that met its gaze. Objects inanimate, with i)hantasy and flame, His soul imbued ; not passions sickly blaze. The song of birds, the gurgling of the stream More potent to move than Avas Love's early dream. ALPHOXSO. 17 And what is poetry ? Easier asked than told, A few indeed have its spirit known. Some deem it an impulse all uncontrolled, The truth of which remaineth to be shown. Like other gifts of a celestial source, A mortal pride must claim it all of course. All men are poets, indeed there are but few Who have not felt at times and own'd its flame. A difference slight exists between the two. Thought may be strong w^hile language may be lame ; For natures e'en impassive as a stone Have surely once some genuine impulse known. The poet's heart is but a pit of flame, Like Etna's bosom, boiling when at rest. His object never to win a deathless name. But vent in song what x)ains him when suppressed, Purg'd by the fires that in his bosom prey E'en common-place then ceases to be clay. And in such moments when the cup of life Seems o'er running with delicious nectar. Then is the soul of poesy all rife With beauteous forms of ev'ry mental spectre. Aye nymph and sprite adorn the mental scene. And sport and gambol on Fancy's fairy green. 'Tis then with all her pencillings of flame She adds new beauties to each scene of bliss, And paints so fair her ideal w^orld 'twould shame One dwelling there to say he came from this. Thus minds can make a heaven of their own And diamonds fashion from mud and stone. 18 x\.LPHONSa. But this alone is not lier fav'rite field, She dwells within, as well as flies amain. And tho' to her the vulgar heart he steel'd, Yet she will rise superior to her pain, From gloomy cell or closely guarded prison. Earth-shaking speech, to Heaven hath arisen ► But genius still may have its kindlings crushed By sheer neglect, or bitter, cold disdain, But never yet hath man thy spirit hushed. Powerless he, its rapture to restrain, And thus adown the avenues of time, Its spirit speaks in prose, or blazing rhyme. No, none can prison the spirits mighty dream> Altho' unseen, unread by mortal eye, For it can mingle with the rushing stream, And blend with all beauty in earth or sky. Contriving ever ^mid outward forms to find The beauty lost npon the vulgar miud. And yet withal may poesy still cope With all the passions of the human heart, All hues of joy, the rainbow tints of hope. And then despair, when hope and joy depart. All power to pierce the densities of life And see the pearls beneath the streams of strife. In ev'ry age her votaries have found A fabric this on which to rear their fame, For there are thoughts, which in the soul abound. Which all may feel and yet but few can name, The poet then, but tells what all may feel, He must sjDeak out : No poet can conceal. ALPHONSO. li) To some is given sublimity and power, With, tireless wing to soar the heights of song, To paint the lightning when the tempests lower, Or join the thunder in its mountain song, To seize the strains inmiense, that ocean siugs. And know their meaning ; these are spirit-kings. Of such is he, who feels celestial fire, Which but in hearts of higher nature glows, And from his soul, a heav'n accorded lyre. Come forth such strains, as but his spirit knows. On time's threshold, his province is to stand To echo back strains from immortal strand. There is commingled in the cup of being An equal mixture of bitterness and bliss. For Beauty's self would pall upon the seeing, Were there no contrast found on earth to this. The tempest that bends the sturdy oak to earth, The lurid lightning and the roaring thunder, Were better than dull monotony or dearth Of aught that may excite our minds to w^onder, Yet who could wish that lovely Natures' face Should frown for aye, nor cheer us vrith a smile ? Each season serves in its appointed place. And hath its charms existence to beguile, Nor do Tve lose 'mid Spring of light and mirth, The joys of Winter around the blazing hearth — It is the poet's privilege to bring All scenes of life before the mental view. And his own heart, (if he has such a thing,) Must oft be wrung, that he may sing for you. What are deep feelings but the wells of life. Supplying those whose nature cannot know 20 ALPHONSO. What beauties spring from intellectual strife, What precious drops are wrung from mortal woe ! For Avorcls, no ray of feelings permeate, Of lifeless things, are most inanimate. Yet some contend that music is the source V»^ hence liquid numbers of the poet flow, Others say '' Love/' and love of course. No minor part can act in scenes below. These may excite, (the germ is in the soul) The plant to grow, until it doth attain A height to Heav'n — its tendrils all unroll — Its flowers fall on mountain top and plain. For the divine of all poetic art, Is that which stays the hunger of the heart. Thus thought Alphonso, for such thoughts did give His spirit ease or transitory joy ; A life most loath'd hath aught to make us live One bliss perchance, that nothing can destroy. The veriest wretch, in all his rags and dirt, A joy nurses that time hath never hurt. But Nature's forms lead up to Nature's God The spirit thoughtful, seeking thus to find That haven of hearts once smitten by the rod Of fate most merciless, and the darken'd mind Sees light break thro' the bosom of the cloud And hears the small voice that speaks to it aloud. To our hero mountains and stars became The syllables of life, from which e'er long he learned To spell man's destiny e'er his heart could frame The wondrous thought for which his spirit yearned, Holiness, by which, (so says the written word) None may see God, the once Incarnate Lord. ALPHOXSO. , 21 No mind is noble Avhicli does not sigh for this, No heart is pure whose best emotions rise Beneath this thought, the one supremest bliss To be conceiv'd by mortal 'neath the skies. Such thought best shows, no other proof be given, Man is immortal, his lineage sprung in Heav'n. Holiness only, since the fall of man, Has puzzled hell, Satannic intellect Is all eclips'd, and can conceive no plan To thwart its force, no cunning to detect A single flaw in what was seen and known In Mind Almighty, aye in God alone. To know of this, not that forbidden tree Which grew in Eden, Alphonso pray'd and sighed. And sought in books: these seldom leave us free From their misgivings, an uncertain guide That leads in paths where others have been lost, A bark in seas of speculation tost. For him the face of Nature wore all moods, Yet without charms, as when in musing hour, He sought the field or wander'd through the woods, Where dulcet notes rang out from branch and bower. For this, alas not God's appointed plan To bring relief or soothe the soul of man. Alphonso was not happy, still his mind Would yet revert and conjure back the past With life's first joy that time had left behind E'er blown upon by Hate's siroccoed blast. A change of heart, as well as mind must be E'er man can take his place among the free. 22 ALPHOXSO. 'Twas vain lie souolit a solace for his soul 'Mid woods and rocks, or solitary vale, The' for tlie mind may Nature's stores unroll, Within the heart will sorrow still x^revail, So with our hero, who in strains like these Pour'd forth his soul alone to give it ease. ^' My breast is rack'd with many a pang*, More keen than poet ever sang, Nor can it till compos'd of steel. E'er feign a joy it cannot feel. The leafless tree, the riven oak, Once blasted by the lightning's stroke, Might sooner hope to bud again, Than my x)oor heart forget its pain. For within it I feel a void Of ev'ry hope that once employed And yet in vain I strive for more Than what the vulgar herd adore. And yet, alas! what boots that I Should strive for excellence or sigh For what is noble ; am I not ^Mid thoughtless throngs obscured, forgot. My flowers trampled in the dust. My gems consign'd away to rust, • My precious thoughts, my golden rules Become the laughing-stock of fools ? Still in imaginative flight My mind shall soar the dizzy height, Then look beneath, through fancy's glass, In scorn upon the vulgar mass. Who scoff because I deign to soar Beyond the heights their minds explore. Alas ! that on this icy steep Where thought alone may deign to sweep, No flowers bloom, no linnets slug, ALPHOXSO. 23 No warm, reviving breath of Spring, No sympathetic heart to share Onr gloomy grandeur or despair. Tho' higher natures love to stray 'Mid blazing stars, or milky-Avay, Tho' Genius in its flight can bear Our spirits from the spheres that are To others built of bright romance, Where all things seem but to enhance Our high delights, an earthly tie Contrives to drag us from the sky; For without this would genius be Beyond thy pale, Mortality ! Nor can all fame or glory give That which makes our bliss to live, Nor mid its glare cau we forget One star of hope that may have set In early life to which we gave, Our very being as a slave. Tho' much mine erring mind hath stray'd Thro' light and darkness, shine and shade, Tho' much I've striven to forget My heart, my heart, is lonely yet.'' CANTO III. Misguided man, who seeks ethereal bliss, Save in communion, with his Maker, God, AYanders but blindly from the path of peace, Nor e'er returns, till the chast'ning rod, Of sore affliction bid his spirit seek The Kock of Ages — Tower of the weak. For tho' the mountain and old ocean tell In eloquence mute, of Him who made them all. They tell not man, how he from Eden fell, Nor curse attending his nature from the fall, 24 ALPHONSO. Xor e'er yet was man so wise as find In nature's book, liis dread Creator's mind. The raorn was calm, as morns may be in June, And birds sung out from ev'ry brancli and bower, And man's dark spirit could mingle and commune With Nature's beauty till the silent power. Of thought's transfusion, made it all his own, Alphonso, (as w^ont) his morning ramble took Along the vale, and by the babbling brook. Till lost in thought at length, he sat him down Beneath the shade of an outspreading oak, To muse on man, the hero, king and clown, Then of himself, who groan'd beneath the yoke, Of one misfortune, aye, that one is sooth, Which erst had crush'd the joys of his youth. The mem'ry of one, Avhose sweet and guileless face Had been his youth's heaven, did meet him there In all its beauty, winsomeness and grace. With her dark eyes beaming, and her silken hair Of auburn beauty, wreath'd yet with flowers Himself had pluck'd for her in happier hours. The same sweet smile, which once had won its way To his once young heart, he beheld again. Yet, not as then, he yielded to its sway, For it was steel'd by agony and pain. Which mean experience, taught him now to shun, Or be suspicious of all he looked upon. .Just then a sound borne softly thro' the air, Dissolv'd the spell which was around him thrown, A sound that call'd to penitence and prayer, A Sabbath bell, whose sweetly solemn tone ALPHOXSO. 25 Seem'd apropos to that sad train of thouglit With ^vhich his heart and mind alike were fraught. Yet, e're he left the consecrated spot, While his soul was kindled with poetic fire, To her, not then, nor now, nor e'er forgot He struck this music from his spirits' l^'re. '^ REMEMBRANCE." '• Sweet Lady, believe me, time cannot destroy, Thine image of beautj' on my soul deeply wrought. But still it remaineth diifuslng its joy. On the track of each bodiless thought. Long since have I ceas'd both to sigh and repine, For a love, which you cannot return. But alas, when I look at that dear face of thine, Love still in my bosom will burn. Tho' my beautiful Eden is denied me by fate, And bade me its pleasures to sever, There's a measure of bliss could I stand at the gate And gaze on its beauties forever. When my last sands of life shall be ebbing forever, May thine image, sweet Lady, to my spirit be given. That its last glimpse of beauty, as it passes the river Shall be kindred to that w^hich shall meet it in Heaven." An humble fane, that pious hands had reared. Stood in a grove, hard by Alphonso's oak, From which came forth the sounds he lately heard. And which unwitting, his reverie had broke, He listen'd and heard in measur'd cadence roll Hymns sweet because the language of the soul. C '26 ALPHONSO. Aud ceasing this, be heard the voice of prayer, No solemn mouthing, sanctimonious phrase, Instructing God to witness and compare Their saintly lives, with such as spend their days- In sins rebellious, not this our hero heard. But God's own promise in his written word. Strange, yet true, that trifles in themselves Are oft precursors to results as great As any found by him who toils and delves In the deep mines of thought to expurgate, By rugged logic and argument, forsooth, The dross of error from the gem of truth. The warm, untutor'd language of the heart Deals unbelief a more disastrous blow Than weighty words of controversial art. Wherewith men strive to prove a God or no, That proof at best lies hidden in the heart. And trifles make it into action start. He whom the voice of Nature had not taught The way of life, nor theologian wise, The utmost limits of permitted thought, Now found it in forests, where prayer could rise,^ From hearts untaught, except that God is good ;; This is enough to save a world, and should. Alphonso like, the wearied dove of old. Had found no rest, and so had sought in vain Thro' many creeds, in which he had been told Were antidotes for all of earthly pain. But found as others, who seek in stalls aud shelves^ Books mostly plead the uierit of themselves. ALPHONSO. 27 The Spirit's sword soon pierced liim to the heart, And God's own truth was fasten'd in his mind ; Still man may shun e'en Heaven's appointed dart, And force his way to hell, perverse and blind, Lose endless life, lose Heaven, all thiugs, and choose Eternal torments than life's pleasures lose. Not so with him who both had seen and tasted The best and worst that is to mortal given, Nor one who felt life's sweetest i^rospect wasted, For him to seek 'mid ceaseless iiain his ]ieaven, Nor vent his soul in misanthropic spite. While realms remain, where all is love and light. And ere the sun that late in beauty rose. Had sought its couch, the bosom of the deep. Did love divine, like that a seraph knows Shine in his soul and made his spirit leap From dark misgivings, oh, glorious thought ! To certain hope, and God the change had Avrought. He is free alone, whom the Word makes free, God by wisdom to man may not be known ; Nor all thy systems, proud Philosophy, The path to bliss to him hath never shown, But endless maze, in speculation lost. Until the line that bounds our fate is crossed. But what is true worship ? Does it depend On attitude or else some form or rite, Whereby the knee of man is made to bend. His eye upturn, each act devout, contrite ? Ah, no, the prayer that best ascends to Heaven, Is that to which no utterance can be given. 28 ALPHONSO. The thirst and hunger of the human heart For what is good or beautiful or true : Purging man's nature from its baser })art ; Filling his soul to act as angels' do, Union mysterious with God's Anointed Son, In Heaven completed, yet on earth begun, — No human weakness can impair its strength, Tis built on God and he upholds it all, The sceptic's sneer to horror turns at length, The jesting scoffer reads upon the wall His fearful doom, ^* I am the Way, the Truth, Co-equ%l with God," — his very Son forsooth. It was thus our hero felt and thought, Despite what those who wed to form might sa}^ ; Again his heart, by deeper feeling wrought, Essay'd to sing this bold yet humble lay : " TRUTH." ''If the doctrine be true, which the orthodox hold. That sin is pernicious to the life of the soul, Then truly the pathway of life is all hidden, Since the spirit still craves what it feels is forbidden. Great God of all Truth from blindness relieve me. From creeds and confessions that may but deceive me, — Thou hast left me the volume of Nature to scan. And the Book of all Truth, not the doctrines of man. These taught me the only true pathway to bliss Was acceptance of that or rejection of this, Made me to beliave that what I had done More precious to thee than the blood of thy Son. Tis a proneness of all in the weakness of youth To believe all the errors that are taught them for truth. Thou hast given to mortals no power to bind ALPHONSO. 29 Or sbackle thine image, the fetterless mind, Thoii dwellest in temples not made with the hand, But alone in the sanctified spirit of man. Forgiving all deeds we have wickedly done And making us stainless in the blood of thy Son, I feel all the service thou demandest of me. Is to worship in spirit, which is kindred to thee. The day is not distant in which he shall tremble Once wont in thy presence to cloak and dissemble,, The short-sighted creatures who strove to conceal Their rottenness moral by a show of false zeal, That glance in moment sees eternity through, Be certain, oh false one, ever looking on you, From deception, hypocrisy and the nature sin gave me, I beseech thee, Oh Father, to snatch me and save me. Preserve me, sustain me, and appoint me to stand. At the Day of all days upon thy right hand." Alas! in this enlightened day of ours Too many yet to senseless forms are wed, Forms are but weeds that choke life's fairest flowers. And yield no fruit but briars in their stead. If man must wrangle, why not wrangle more For truth than robes that Paul or Peter wore ? ^ No one is free, for doubts alike will prey, Like gnawing worms, at any root of faith, Which some mistake for holiness, decay. To pressure yield and then are swept beneath ; Approach the city until its gates are seen, Then backward turn if doubts but intervene. The man of God must ever be prepared, And o'er himself incessant vigils keep. Hug no delusion, tho' by millions shared, A shepherd knowing aright to guide his sheep. The mind, once bound in superstitions bands. Is like an infant in a giant's hands. 30 ALPHOXSQ. CANTO IV. It is not good that man should he aloue, Almighty Wisdom, when he made him said, And eras present, and all the ages gone Attest this truth, in the heginning said : For since Pere Adam took Mother Eve to wife-, Tis imj)lied censure to lead a single life. Man left alone is far more desolate Than even woman ; she contrives to find Some good excuse for such a loveless fate, She could not see one suited to her mind ; He saw a dozen, mayhap lost them all By leaving till Spring the event of the Fall. Books, friends, for a season may heguile his hearty And cheat it a moment to forget its sorrow, But bliss attends no servile trains of art, Man^s mind or heart no outward ease can borrow, ^ But in itself alone can hope to find The image pleasing that soothes a darken'd mind Still man may live all reasonably well, Until at length the ideal hour is past, When sighs have ceased to own some silly belle, And real woman asserts her sway at last, And when, too late, the tables may be turned And he loses rightly what he may have spurned. Creation's lords, at best, are but a part Of a common unit much as they may swell Out of proportion : this is only art ; Woman knows this, indeed she knows it welly And can contrive some way to coax and cozen And gull your lords by units of a dozen* ALPHOXSO. :U The lilly pale that blooms iu lone retreat Soon fades away in short-lived beauty there ; Denied the dew, the fructifying heat. Breathing from birth a pestilential air, So human hearts, denied the light of love, Lose that existence God gives them from above. More so, when one hath r)our'd his soul in vain, As water lavished on the fruitless sand, And thorns alone are products of his pain. Or nettles thrive where flowers hoi)'d to stand, Each heart requires some feeling soul to share : Pain loses weight when there are two to bear. Yet after Love, one thiug remains to stir The human heart, man's own created god, Ambition — dreams that high-born minds x^refer To vulgar pleasures of the senseless clod. And this belongs to that imperial few Whose darkest deeds seem grandly glorious too. But let not him, of all, presume to judge, By his own gauge, who ne'er goes beyond The dusty roads, Avhere sweating millions trudge. Nor envy him, whose mind and heart hath spurn'd, All vulgar things, for some are born to sway, While others rise by learning to obey. This prompting too may be no base desire ; Xo sinful motion of a wicked heart ; Xo carnal passion, no unhallow'd fire ; But that which moves to take a higher part, In life's endeavor, than listlessly to wait, And catch at straws, or else be drown'd by fate. 32 ALPHONSO. But to its own, where it of right shoukl be, The mind will tend, and there delighted dwell, In its element only is genius free, All others are prisons or a loathesome cell, Where all deprived the power of its wings, It loathes, not loves, the sight of vulgar things And thus Alphonso, chafing with desire. Enslaved by want and visited with wrong From many a source, again took up his lyre And pourd again his sadden'd soul in song : — '' OBLIVION.'^ "Am I, beneath the lonely mound, To moulder nameless in the ground. Nor let a record here remain That I have liv'd altho' in vain Nor carry to my dreamless bed, No form on which my fancy fed ? Shall all the hopes of former years, Joys that shone thro' sorrow's tears, — Shall love, celestial in its source, Acknowledge death's relentless force ; Shall hope recede, be felt no more, When once the fitful dream is o'er ? Or shall the senseless clods that fall Upon my coffin bury all ? Tho' flowers bloom upon my grave, And bending cypress gently wave. Whose pendant branches swept by air A ceaseless requiem sing me there ; Or little bird within the bower. Above me sing at even's hour. Yet w^ho would deign a tear to shed Above the soon forgotten dead, Rememb'ring naught that he hath said Or done for good of human kind; ALPHOXSO. 33 Aye, to a common lot consigned, Forgotten, dead, and ont of mind f Altho' ray sonl I feel to be A spark of immortality, Fain would I live when I am dead, In deeds or words that I have said. An honor to my race and name, The parent stock from whence I came, Like Scotia's Burns with magic art To stir the fountains of the heart, Or Byron, whose imperial soul Broke thro' all fetters and control. Oblivion, oh thy dreadful name, Whose waters quench tlie spirit's iiame, That word can dig a deeper hell Than even wrath divine would tell. E'en here thy horrors seem to chill, The spark that ocean's cannot kill; Sulphureous horrors milder seem Than such as hang o'er Lethe's stream. Oh, Soul ! arise, assert, and claim Thine inheritance of fame ; Breathe forth the fires in thy breast, In lurid flame, if suit thee best. Or pour thy numbers as the shower That beautifies the field and flower ; Or vent perchance the bosom's spleen, In satire edg'd, sharp and keen. All things, save to dullness wed, To sink amon^: the nameless dead." o There is nothing so wounding to a woman's pride, As thoughts of yielding her love unsought ; And yet all other, tho' it be denied. Deserves not the name — love is not bought ; Nor fashion'd in beauty as a thing of art, But beautiful only when it owns the heart. 34 ALPHOXSO. Love is not voluutary ; 'tis a fall, Or tlie soul uplifted by a secret x>ower ; A love explaiu'd is no love at all, Rob it of mystery it does not live an hour. Love, Genius and Madness are near the same, The mind on fire, the heart a i^it of llame. And Friendship and Love no relation bear Or near connection as the vale and hill. For cannot lovers even malice bear; Aye, hate each other, and be lovers still ? And whereas Doubt is ever Friendship's knell, 'Tis true love's proof^(fond lover mark it well.) Our knowledge most from contrast is derived, AVho, with all daj', would ever darkness know ; So love forever, of a doubt deprived, Soon loses force : ^tis doubt that makes it so : For doubt is but twin-sister of desire, The fuel that feeds our faith's refinine: fire. 'Twixt hate and love is but a step between. Or rather in essence they are the same, Like the viewless borders which intervene 'Twixt light and darkness, when the dying flame Of day departing, mingles into night. Till the line is lost, dividing dark and light. A maiden lovely in spirit as in form, A Star of Beauty with no borrowed light. Arose at length and bade at once the storm Be past which preyed upon our hero's sight. With her he wed, liv'd happy with his bride, Were lov'd by all — lamented when they died. EUREKA TO MY FRIENDS, THOMAS W. TIMBERLAKE AND LADY. EXORDIUM. While others sing of Grecian Isles, In strains that ev'ry heart beguiles, How warriors fought and cities fell For Helen, false and fickle belle ; How Miltiade's army stood A bulwark to the Persian flood, And rolPd it backward, as the tide. That madly smites the mountain's side. Let sterner mind its thought employ, With Marathon or burning Troy ; Let these and mightier themes belong To Homers of immortal song ; Let Miltons with angelic eye. Behold the battles of the sky. Or turn with equal sweep and tell The secrets of the lowest hell ; Let Swifts and Butlers ridicule The knave and Puritanic school ; Let Byrons in the realms of rhyme Make darkness light and lust sublime ; Mine be the sweeter task to trace The giant footsteps of the race, And sing in unmistaken tone Of great creations, not my own. I to others leave the task Vice to denounce : I only ask The God of Song that he imbue 36 EUREKA. My spirit with the good and true ; To open up a brighter way, That leads from darkness into day, . To break the fetters that control The life and freedom of the soui, This be the noble aim to-day That prompts me to this crude essay. EUREKA. I. In days remote there dwelt amain, A mortal deemVl by some insane ; A man from lowly parents sprung, To whom no titles did belong, Whose youth was spent, as he was poor, In driving famine from his door. No events mark'd his early years. Except the sports which youth reveres ; No meteor shot athwart his sky. To pall his sense or dim his eye ; Yet in his soul there dwelt a tire, Unquench'd by lust or low desire, Which mov^d his mind to enterprise By paths unseen to others' eyes. The giddy throng that moves below Such mines of thought can never know, But is content to live and dwell Around the door of wisdom's cell. It sees, alas ! but darkness there, Where dwell the stores of beauty rare. The gems of truth that brightly shine, And beckon on with light divine, Are but as pearl before the swine; And truths' wrench'd up from error's main, B}^ busy thought and aching brain, EUREKA. 37 By efforts cf the mightiest mind, Are thrown as chaff before the wind. Not thus the man of other days, With spirit kindled at the blaze Of inspiration sent from Him, Who made the glowing Cherubim. The merest trifle often brings A glimpse of most surprising things. And truths and facts of wondrous worth To them alone oft owe their birth. An apple filling to the ground Prov'd all things to one centre bound ; A kettle boiling on the lire. Which shook the lid as if with ire, Prov'd what had been before a dream. The strength and majesty of steam. No flight of fancy could have told How planets in their orbits rolPd ; No madman's brain, however great. Could e'er have found snch strength in heat There must be long, laborious thought, When once the chain is fairly caught. And link by link severely wrought, To forge the links of evidence. Beyond the ken of common sense. The powers of the master mind Shirks not the labor of this kind. Perceptive powers made to pierce The secrets of the Universe, In trifles small obtain the key To all of Nature's mystery. That opes creation's vaults to see, The hidden wealth of mind and thought. Where dunces quake and see but naught. Nature crowns such sons of hers D 38 EUREKA. Her genuine interpreters, And these are they Avhom God cousigns To manifest the light that shines O'er all his works, and roll away The stone where buried wisdom lay ; For every twig, and leaf, and flower, Are tokens of design and power ; Aye, ev'ry blade of grass that grows, Examin'd well, some knowledge shows. The veriest insect that can crawl, Tho^ infintessimally small To human optics, yet portrays That Wisdom rules in all his ways. The varied faculties of man Were given him to probe and scan. With reason giv'n to deduce Their several jDurposes and use. 'Twas thus the mighty Newton told How planets in their orbits roll'd ; By this a Fulton learn'd to team A vessel drawn by steeds of steam ; Thus Franklin, with his paper kite, Disgorg'd the clouds' electric light, And gave to Morse, by more than half, His idea of the telegraph. The idea first on Nature's page Is seen by philosophic sage, Theory next is brought to view, Then practice comes, and all is true. What gives to some such mental power To pierce the mists that 'round them lower f Is Being's scale exalted so, That few may rise where others go ? It is because we shrink from thought, In seeing Nature as we ought ; Or, with that taraeness which subdues,. EUREKA. - 39 What reason and what judgment choose, With soul and mind to dullness wed We sink among the nameless dead. Not thus the man of olden time, With spirit full of thought sublime, By deep research and reason clear Had found the earth indeed a sphere. '' If this he all of it," said he, ^' How wide is yonder rolling sea V The man of olden time, we said. Did wear no crown upon his head, His sway was of a nobler kind Than mere brute force ; he was design'd A prince indeed, in realms of mind. And gifted with a faith that dared To hope where others had des]3aired. In early youth he lov'd to roam Far from his poor, yet sunny home ; Upon the heaving ocean's tide Was his delight and joy to ride. Nor carelessly and uuconcern'd But ev'ry page of Nature turn'd, As in her volume he discern'd That mighty truth whose ray of light Turn'd night to day, made darkness bright ; That shook all preconceived belief And vaunting savans brought to grief. Convinced that it was true, he brought His theory before the Court ; And ne'er before did kingly ear A tale so strange receive and hear. II. What realms of beauty are unfurl'd In that one word— another World ; What visions crowd before the eye, 40 EUREKA. Of fields and flowers, fruits and sl^y ; Of rivers laving, fertile x>lains ; Of waving fields of golden grain ; Of beings of celestial mould Whose beauty mortal never told! Wbat balmy sweets perfume the air ! What strains of music floating there ! Such dreams as this and thoughts sublime Did urge the man of olden time To dare the perils of the wave, Where spooks and horrid monsters lave : Their "slimy sides '^ and " bar the way," As ancient tars were wont to say. The haughty monarch, with a sneer, Bade him begone; he could not hear A tale so wild, nay even thought Derangement all the scheme had wrought. '^No more," quoth he, "demented man. All common sense rejects thy plan. A poet's most ecstatic flght Did never soar to such a height. Nor his imagination swept. So wildly even while he slept. Another W^orld ! There is but one Beyond the sphere we dwell upon. i I have no vessel which can bear, Nor aught to waft thy spirit there. My ships have plough'd th« briny main In search of land; the search was vain. The sea is but a liquid hell, Where sjjooks and horrid monsters dwell ; Dismiss thy visionary scheme, As shadows of an idle dream." 'Tis thus the vulgar mind is prone To judge all others by its own. EUREKA. 41 Nor deem that deeper minds may scau Beyond their own contracted span ; Whose o^yn, enamoured of its ease, But clings to what it feels and sees : Contented with the dusty way, That millions plodded ere its day ; Unknowing genius can create, And people realms and worlds innate ; Nor that its eagle eye discerns Those very realms for which it yearns ; Nor that its wing can cleave their way^ Thro' mists of folly in its day ; Nor that its soul was sent from Ilim Who made the glowing Cherubim ; That it, per force, must upward rise, Unhappy save in native skies. No wonder then such minds explore, And create worlds not seen before, Since dunces rule and fools obey In that wherein their bodies stay. III. Oh ! Woman, made alone to bless Humanity in sore distress, Thy glory runs commensurate With man in destiny or fate ; Thro' thee the man of mind prevailed While vaunting savans him assailed. Let future cynics who would vex Their souls about " the weaker sex," Think of all worlds so far as known. She figures first, as facts have shown, And hath by virtue of her plea Of innate curiosity, Aton'd for more than half the bell. Accruing: since her Mother fell. 42 EUREKA. At last our hero steers amain The trackless paths of ocean's plain, So far as human eye could pierce, Appeared a liquid universe, Yet firm he stood, nor him subdue The menace of the craven crew, Who begg'd him with beseeching cries, His course to steer for native skies. The leeks and onions sweeter far To theni appeared than glory's star ; A life of ease, a death obscure, A body rich, a spirit poor; Grant such but these, they ask no more. But more will nobler natures crave Than earth can give, or ever gave ; The beautiful, the true, the just, Such things as seldom dwell in dust. Born to command, he kept them down, As best he might by smile or frown. Or sought at times to stimulate Their sense of pride, one thing innate, At least in human kiud, without One single cause to bring about. The malefactor, thief and liar. The vilest wench whom rakes admire, Can all else bear, all else condone. Their pride you must not trample on Relentless Tyrant, without tears For any of thy worshippers ; In vain the agonizing waist To half its usual size comprest ; Poor toes that wanting room ride double, He only laughs at all your trouble. And thus doth silly pride pervert Our very virtues ; we exert Our starving souls to feed on wind And leave the nobler things behind. EUREKA. 43 IV. Here, Reader, let thy fancy stop With Moses on the mountain top, And view with him the goodly sight Of Canaan from the mountain height. Yet deem not Moses stood aghast At Tvhat before his vision pass'd, For he, the first of mortal race, Had talk'd with God, as face to face, While all around the mountain shone Celestial light from Heav'ns throne, And little beauty earth e'er brings To him who sees celestial things. Then turn to him who now surveys The mighty dream of other days. But real now, thyself imbue With what he felt at such a view. Ah ! tell me not of battles won ; Of deeds that were by valor done ; Of braying bugles that proclaim Achievement of a mighty fame ! Alone in some neglected spot A sister weeps for brothers not : Torn in instant from her side. The husband from the tender bride ; A Mother's wail ascends the sky — ^' My Son, my Son : alas, to die I Sole object of declining years. No triumphs stay my burning tears ; While booming guns commemorate The victory, I mourn thy fate." Not thus with him who steer'd amain The pathless waste. No sense of pain Disturbs his soul as he surveys The sight whose smallest glimpse outweighs The days of darkness, hours of pain, 44 EUREKA. When supplication seem'd in vain, When sceptred dullness blocked the way That made the darkness into day ; No more the agony severe Of hope deferr'd from year to year, But feeling such as angels might E'en envy tho' in Heaven's sight : Tis past, at length they saw the shore No Eastern eye had seen before ; From ship to ship the accents fly — ^' Land, Ho ! Land, Ho ! ! " as ev'ry eye Was strain'd as tho' it would defy The sense of sight, nor yet believe, \ So loth is Dullness to receive The truth ; but soon the very shore Heaves into sight — they doubt no more. Their curses into praises turn. Of one whom late they wish'd to spurn^ And men, all mutinous before. Then knelt his pardon to implore. Oh! wretched World, indeed thou art A syren in thy very heart. The child of genius, when unknown. In asking bread receives a stone ; Yet turn at once in fame complete And pour thy treasures at his feet ; A smile, a token, or a nod. Ye reverence as ye would a god From one perhaps who oft before Was rudely driven from your door. Or made the butt of ridicule. By stupid ass and silly fool. Whose sole invention to annoy Those whom their wit cannot destroy. The calm is sweet when storms are gone,. The darkness ushers in the dawn. EUREKA. 45 As tbro' the gates of death and pain, The soul reuiouuts to life again. So now the long expected hour, That ushers in the day of power, When genius shall confirm its sway, With beams of intellectual day ; Not like some baleful comet hurl'd Thro' space to awe a guilty worUl ; No meteor in whose flashes shine Malignant light, or fell design ; But like the clear, resplendent sun, That gladdens all it shines upon ; That thaws the rills and frozen lakes And in Dame Nature's womb awakes The germs of life until they burst The bonds, and at her bosom nurs'd, Expand, adorn and beautify The field, the forest, and the sky. The night was dark, the sky was black With tempest, waves were giving back The whispers of the viewless wind. The watchful petrel sought to find A refuge where her fragile form Might shun the fury of the storm. Who e'er hath at midnight stood By window looking to the wood. And watch'd of all sublimest sight A tempest gath'ring in the night ? Hath seen when lurid lightings broke. The figure of the gnarled oak. Of verdue stript, devoid of bark. Its naked limbs white, stifi", and stark, Stretch'd out as if to supplicate The God of storms to spare it yet. 46 EUEEKA. The lofty poplar's stately head Moves nervously as if the dread Of sudden ruin lurk'd apace To hurl it from its rooted place. With sudden scream the startled bird Flies vrildly from its nest ; the herd Of lowiug kine with tail distent Around the compassed fold lament. The snorting steed the scene excites To use his heels in circling flights, Till suddenly, when all is still Except the growling of the rill, Disputing with a stubborn stone That blocks its pathway to the throne Of ocean's empire — till a flash Of blazing lightning with the crash Of loudest thunder seems to shake The pillars of this globe opaque. Then comes the fiercely driven rain, Like pebbles rattling on the pane ; While flapping blinds, as swift they veer On rusty hinges, fright the ear With sudden knocks as if they were Flung madly with the storm-king's might At him who dares look on the sight. A moment more the windy hell Is at its height. Sulphurous smell Impregns the air as if the cave Of hell itself the odor gave. A flash I — behold the gnarled oak Is riven by the lightning's stroke ; While concomitant thunder shakes The solid earth itself, and makes Cups click as if a drunkard's ghost Were striking them proposing toast. EUREKA. 47 An hour past, and all is still Excei)t the roaring of the rill, Evincing anger or surprise, Or joy at its sudden size ; And rolls exultingly along, And vents its joy in its song. The massive clouds are pil'd away. But still the zigzag lightnings ]}lay In sportive shapes upon their breast Till finally they sink to rest. Then star by star peeps out to look Abash'd on scenes their light forsook. Pale Luna brightly shines apace As if the rain had washed her face ; The air is redolent with sweets Of battered roses, whose retreats The ruthless storm-king swept among. And from their fragile tendrils wrung. The lily pale from off its stem, And rose to deck his diadem. Torn nature smoothes her wrinkled brow And silence reigns supremely now. This seen, at once forsake the shore In fancy for the ocean's roar ; Be present, in the tempest share ; Behold the darken'd skies prepare For battle, see the black array Of angry clouds, the vaulting spray, That like a giant, leaps on high, To bid defiance to the sky. The sails are flapping like the wings Of Angels, or mysterious things. As if they were enjoin'd to swell The chorus of the liquid hell. The groaning bars and shrinking beams Grate harshly on the ear, and teems 4S EUREKA. The deep with monsters' horrid forms^ That are not seen except in storms. The creakino: cordage adds its mio;ht To swell the chorus of affright ; Imagine next the human freight Of agony, bewailing fate, Imploring ev'ry patron saint, Or rushino; wildlv makin^: feint Of self-destruction yet refrain And cowards turn and hope again. * * * :^ 7f Tf # The calm is sweet when storms are gone, The darkest hour proceeds the dawn — And when he mounts with dripping wings, Most glorious of created things, The king of day, the storm is spent. And clouds are swept in banishment. VI. Ashore I the night's disaster past. The promis'd haven reach'd at last! All that was madness just before Is genius now, and none forebore That tribute to superior mind, That men acknowledge when they find They must, if not become by rule, Themselves the butts of ridicule. A rugg'd path is his to tread, Who is by inspiration led ; The thorns of envy and deceit Must pierce his unprotected feet. His aching heart no solace know From those above, nor those below ; Above the hiss of ridicule. Beneath the hootings of the fool, And as he probes the rotten core EUREKA. 49 Of systems false, at least a score Of Blanches, Trays, and Sweethearts yelp Most piteously to spare their whelp ; The storms of calumny and wrath Frown blackly o'er his lonely path ; Malicious wit exerts its best To pluck a feather from his crest; While ostentatious dullness bars His upward bent and thanks its stars That it was born without the curse Of insanity — or worse. Quacks, charlatans and parveneus All band together, lest they lose, As did their type, Demetrius, The sacred art of cheating us. Whilst others, as he strips the skin That asses hide their ears within. Look on it as a deadly sin. Thus throughout life creative mind Must battle fiercely with its kind, To die at length (too oft the case) In cold neglect, or worse, disgrace, While critics fatten on the spoils He leaves behind of all his toils, Extol the genius that could dare To tread where weaker men forbear, And in his ev'ry feature find, ^ (By some cheap picture left behind) The traces of a giant mind. These, and no doubt a thousand more The hero of ''Eureka" bore, Yet lovely woman, be it said. That he was from thy bounty fed. And Isabella shares the fame That clusters 'round Columbus' name. 50 EUEEKA. YII. THE MORAL OF EUREKA. Since great Galileo began The idea of the wondrous plan, How worlds revolv'd and planets steerd By settled laws that have not veei'd, From orbits fix'd a breadth of hair, Your would-be wits have not been rare^ And shallow critics raised a shout At things they nothing knew about, Incapable of comprehension And destitute of all invention, Have made themselves but silly asses, To him whose mind their own surpasses. So far the contrast would provoke, Such laughter as the gods would choke, And genius must at all events Crack first the skull of common sense, To make more room, ere it begin. To let a genuine idea in, So must it also overturn Another's hobby ere it earn Its meed of praise, as if the field Of science were not made to yield Its hidden store for all that seek, Be they Scythian or Greek ; Yet genius neither recks nor feels The little curs which snap its heels. Earth ever had two doubtful chaps Call'd ''Peradventure" and ''Perhaps.*^ Tho' bad enough, yet they are better Than stupid dullness, their begetter; These, ever since they first existed. Had knotty brains which doubt had twisted, And so since man was first created ^ EUREKA. 51 This twain, tbo' superannuated, Have hard heads still, tho' thej^ should be As *' soft as mud f for blows you see Have fall'n on them thick and fast. And *' Progress" knocks them down at last. These be the little wits that give Their firm opinion that we live In a degenerate day, and mourn The " good old days " when hay and corn Brought better prices, nay they deem The Devil first invented steam. The roaring engines that propel The cosy car, first us'd in hell. That on3 in league with Lucifer, A patent got to use it here. Think of it ye plodding fools, Who hamper genius with your rules, How on a time in conclave met A w^ould-be knowing pious set, With solemn mien and scowling glance For one who ventur'd to advance An idea, which ai)proving time Them dunces prov'd, and him sublime. Look at your brethren as they sit Thro' centuries, the butts of wit, And, worse by far the ridicule. That arms each atheistic fool. Who by a sally or a point Knocks all your Scripture out of joint. And cut your doctrines half in two By witticism or box-mot. ^ * 7f * * ♦ It is the proof of master mind. To see where others are but blind ; To travel tracks before unknown, To create systems of its own. 52 RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. To doubt all tliin<^s till proof be sbo\Yii ; To sbatter creeds or systems built On superstition, error, guilt, With conscious rectitude of aim, To bear the brunt, despise the shame, That open warfare ever makes When it the props of error shakes. RICHARD VULGUS, ESQ. A TALE OF MODERN SOCIETY Sir Richard lived up town — that is to saj^, A denizen was of ^' Fifth Avenue,'*' To social heavens this is the proper way. The way quite oft to Purgatory too. As Richard's youth with poverty was cursed. Perhaps he had his purgatory first. Sir Richard was descended from a class CalPd poor, but honest ; their history Cannot be known, therefore we let it pass Just as we would another mystery ; Suffice to say, his lineage began Somewhere in the history of man. Sir Richard's Father made no pretension To gentle blood, lived and died contented At boiling soap ; this is no mean invention. For vulgar blood, which cannot be prevented, Does not affect the skin ; but good old soap Will cleanse a rascal and benefit a Pope. RICHARD YULGUS, Esc^. 53 rerc Ricliard gatberd, by "diut of hook and crook,"' A tolerable fortune from soap and suds, Yet never dream'd bis bopeful Son would look For rank and station along witb other " bloods." He was mistaken : parents mostly are, In leaving offspring witb too great a share. His Father left, as we have said above, His riches to his Son, enough to start An enterprising man, (we always love To specify) this is the mystic art That makes a poet ; but it suits us here^ To use it in making our story clear. Sir Richard's youth Avas spent among the rabble. With no refinement save what comes of soap, His good old Perc no penchant had to dabble In classic streams, had read no lines in Pope, Nor known of Milton — crazy George the Third, The only King of which he ever heard. But Richard was an economic man, His wealth expanded in proportion too ; By perseverance in the proper plan, He soon became as rich as any Jew, And this of course was followed by eftects Which prudish poverty ne'er once suspects. Our hero's wife was of the common run Of ordinary women ; very fond Of telling husbands all things should be done In full accordance with, though not bej^ond. Their proper limits — this is what she meant : Soap boiling was no office for a gent. 54 RICHARD YULGUS, Esq. We forgot to notice an essential Fact, which may be relevant just here, One often pays for being deferential ; Silence has cost some novel-makers dear, When they are forced to thrust upon the stage Some one not mention'd in a former page. The fact in question, Richard had been blest With pledges maternal — a Daughter, Son. AVe mention this because we deem it best To aid the story we have just begun. These little things all help us to evolve The social problem we are now to solve. Sir Richard was unletter'd, never had A literary turn ; above we said, His was indeed a most illiterate " dad,-' Soap fill'd his purse and occupied his head. His Son, of course, regarded with suspicion. All learning foreign to his dad's condition. This being so, by no means does it follow He was a fool because he had no taste For literature ,* some heads are hollow, Or empty rather, though they have been graced With varied learning. Of all the fools, He is the worst who issues from the schools. What native spark he may have had at first Is smother'd and extinguish'd, sterile land, By being cultured but becomes more curst, And erudition one cannot command Is worse than none, an over-loaded cart. That stands stone still, or breaks down at the start. RICHARD VULGUS, Es(^ Pardon this digression, if it can be A sin to pardon when we step aside To pluck an apple, (an idea from the tree That is ^^ outre mer,^) still it may decide, Cut short, or snap the thread of narrative. And not be worth the trouble that we give. But ^Uiu revo'w P^ Sir Richard, we have said. Was a man unlettered ; that is no matter, For one may have high notions in his head To dip his spoon into the social platter, '^ Top of the pot," the precious '' upper ten," Who order fashion, while they ruin men. . The women, (and kind Heav'n help them all,) This weakness have much greater than the men ; ^^ Elite soirees ^^ and a selected ball, Their summits of ambition: the sword and pen, Belong of course, (and who would wish to hinder,) To bipeds only of another gender. Now, Madame Vulgus, pining day by day . To leave the suds for good society, Essay'd her lord, a woman has a way Of doing all things with propriety, Her reasons are ingenious ; they can steer Twixt Charybdis and Sylla without fear. The weakest point their eyes are sure to see, Then pour on this their concentrated force. Till stupid husbands cannot find a plea. And then — ''Yes, Dear, it shall be done of course." Her warfare is unceasing. Who could find A safe retreat if woman had a mind ? 56 EICHARD YULGUS, Es(i. Sir Richard sold his vats, his own good will And bought a house, as we have said before. In fashionable quarters; a bitter pill To high-minded nabobs who lived next door. What should they do ; turn up their haughty noses. And, like a Jew, swear — " in the name of Moses.'' A Music Teacher— salary immense, None need apply w ho cannot also bring The best of reference, as the expense Is not an item, — taught to play and sing A girl and boy, — call at ten o'clock At Number , in front of Astor's block. This the denoumcnt, a needy creature To train young hopefuls ; the curtain rises. The scenery was charming, ev'ry feature Partaking of refinement, sweet surprises Of expectant lovers, all that art could do For naked walls came boldly out to view. •* The little Cupids, all in sportive shapes Adorn'd the mantels, marble-tops were laden With precious stones, all purchas'd on the capes Whence diamonds come from — the earthly Aiden, The floor with Turky — while Venetian blinds, These beauties hid from vulgar, prying minds. The library, too, was royal in its line ; Shakspeare in calf conspicuously shone ; While Pope and Milton, scarcely less divine. Along with Dryden — hundreds more unknown To their possessor, grac'd his costly shelv^es. Looking like apologies for themselves. RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. 57 Creative spirits, only born to shine, Consign'd to darkness once unknown to Tlieel Oil, Genius mighty ! did thy soul divine In what strange company its thoughts should be ? Pope's Dnnciad, '^Perditus Paradisus" And classic Virgil, ^^ quae numine /ac'.so.s." But so it was, Sir Richard was inflated, His '' better half '^ was more than half distracted. Of course they thought such things were calculated To purchase caste : this farce cannot be acted Till time shall teach the fashionable arts, And make the actors familiar with their parts. Madame Vulgus was unhappy, who could be In her case happy; fish, themselves, on land Were just as likely. Their place a fool can see Is water only ; on the other hand. When Madame Vulgus left her suds and soap, She lost true happiness to live on hope. It takes at least a century or two For vulgar folk, how^e'er rich they be To purge themselves, and act as others do. Whose birth and rank have serv'd to keep them free From clownishness. All this may seem unjust. But so says Nat are, and obey we must. She had to steer 'twixt Sylla and Chary bdis ; Incontinently curs'd by those forsaken ; Some vaguely hinted either that or this, Explain'd the reason she her course had taken. While those she sought said with strict propriety That soap was good, but it was not society. 58 RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. *' The upper ten," a circle overnice, Display'd no sign, no wish, to fraternize, But Walpole says that each man has his price ; And on this point Sir Walpole never lies : Who does it first, ah hereat was the rub That kept the rats from jumping in the tub. Societj^, like sheep, will hesitate To leap a fence — that is the social line. Until the leader, without regard to fate, Jumps headlong over; they pronounce it '^ fine '^ And follow forthwith, each seeming to outvie The other's haste ; this no one can deny. Death is a leveller, so is monej^, Effete aristocrats must all confess. That credit has but little ceremony For well-bred persons when moneyless. The butcher's bill ; a hundred others too, Are punctually call'd for, no matter who. Admission then among the chosen few Was made a matter of pure speculation, The women oppos'd it — they always do. Then yield and mourn a blighted reputation, Yet always have some artifice at hand To reconcile the ground on which they stand. The bonds are broken, an invite to a Soiree ; ** Pray what is that? " suggested Madame V. Sir Richard does not know ; the teacher may, So he is call'd to tell what it may be. This being done, the notes of preparation Made Richard's house a scene of animation. RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. SJ)* They must appear of course in a la mode] But Madame Vulgus had not studied French, Yet she succeeded ; no woman ever showed A lack of talent here : a silly wench Soon knows for certain what man can only guess, The puzzling mysteries of the female dress. But Madame Vulgus had her milliner, Richard, of course, his skillful tailor too. With each of these they mutually confer About the work they gave them now to do. This being done, when lo, another point Contriv'd to knock them both quite out of joint. Sir Richard could not read, therefore could not write, His better half was like him ; here was trouble, An answer must be given this invite. Or else a pin would prick the social bubble ; Their new born hopes would all at once collapse Alone from one, of poverty's mishaps. ''Call for the teacher," shouted Richard, '' he Can settle this, we'll give him extra pay To keep his mouth shut." '' What says Madame V. Are we to do when he is gone away.'^ ''The best we can. My Dear; the times demand. We use him now, while he is at our hand." The teacher came, though seeming somewhat sour, These interruptions were not hard to bear. Did they not happen a dozen times an hour ; The children too, entrusted to his care. Grew quite unruly— a thing to be expected When left alone, or worse than that, neglected. 60 RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. A hint is oft the parent of suggestion, Suggestion oft a real idea brings, And trifles too, (of which there is no question) Reveal the way to dark and hidden things ; Sir Isaac Newton, gravity and all, First found the clue in seeing apples fall. We like digressions, though at times they be, Both witless and prosy, and yet we know The sweetest fruit grows on forbidden tree, At least mankind have e'er deem'd it so, And sought out paths beyond the beaten way That sweating millions plodded ere their day. But to the idea, lest we should forget. Some private person must at once be had To answer billet doux, his son as yet Had not lore sufficient to serve his dad, Besides a Secretary, no doubt augments The social status of all would-be gents. Madame Vulgus donn'd her fashionable dress. Which barely hid — Oh, well we need not say. Her husband gave some tokens of distress. And, one may add, a little of disma}". He had not learn'd that modesty and sense Are now-a-days in the pluperfect tense. ^ *' Pray is it modest. Dear, to dress that way ; It scarcely hides your person, can't you see ?" ^^ Don't be so stupid, this is what they say," Suggested Madame, ''the elight : thaVs me, Would sooner die (now this may seem a joke,) If fashion said not, than to wear a cloak." RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. 61 Now maD can be a most provoking ass In woman's estimation if he choose, By interdicting social whims that pass For current coin. Why should one refuse, Who went so far in fashionable folly And thereby make his lady melanchol^'^ ? And Madame Yulgus took no middle ground. At least in eating fashionable crow ; Her husband was of course in duty bound. Whether he had an appetite or no. But tastes are soon acquired, we may hate The very milk that fed our infant state. But Madame's turn was next, the swallow-tail In due time came, a fashionable cut ; Then Madame's tongue, (no woman's tongue can fail At such a crisis,) fonnd pretext to put Some telling thrusts : '' M}^ Dear, now don't you see. If you wear that you should not rail at me !" And now on high, the pompous driver sat, With whip in hand and ready for behest ; A feather grac'd his shining beaver hat. While polish'd brass adorn'd his purple vest. Emblem mute of patience and of pride Or rather hauteur and something else beside. Crack went the whip — off went the prancing steeds, The shining wheels sang as they whirl'd along. O'er cobble stones and up a street that leads Right into Heaven — no, that is rather strong — But right into the long desir'd spot. Where everything but money is forgot. F m RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. The trip is up — a stately mansion rears A front imposing, which can well compare With that of Richard's ; so the Madame fears The inside may be better. ^' Whj^ did Richard spare A single thing that he was told to buy ? He did not know ; " that was the reason why. Thus contrast digs, alas, a deeper hell ! It caus'd from Heaven the arch-fiend to fall; One should content himself in doing well, And, having much, not hanker after all. But this remark has been in vogue before ; We leave it with — Sir Richard at the door. Now up the steps with trembling frames they go; Ring at the door — look in each other's eyes As if some thought were lurking there ; but no, Both stood like stones, and neither could surmise The other's idea: Richard thought of soap. The Madame lost in reveries of hope. Obsequious usher, soon in state prepar'd, White apron tied around his slender waist. Came to the door, and '' Please give me your card To take forthwith, kind Sir, to Madame Taste ; Your card, you see, once being taken in, Where I leave off the Madame will begin." Sir Richard was dumbfounded, gave a look At Madame Yulgus, more than seem'd to say *' What shall we do ; have you no hook nor crook For this dilemma, you not find a way ?" The Madame's cheek was slightly ting'd with amber From this detention in an antechamber. RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. fi3 She call'd the driver; he at once obeyed, "Go quick/' says she, '^here is an extra quarter, And get my cards ; inquire for the maid To give them to you, or else my pretty daughter." This done, she gave a sigh of sweet relief. The waiter starM — this was '^another leaf." The driver came Avith the desir'd note. Sir Richard took, but did not take a glance, And if he had, why since he never wrote And could not read — but an unlucky chance — The hasty driver had only brought a card Which read " R. Vulgus, Dealer in Bones and Lard." The waiter took it, this was his duty, To Madame Taste. '' A joy forever," Says the poet Keats, "is a thing of beauty." "This billet-doux, I hope that it may never!" Says Madame T. without a thought just then Concerning Keats, " confound such vulgar men." " Why wife," suggested that unlucky limb Of trees parental, call'd in ridicule "A doating husband ;" "You remember him For whom in special you must drop your rule, That honest burgher, who by proper care In boiling bones, has been invited here!" " Oh, yes ; what shall I say ? This detention, I fear, has wounded them," so out she flew. "Why, Mrs. V., why did you not mention Your name to the servant ? Sir Richard, you Should not have been so backward ; don't you see How such a thinjr might cause hard thoughts of me V 64 RICHARD YULGUS, Es( la Richard weut, the Madame ou his arm, A nervous thrill shot through his stalwart frame, The Madame's bosom beat with soft alarm, Her cheek at least had lost its amber llame, Brought face to face with those iuiperial gods, Who hold the science of concjes, bows and nods. First, on the right, nbi(initous Grundy sat, And next to her the gushing Jenkins gaped, Then Miss La Mode, or something else like that, All wrapp'd in silks and dress'd in such a shape That one would think she carried ou her back Enough to lill a first-class peddler's pack. And Charles Augustus, he of fragile form, With sweet blue eyes and whiskers wax'd with care. Who took in youth some maiden's heart by storm By his graces only, a thing most rare, Unaided by monej-, Charles won his way, And married her who was an heiress nee. These, in their turn, were each one introduced To Richard and his lady, a host of others, Mosquitos fashionable, who deduc'd A scanty living from their wealthy brothers, And sang a ditty like them, to earn a supper. Flirt with the girls, and quote some lines from Tupper. Poor Richard was silent, he dare not launch Into the sea of fashionable folly Lest he should flounder, Madame's cheek should blanch With fear, as she seem'd quite melancholy ; The social whales might swim out in the deep, But he and she both near the shore would keep. RICHARD YULGUS, Esq. 65 But Ricbard was no fool ; his common sense Avail'd liim more than all the books supply, Altho' he knew no past, no future tense So far as Murray, yet his mind couhl vie In native force with those who can but quote Some choice bits that Pope or Dryden wrote. This was his mistake, a common error To deem ourselves unhappy in a state Where fortune plac'd us, or live in terror Of foolish laws and seek to regulate Our lives and conduct by rules invented For fops and asses, and like demented. But virtue, true nobility of mind, Is not confin'd to excepted classes. Nor wit, nor talent do we mostly lind Amongst the most aristocratic asses ; With few exceptions, all their minds can get Within them is, a point of etiquette. Simplicity and greatness are twin-born ; Gravity in the features of a donkey Is most apparent ; a mimic scorn Belongs to fops as well as to a monkey. Cease talking then about the "social status" Till Darwin's apes have ceas'd their grinning at us. And we have seen a youth with purpose high And noble soul repuls'd with sullen scorn, When fops and fools alone were sitting by. And made the slight still harder to be borne. Yet this is just according to a code Made by a few, the brainless a la mode. 66 RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. Ye precious few, with good opinions laden Of your own importance, your highest aim Is to seduce some artless simple maiden, And then desert her, leave her in her shame With no resource but death, or what is worse^ To her parents lost — to herself — a curse ! And where is he, destroyer of her peace. Foul murd'rer ; we will write it to their shame, Tis a mark of honor, smiles did not cease. Foul as you are, yet still cj^eme de la creme Could not afford to lose a shining light. Nor part with one whose vices were so slight. Abject is he whom that imperious fraud Rules like a slave, that soul can feel No high delight, true character outlawed ; With him 'tis worse to labor than to steal. Yet these are they who mould the social state AVith unpaid ushers scowling at the gate. This is the class whose infinite precision In points pertaining to the social scale, Have won at least a genuine derision From all but fools ; but fools prevail In point of numbers : till all such are dead It will continue — no more need be said. We now return to Richard and his lady. See how they act in such a heavy play, Light as it seems to one who has already Been duly school'd to act the proper way ! 'Tis heavy work for one whose youth is spent Beyond the pale that constitutes a gent. RICHARD VULGUS, Esq. 67 Sir Richard Vulgas had not learn'd as yet His antecedents were as good as'theirs ; Frogs, 2)erc tadpole, would willingly forget, But others don't, and supercilious airs But counterfeit the real manly mein Which upstarts never feel, but may have seen. True blood at least is like unto Burgundy, The bottles never the taste alone can tell The genuine from counterfeit, but Madame Grundy Would make believe some fashionable swell Of *' gentle blood ^' — Oh, Heaven, save the phrase — Applied to snobs in these degenerate days. A curse on Darwin, him whose creed unsettles Aristocratic faith ; for if his scheme be true Mankind w^ere monkeys : here's a theme that nettles Our high-born pride ; this thing will never do. Unless he prove and demonstrate in shape Elite there were among our genus ape. 'Tis needless to say in all crowds we meet. Had we the wish such secrets to unearth, Some things were found not positively sweet For those too prone to advertise their wortli. What odds is it, provided one is just, 'Twixt hoeing corn or holding worlds in trust ? A silent tongue oft makes a wiser head So we are told; we will not vouch for this : One may be mute and silly too, we read Some choice proofs how one can judge amiss. Still Richard and Madame had enough tb say. Not at that time, but at a future day. 68 RICHARD YULGUS, Esq. The die was cast ; be could not now retrace His former life, that lay beyond the flood, He dare not mention a word about his race ; We mean of course bis parentage or blood, Tho^ chimney-sweeps could call at least a dozen, If brouorht to life by the sweet name of cousin. But Madanje was in ecstasies, had found A recognition which she did not hope; No words were said that could inflict a wound, 'Mid so much talk no one had utter'd soap ; Music, mirth, and soul-inspiring wine, Had swept away the all dividing line. Duets, (juartettes in turn, she all refused, She had a cold, they must excuse her now. Tho' not familiar with all terms they used. She knew enough, could make a graceful bow, And tell with ease a fashionable lie: This is an art that all can learn who try. Poor Richard sat and utter'd not a word ; He felt dismay'd : what husband would not feel Some faint misgivings if he only heard The half of this, unless his heart were steel ? Here was the one whom he could once adore. Acting the fool and lyiog by the score. He was a sadder, not a wiser man. Had he been so he would have stayed at home. Nor let his wife adopt another plan. Or choose a sphere whence shame can only come, Made her to know true happiness depends On tried acquaintance, not with foreign friends. PERDITUS. 69 Her life henceforth was one incessant ronnd Of fashionable folly ; ended her career Iq dissipation, but Richard found The sweetest jo}^ vouchsafed a mortal here Is with the friends who cherish us in youth, Rough though they be their love indeed is truth. THE STORY OF PERDITUS. A TALE OF REAL LIFE "I am an outcast. All decent society Has spew'd me out as a thing unclean ; I am not famous for strict sobriety And other virtues equally as mean. This will appear as I propose to give My own history in this narrative. "Well, I was born — it does not matter where — I merely say it to begin my story ; My birth was humble, yet ray lineage fair, Till I disgraced it of its pride and glory. Mine is no antiquated tale ; I fell From no line illustrious — no curs can yell. "My youth was sj)ent, as I was very poor, In hoeing corn and other vulgar turns As served to keep a famine from my door, And set to rights a parent's small concerns ; Such as his stock, the number very slight, I tended to, and chopped the w ood at night. 70 PERDITUS. "About sixteen I found my \vay to school, The world at last was opening to my view, And no one shuts his eyes, except a fool, And misses chances as he passes through. Good intentions are pleasurable things To be discussed by rogues and thieving rings. '' Old Squire Legens was a learned man, Kead Plutarch's Lives and Machiavelli's Prince, The ancient feuds of ev'ry Highland clan. And ev'ry novel bound and written since Adam first figur'd as hero in the first, And married Eve — as usual, got the worst. "The school-house a shanty — perhaps a hut. But take your choice, call it as you please — A wooden chimney, always full of soot. The underx>inning mostly hogs and fleas, The scholars all a teacher could desire. Whose chief ambition to make a dunce or liar. " With dignity the learned Legens sat Upon his throne, a crazy wooden chair, Bottom'd with splits, and issued his fiat, Which made on end each individual hair To stand erect. Fve read this line somewhere. In " Whitman's Leaves," if not it should be there. " Cowhide and birch contain the first resort That fogies use in managing a school, They much prefer to sending a report To use the rod ; no boy is a mule Unless a brute shall choose to make him one By beating him ; this is the way it's done. PERDITUS. " Talk of mosquitoes, bed-bugs, flies and fleas, Of being bor'd by some stupid dunce, And first be thrash'd, then lectured, on your knees. You'll not exchange the punishment but once. No wonder, then, from all such schools as this That rascals come and turn their steps amiss. " A lie would save where truth would only fail ; What boy, then, with little moral sense, Would hesitate to tell a lying tale To save his hide, altho' at truth's expense ? Yet this is done and mankind wonder why That Nature gives propensities to lie. " Book learning, however, is not essential To common sense, nor common sense to it. For one may be, (we say this deferential,) An ass, altho' his head be full of wit, But not his own, but borrow'd from a stall. Where luckless wits with all their wisdom crawl. ^' The Squire was a genius of this kind. Original only in the application Of another's idea; not sufficient mind For that rare talent call'd adaptation ; A dunce, a doctrinaire, a mere buffoon, W^ho tried the stars, tho' stricken by the moon. *'Now this old cob was pious in his way. And * pious in his way^ includes a deal Of devious twisting from what they say, That Christians are suppos'd to act and feel, Still woman and cards were never in his line; For book-worms rarely in these graces shine. 72 PERDITUS. "His vices mostly were negative in kind, That is to say, he lack'd the moral force To sin outright, yet devilish shrewd to find Some text in writ to justify his course. Which was comprised, we say it in a lump, * By whipping the Devil around the stump/ " Here was I taught the elements of vice. The letters in the alphabet of sin, And progress'd finely, stopping once or twice, To see how best my career to begin. I was no meaner taken from the start, Than other lads — I owe it all to art. "But why excuses to those I most despise? They ruined me ere I had injur'd them, They taught me first to value cheats and lies; They made the crown I wear the diadem ; They taught me, too, (and could I hope for less,j Crimes are forgiven when one achieves success. "Hypocrisy only is said to be A tribute forced, which Vice to Virtue pays. I am no hypocrite, this a fool can see. The class I represent, no class that prays In public loudly, straightway condescend To steal a farthing or to rob a friend. ' Still I have no apologies to make. My course is wrong, but still I wish to throw On proper persons blame they blush to take ; Vile as I am, I have the right to show Some reason why so fallen I became. And some excuse make for the sake of shame. PERDITUS. 73 *^ My first encounter to which I did succumb, A trial was few mortals could resist ; Tho' I confess I must have been benumbed Till conscience smote me — here is where I missed; For had I listen'd, doubtless I had been A shining light among the moral men. *' This was my first /asco : youth is shy When it is caught to tempt the fates agaia ; And love, Avhich has its inlet through the eye. Can be pluck'd out and give us little pain. True hearts alone would ever volunteer To love but one — mine changes ev'ry year. *'This scandal, of course, created quite a stir Among the moral ones, and I was sent Forth in the world, Avithout a word of cheer ; Fine way, no doubt, to make a scamp repent, And teach him morals : note and you will see How much, at least, it benefitted me. ^^Micawber was the fellow who invented The phrase of ^ turning up ; ' I felt the force Of his remarks, and altho' I dissented From his clause on * waiting,' still this, of course Is part of the programme, I did not wait, But went at once, and herein give my fate : — ^'Expelled from home I wander'd to the city In search of something. ^ Cuts be as they may,' One can somehow become a thing of pity, And thus be forc'd to sell himself for pay. Conservative rascality pays the best — Make all you can, but how, let that be guessed. G 74 PEKDITUS. *^* Honesty is the best policy,' says The type supreme of dime-saving schools ; Such words were good in honest Franklin's days. When mankind heeded a set of moral rules To guide them right, but the present rage For lucre drives such maxims from the stasre. "Now I was born in that delightful clime That nourished him, and as a thing of course Spent all spare moments, intervals of time. In reading proverbs from that moral source, Which, like the Nile's, is undiscovered, yet Poor Richard's Almanack the best to get. " Who knows what grand creations are must know They spring from nothing, and labor to attain To eminence, chance may make mountains so — Not men, for theirs must come from soul or brain. Success alone is token of true merit. Not blood, nor wealth — these may a fool inherit. "A race of hypocrites from whence I sprung — I am not mealy-mouthed in what I say — It matters little what may be said or sung, One has a right by virtue of his ]3lea Of outlawry to rail at what be pleases And curse the race that gave him such diseases. "The very soil I was fated to inhabit Was curs'd with barrenness — the sea-gull only Sings the lullaby of the lonely rabbit That burrows in cliffs all ivy less and lonely. Of course, therefore, our cunning must supply What climate, soil, and Nature all deny. PERDITUS. 75 ^' But I am wiind'ring. I left myself, If I mistake not, in the busy city In search of something to earn a little pelf, And thus avoid a vain appeal to pity. Revolving schemes, at length I hit on this. To be a peddler, no peddler comes amiss. ^' I fill'd ray pack and gaily eallied forth On fortune bent. The fates were in my favor. I gull'd the silly, liv'd on bread and broth ; My tastes were simple, for then no extra flavor Had been requir'd by riotous delights ; I work'd by day, and staid in doors o'nights. '' In course of time — not that whick Pollok wrote — I changed my programme, bought a spanking team That carried more than what I us'd to tote Upon my back, and now began to dream Of opulence. Nay, I had dream'd before ; Saw millions nodding to my slender store. " My sphere, of course, I felt was too confined ; My partners, too, of me suspicious grew, For on computing cash accounts, they find. The peddler was the richer of the two. They bought me out (it prov'd to be no pity) For thirty thousand, and I left the city. " As pilgrims up some mountain's side ascend, And stop anon to gaze on S3enes below, Review their path now smoother to its end, And thank the gods they have not far to go ; So I, content with money in my purse, A moment paus'd my past life to rehearse. 76 TERDITUS. '' I summ'd it up witli all its ' hooks aud crooks/ From the first fiasco with Logins daughter, And made jK'u sees not borrow'd from the books That I had moved so far in nuiddy water. It makes no matter, for comfort can be found In such reflections, if we but look around. " More sin is always done in making cash Than spending it, tho' some men differ here, Yet all prime moves in a financial crash Are made by scoundrels, (stick a pin just there.) And yet the world can always lend a smile To guiUy^ ones in adding to their pile. '' My course was crooked ; nay more, wrong I mean ; A deviation from the moral line Which some men follow we have never seen But read about, and whose graces shine In cheap editions of the Sunday School Literature, written by an ass or fool. '^But I had made— it does not matter how — A pile at least to satisfy my need ; Could buy a country-seat and study now, Improve my mind, also my moral creed ; Turn philanthropist, or some other fraud, Pretend simplicity, but feel a lord. *' I had been poor, and therefore keenly knew The bitter pangs that wait on rags and dirt. Of begging heartless souls for work to do ; The ceaseless struggle mind and limb exert ; To purchase what ? — the offal they refuse, And take such things as they disdain to use. lERDlTUa. 77 *'llad also seen the sanctimonious sneer That greeted such as ever went to prayer. They had no need of dirty paupers here, And seem'd surpris'd that God couUl need them there. These things, with others, have driven me to take My course in life, and money is my stake. *' But I am rich, and do not care a straw For such reflections as au^- choose to fling" From a disclosure of some little flaw That others pick. The bee has lost its sting. I stand confest almost a millionaire; This being so, a i^enny do I care. ''My steals to Gotham, the bulls and bears, Stock speculators, rail monopolies, To rogues miscall'd (pardon me) millionaires, And other cheats that charm all human eyes. A noble aim alwa3's deserves to be CrownM with success ; it happen'd so to me. "A millionaire, a leach in full repletiou. With gain dishonest suck'd from rich and poor Whose monster piles ne'er dwindle to depletion, But river-like receiving more and more. Their petty owners swell in proportion too. Until an ass becomes a Richelieu. 'I was an adept, especially in stock. And came out best ; sure always in the end My cunning boat ne'er flounder'd on a rock. And never stranded on a dividend. The secret was, I managed to preserve, W^here others quailed, a sure and steady nerve. 78 PERDITUS. *' I gain'd my point, became a millionaire, Drank all the cups of sin and pleasure too ; Yet did it all with such a merry air That moral men were wont to praise me too. Fair women own'd the power of my charms, And welcomed me (how else,) with open arms. ^' Some surly souls heaped curses on my head. And flew to courts with malice and revenge. The courts by me were duly rubb'd and fed ; The judge could find no reason to impinge. No judge e'er sees a culprit on the docket. Who measures justice according to his pocket. a Hijrh office never can elevate n A vulgar nature, and I knew these men Were just as fond of greed and billingsgats. Vile in the past, as much so now, as then ; Exalted asses only seem immense To idiots and others in want of sense. ^'My moral creed, I must confess, is loose; My soul is of the coarsest grain I know ; My neck, no doubt, would quite become a noose; My name suffice to bring out quite a show. But I am safe — for this invent a i>hrase Which you may read — ' he never hangs who pays.^ *' Tho' meanly vile I had not wholly lost My self-respect ; perhaps the cringing crowd Preserved it for me. Much as I have tossed In dissipation, some were always proud To blow my trumpet. Oh! potent, heartless cash, On poverty's bare back to lay the cruel lash! PERDITUS. 79 " But hitherto I had escap'd detectiou ; Had gone in style, play'd billiards by the score, Had lovely females to soothe me ia dejection, Swells to court me, beggars to implore ; Had prayers invoking blessings on my head, Women to love me knowinir I was wed. "Such treatment was too much, I do aver. For human nature at any length to stand. I sometimes thought, I surely do not err. And became less coy, exhibiting my hand. Success ever invariably blind Alike the noble and ignoble mind. "My drives were splendid; bays of speed and blood Seem'd proud to draw the car that me contained. Why not ? My bosom with a diamond stud Resplendent shone; my bridles golden-rein'd And silver-bitted, while my lackeys wore Regalia glittering with golden ore. "Courted, caress'd and flatter'd by the fair. My bosom still felt no responsive throb. But license only ; I always had my share Of that elixir, with a thirst to rob. Yet is not this good Anglo-Saxon taste, Provided one who robs will also waste. " I spent my days in adding to that pile That gave me leave to while away the night. In private boxes, caressed with many a smile, Which seem'd to say, ^Perditus, yon are right I Make money: in all the catalogue of crime Is none so great as being without a dime.' 80 PERDITUS. '' I had become the lion of the day, And truly felt I had achiev'd my end- That my surmise as to the proper way Of judging mankind was right ; I defend This line of policy, which is all comprest Into lie, cheat, steal, but avoid arrest. ** How soon will pa to darling daughter say, ' My child, your beau is quite a clever man. And if he ask, i)ray do not answer nay, But if he won't, then make him if you can ; That other lad, who keeps the corner store Is honest, dear, but then, you know he's poor.' *' Geniuses were always fools, that is to say, Worshippers of aught outside of money, Dwelling in dream-worlds, pass their lives away In poverty and want, while milk and honey Flow in profusion at the feet of him Without taste sufficient to relish them. *'This is the world — the greedy sordid world — I knew it well and read its lines aright, Elbow'd my way through crowds, defiance hurl'd Upon opposing scamps, and made but light Of their pretensions. Who car'd to know Whom I had been when I was thrivin"- so ? ' I am no worse than others — carried out What they have taught — let some men gnash their teeth ; I found in youth that mankind prate about Dishonest gain, and yet contrive a wreath For him who gains it. How this stubborn truth Does shock the soul of unsuspecting youth. PERDITUS. 81 ^'I might, when young, have gone to books and made A Dame perhaps that future chroniclers Had been proud to mention, but I surveyed The sons of genius oft in rags and tears, And beojiiring bread! I did not hesitate As to my choice, and hence my better fate. *'But why philosophize? 'Tis known to all, Fame buys no luxury, but money will. Wit, without doubt, to some extent by all Is a thing desir'd, yet it can never till A woman's eye, but diamonds often can. In her opinion, make an ass a man. *'Now I had lix'd my lech'rous eyes upon A belle as fair as any in the town. True, she had ask'd, and I had favors done, And for her sake I thrust my fingers down Deep in ray pockets ; bought a house and lot For her dear sake and took her to the spot. ^^She was my mistress — none can be a swell Without at least some adjunct of this sort; Must have a wife, w hom he loves passing well, And yet another, whose dalliance and sport Is far more pleasing to the vulgar heart Than she whom good men call our 'better part.* *' Ere long I was the scandal of the city ; Friends without number strove to intercede ; Tea-loving matrons averr'd it was a pity That I should leave my better half and lead A life of shame; I, like a vsenseless brute, 82 PERDITUS. *'I went too far, for vice expos'd is crime. Do as yon please, but let not others know Your secret sins : too soon avenging time Will do this for you. Some things none must know Except yourself; fools only advertise Their weaknesses, but never so the wise. "I knew of love in youth, but what is love In woman's eye, except an empty dream When one is poor ? Your gentle, cooing dove, The sweetest coos, when she beholds the beam Of opulence, and best reciprocates When she can find no lien on vour estates. '^I spent my days in one incessant round Of dissipation till I saw a corner In stock, and then, indeed, I could be found With bulls and bears making banks a mourner. I darken'd days with golden speculation. And frighten'd even the credit of the nation. '^ In summer time I hied me to the springs. Whereat to meet the most congenial snobs, Where demoiselles and other costly things — Gamblers, roueSj the urbane knave who robs Three quarters of a year, contrive to meet, To flaunt their gains and hold communion sweet. ^^ Were you e'er there f If not, by all means go, ^Tis something to be seen well worth the sight ; All classes here eat fashionable crow, Not mincingly, but with a sheer delight ; Madame Yulgus here ascends to Madame Taste, Provided she has gold enough to waste. PERDITUS. 83 " From bim who sits upon the highest seat That nations give e'en to the most obscure, In this one spot may hobl communion sweet : But one thing here, and that is to be poor, Debars the pleasant interchange of talk. And makes ^ sweet Miss' decline to take a walk. " Obsequious ushers bleed you like a leech, And porters charge a most enormous rate. While ragamuffins crowd upon the beach, And run ahead to open every gate ; And then demand in such a pesky way, You are disgrac'd if you refuse to pay. " Here congregate the odds and ends of life, The heads and tails of fashionable folly ; Some rich, old fool, whose young and dashiug wife Forgets her spouse, also her melancholy. Flirts with her young and fashionable beau And teaches him the art of eating crow. " Some bogus lord breaks in upon the scene. Becomes at once the lion of the day ; All Swelldom ceases for once to be serene. And native stars forget their wonted ray ; But perturbation spreads throughout the camp, When ma helJe finds her lordsliip is a scamp. *^'Tis after all a fashionable fair. Where ev'ry thing at least is brought to view Except one thing, and that is, what j^ou are ; This little trifle is not required of you. Here men and women (pardon the expression) Hold Folly's Court, for once, in open session. m PERDITUS. '^ I did not lag, for ere this you have seen I am ambitious — falsely I confess — But drove amain, convinced that I could lean Upon my money, and quite dispense finesfie. No need of wit, so long as money brings Facetious fools to sell their fanny things. *'It does require a superhuman nerve In such a place to stay the season out, The whales alone can manage to preserve A steady front amid the general rout Of smaller fishes, as the season ends With empty pockets and exhausted friends. OBITUARY OF PERDITUS. Perditus is dead, a sly assassin's shot Cut down his life; the sequel of his fate I herein give, gratis, but it is not My purpose at all to extenuate, Nor drag to light from all their dark recesses, His evil deeds, short-comings, and excesses. A man he was, no doubt of able mind, Form'd to contrive and carry daring deeds, His moral sense perverted wrong and blind, Yet flowers bloom amid the rankest weeds. And rugged natures oft contain the gem That far outweighs an outside diadem. PERDITUS. 85 He was a type of those seen ev'ry day, Who never can a fair distinction draw Twixt vice and virtue, wrong and proper way, License was liberty, tyranny, law. He was no exception to the general rule That sudden riches makes a man a fool. Geu'rous, and yet without a sense of honor, Of courage deficient in moral sense. Replete with tricks that only knaves would garner A cheat by nature, rogue without prepense ; The beau-ideal of a perfect man. Made up expressly on the modern plan. Accursed Society behold your son, The bold, bad man, who dar'd to carry out What you have taught him. Do not seek to sh an Your share in guilt, nor raise a hollow shout Of indignation, for ye taught him first, That of all crimes is povertj^ the worst. Whate'er he was, call him no hypocrite, Such terms as this, at best befit him ill. His darkest deeds were done in open light. And sought not he his purpose to instil. By pleasing precepts, like a moral slave Who would condemn indulgences they crave. He sleeps at last, the greedy pack can yell And curses heap upon his harmless head. Ornate divines construct his future hell. Asses can bray : they see the lion dead. With God we leave him. He alone is just And ^' knows our frame, and that we are but dust." H Ifjifkal S$$m>§ <■ THE MILLENIUM DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND, JOHN K. MA BEN I. ARGUMENT. The law as contained in the Ten Commandments — Beflections of a general nature arising therefrom — The Gospel, General outline — Its after-history — The Patriarclis and other matters. About four thousand years ago, As Holy Writ and records show, It pleas'd Almighty God to give Ten legal rules by which to live, Tho^ for entire application, Were given first to Jacobus nation. Whom, in his wisdom, God had chose To be his own, escap'd the throes Of slavery and fled afar From Egypt and her Potiphar. For them the sea rolPd back its spray On either side to give them way. And scarce, as erst they touch'd the shore Beyond, roll'd backward, as before, Engulphing to the uttermost The wicked King and all his host. Yet this rebellious people broke So oft the law of which we spoke THE MILLENIUM. 87 Tbat God at length was forc'd to say, '' They shall not enter in but stay In wilds and perish by the way." It seems the veriest contradiction, Yet Truth at times surpasses Fiction, That God's elect would rather choose To serve the De^il and refuse The milk and honey, thus prefer The leeks and onions to such cheer. Yet so it is, and ever since Mankind have shown a consistence In this direction and upset The best of methods known as yet, For their own good, prefer perdition To any Heaven '' on condition," And reckon each succeeding Moses, A knave that leads them by their noses. SEQUENCE. '^Tall trees from little acorns grow," ''And little drops make oceans flow," Were maxims taught us long ago, And patent to the dullest mind. That makes a study of its kind. Is th3,t 2)€nchant to magnify What happen'd in an age gone by. Take for example, if you please. That story of Demosthenes, Who, finding youthful words were rebels, Subdued by iielting them with pebbles ; And then, as if to recompense Dame Nature for this grave offence, Which Art had given, for his tones. He spent his life in fear of stones. Tis well known that the human mind, When idle will contrive to find 88 THE MILLENIUM. Some art or device to supply The aching voi Twixt practice and his theory. From one extreme into another He ran, since he could run no further, Ceas'd talking of antipodes, Of burning zones and polar seas. Political economy At once employ'd him, yet he No treatise ever read or saw But intuition gave him law ; Like many others, had, he said, "The Wealth of Nations in his head." This led him into speculation, Not for himself but for the nation, And sooth to say this latter spirit, His pushing offspring all inherit : Prefer to manage all affairs Except their own, nay run on shares The world itself, provided they. In common parlance, ^' make it pay." Our Solon saw, with much distress, The land a howling wilderness; 102 THE MILLENIUM. So he bethought him how to get The Jabor that it needed yet, Not e'en Hectors and A j axes, He deemed, could fell the trees with axes ; Therefore this plan he recommended How trees might both be cut and rended. By putting powder 'neath their trunks And blowing them at once to chunks. So, like all other innovators. He tried, the first, his apparatus. A white oak large before his door, In height some fifty feet or more, Whose trunk, when measu'd at its base,. Some dozen feet or more or less. Beneath its trunk he dug a hole. And in it did a barrel roll All laden to the brim with powder, Enough to blow the tree to chowder. Next pour'd his fuse along the ground^ Applied a match and made a bound Within his hut and shuts the door, Stops up his ears and waits the roai*, As if two worlds had come together, W^hose purpose was to crush each otlun% Was that report that seem'd to shake The pillars of this globe opaque ; One limb was thrown against the door. And knock'd him sprawling on the floor. Another on his roof was blown And madly kick'd his chimney down, And when at length the Solon woke He found his cabin full of smoke. And rushing out, at once he saw, A scene of ruin and of awe ; For all the trees, for yards around, Were piPd and scattered on the ground. THE MILLENIUM. lO:^ A week it took him, labor hard. To get the rubbish from his yard, And then it took a week or more, To get his house as 'twas before. As to his plans of felling trees Yon might have thought would stop with these; But other schemes were in his head, Ere he of this had trial made. Thus genius never can be spent Save thro' its own, its native bent. Water never runs up hill ; But genius does, and ever will ; One yields to force of nature blind ; The other to the laws of mind, For genius craves and must inherit The higher altitudes of spirit. THE NEW IDEA. On Afric's coast, he had been told, That elephants were bought and sold, Whose trunks also contain'd the key To much of labor's mystery ; Yet, as his wealth would not suthce To purchase them at present price, He laid the scheme before his neighbors, How they could mitigate their labors. And sooth to say, they all agreed. That elephants would stand their need, Therefbre on all he made a levy, ICnough to buy a cargo heavy. And then he hastened to the coast. Where Spanish traders frequent most, And made at once a stipulation Not for himself, but for the nation : And whilst the trader sought the coast Of Africa, at home they boast, 104 THE MILLENIUM. ^* How 80on the trees would disappear, When we receive our cargo here;" They thought the elephantine snout Could pull up trees and drag them out. At length the mighty cargo came Of elephants both wild and tame. It seem'd at first the scheme would pay ; Experience drove such hopes away; The climate was too cold and bleak, The elephants grew lean and weak. What should they do ? Not send them back To roam again their native track I Oh, no ; that scheme would never pay, Appear however good it may, Their charity directs itself In paths alone producing pelf. ** Necessity can have no law" Was utter d by some luckless ^'sa\v," Who found himself within a place. Which had no outlet but disgrace, And us'd it as a valid plea To get out of his villainy. If right and wrong can have uo meaning, If they are but the idle gleaning Of men whose smooth and easy fate Was never put to such a strait, Then may we use it in the day When honesty has ceas'd to pay. Some witty fellow tells us too, (We only wonder how he knew,) She is the mother invention And other things we may not mention. Well, if a time had ever been That call'd for all the wit of men. That time was this, to free tlie nation From this animal creation. THE MILLENIUM. 105 The good philosopher was dead, Who put this idea in their head, And if he now had been about, Would found that time had put it out, But these brethren did inherit A part of his inventive spirit. At once they quickly turn'd about And found a way to get thein out ; They shipp'd them almost in a trice. And sold them otf at any price. What next ? for verily it seems Their meat and drink consist of schemen Of self-advancement, while pretendinoj Another's right to be defending, Turn all Christianity to pelf And traffic make in prayer itself All this, with many other things. To notice, the next chapter brings. IV. The Dawn of the MiUemam — Some Clouds that Obscured the OlorirH of its Eising Sun — The Elephant a Stumbling Block — Conflicting Vieivs as to the Best Manner of Disposing of Him — After Much Contention he is Admitted into the Human Family — The Age of Philosophers who are to bring about the consummation of all things — The Battle of the Armageddon, ect,, conclude the chapter. It happened in the course of Time, Not PoUok's, — that is too sublime; For our purpose, in this place, Deals not at all with human race. How man is sav^d or how he's lost. But chief concerns that mighty host Of elephants, both wild and tame, Whom we have told from Afric came ; Let us, in short, reiterate mV THE MILLENIUM. That Chapter SecoDd did relate To a unique and novel trade The Modern JSaints with Sinners made. In this it is proposal to tell What to these elephants befell In that more congenial place, The home of all the dusky race; And therefore without more ado The history is brought to view. 'Tis well known animal creation, Like man, has power of propagation, Like him in many other senses, Without regard to consequences, Therefore the same, as human species, Became as numerous as tishes ; But still their owners found a way To make the dusky creatures pay. For those who purchas'd them and bought, Were beings of another sort, And quickly, readily they found. These elephants could till the ground ; Found him, besides to be withal, Well treated, a good animal, In consequence the people grew Immensely rich, as would ensue To all who mind their own affairs, And let not others trouble theirs. SAINTLY JEALOUSY. The Devil's work-shop, it is said. Is found in ev'ry idler's head. No doubt Old Nick there often dwells And makes a thousand little hells Of petty spites and jealousies, Of envy at another's ease : Indeed, no sore was ever found THE MILLENIUM. lO: Like that iaimedicable wound, Inflicted when a hated rival Contrives to rise by no contrival, Or help of ours, overleaping The bounds we set for his safe keeping. Thus was it, as the sequel shows, With those who bought and traded thosn Gigantic animals, which found No sustenance on saintly ground, Had found them, tho' they wouhl not i^ay, Their equals almost ev'ry v^ny: Next came a philosophic race Of saints, with powers full to trace The source of ev'ry ill or good Afflicting mankind since the flood, In each succeeding system sa^v- The want of one prevailing law ; Who saw as (if by intuition) All that belong'd to man's condition. They soon began to agitate On what they term'd the "social state." And next to prove (behold the sequel) That all things were created e(iual. And fill'd the earth with wind and rant (Sandwiched with due amount of cant ) And all about an elephant. Meanwhile said elephant, content, Perform'd the task that he was seiit. And never dreamt the world without, Was getting into grief about Himself. 'Twas pity thrown away ; Oh, no; have they not made it pay/ THK KLEFIIAXT AFORKTIMh: — TIIK SIXXEi:S \M) SvlMs coN- TKASTED, ETC. Oft where the Nile, or Niger flows Tho' sunny wastes, and brightly throws KKS THK MILLENIUM. The gleamiug sunlight from his breast, His memory at times in quest Of some dear object, deign'd to go, But where it was he did not know. He saw the dark and dismal day, When he was seiz'd and brought away. Then of the deep and rolling sea, Ne'er seen before by such as he. Then of the cold and sterile soil. Where he was first inur'd to toil, Then of the cold relentless snow. The bitter piercing winds that blow Remorseless thro' its winters' long. Where ev'n birds refuse a song ; Now in a hospitable clime, Where all the year was summer time; The lark and linnet sweetly sung. The field and farm with music rung ; Where to the music of banjo They ^^ tripp'd the light fantastic toe." THE SINNERS. But, best of all, their masters were The keepers they could love and fear. No prating fools who went around. To fill the earth with empty sound ; No vowing that their souls would melt With pity they had never felt. No turning systems inside out. No social surgeons mad to flout Their placards in the face of men, No more commandments than the *' Ten ; " An air of noble neglige Appears in all they do or say, No cold and philosophic breed Dispensing virtues that they need, THE MILLENIUM. ]()<< A clariDg and impetuous race Imbued with hunting and the chase, By nature prone to ridicule The cant of Puritanic school, Or trash of transcendental fool, ' No straight-laced ministers, whose shelves Preach Hell to all except themselves. THE SAINTS. But volumes it would take to mention About that nation of invention Whose long alliterative phrase Crops out in all it writes and says, For since Pere Adam first began To people this wide world with man, There never has before existed A people so perverse and twisted, With traits and humors all so blended, No man can tell whence they descended; Red, blue, and black (in chief the latter) Seem mingled in their moral platter ; Ev'n they themselves refuse to lick The plate that makes all others sick. All things in Heaven, Earth, or Hell, Serve equally their purpose well. We have been told their first appearance Upon this earth was interference With things established long ago. And which they tried to overthrow, But in their turn were driv'n out For being rather too devout. Their deep abhorrence, too, of witches, Of luxury and handsome breeches ; Their gloomy love and sour looks. Their deep antipathies to books. Save of the heavy, solemn kind J aiO THE MILLENIUM. That treat of all to Hell consigned, Except themselves ; their moral law, Worse than Egyptian "bricks and straw ;" Their solemn, sanctimonious airs, Their fondness for the longest prayers ; The rueful cant and nasal twang, In which they either spoke or sang ; Their blue laws and their peace conventions, Their sour pride and high pretensions To sanctity, the very traces The Devil wrote upon their faces, So twisted, as to say and mean, *' See what a Saint I must have been !'' Their utter want of toleration, And woful lack of veneration ; Their impudence and self-conceit Strike ev'ry one they chance to meet, In Senate, forum, or the street : These be who sing "Millenium," And bring about the "Kingdom Come." PHILOSOPHERS AMONG THE SAINTS. Next came a philosophic race, With full abilities to trace The source of ev'ry ill or good Afflicting mankind since the flood. These deep philosophers were given To speculate on earth, as Heaven ; Saw universal law pervading The paths to Heaven they were grading ; Saw all kindreds, peoples, tongues Mix, and Nature do no wrong ; Saw all prejudice and passion, Of natures foreign in compassion ; Saw white and smutty Hottentot All boiling in a common pot. THE MILLENIUM. Ill And, what one never read in fable, All eating at a common table ; Saw Dutchman and his liehe bier Embrace, then part for water clear ; Valet de chamhre and queenly mariii Together walking arm in arm ; 8aw mistress and her slutty maid, The genius and the worthless jade All on a level and a grade : Hence, gentle reader, do not doubt Aught impossible without Some sudden freak shall mar the plan They'll prove that man is more than man, And that in time the brute creation Will occupy his former station. Invention, endless at its source, God only knows their next recourse. In truth then to this maxim heed. They never do a dirty deed Of wickedness, but that they plead Philanthropy, while devils laugh To see mankind seduced with chaff. THE DOCTORS OF THE NEW^ DIVINITY. The laws of Nature are defined Quite similar to those of Mind : That is to say, in each we see An equal inequality. The river mingles with the main. Rills make the rivers o'er again. The great at last absorbs the small, Short trees must grow beneath the tall, Or else they cannot grow at all, Some lofty, solitary peak. Absorbs the mount the eye would seek, Superior mind must have its sway, 112 THE MILLENIUM. The lesser must of course obey, And its full tithe of hoina<;e pay ; Still more, absurd as it may seem, One must in folly reitru supreme, So that in both, as one can see, Remains an inequality ; And \N'ho, therefore, denies this rule, Is neither more nor less than fool. But now a period had arrived When Wisdom fail'd and Folly thrived, When all dictates of common sense Were thrown aside without pretense, And doctrines that could never suit Man, angel, animal or brute, Were taught by dunce or doctnuaire With explanations to a hair. Th'infection spread from sire to son, From head to foot, till all Avere one. Whilst converts to the New Idea Soon spread from Dan to Bersheba. Now came the full millenial hour When all the Saints should be in power, St. Carlos, leading in the van, Loom'd up forthwith the ^'coming man,'^ By nature blest with a physique That all men covet, women seek, A pair of lungs that could emit A windy volume, but no wit, A head so fashion'd as contain All other things except a brain, Of whom, in truth, it can be said. Had but one idea in his head, And that was wrong, and yet by might Of long orations, made it right, Of knowledge great and wisdom small, A pile without a spark at all. THE MILLENIUM. llli AVho in the drag-net of his mind, Could ideas take but of one kind, An educated weather-cock, Of fools, the leader of the flock, Stark mad, with ideas just as wild As ever fill'd the head of child. Honest indeed was he, no doubt, Fanatics are, or just about ; Forgiving, sooth, he died of late And left his '* legacy of hate." St. Horace next, in different sphere^ Was more than equal and compeer : ] A writer, orator and sage. One who could sprinkle on his pag^ More wit than Carlos in an age ; Eccentric Saint, and yet withal **The noblest Koman of them all/' Who, when provok'd, could fiercely cry *' You lie, you villain ; you know you lie I " St. Phillips, greatest of them all To rouse, excite and stir up gall, The Boanerges, from whose mouth Both wit and madness issued forth. The incarnation of the Devil In rousing men to deeds of evil, Yet after all, as facts have shown, Like others, tights by wind alone ; His voice, like a trumpets tongue, To panting crowds *' the changes rung " In burning words that smote at once Through cranium of the thickest dunce. These be the chief, tho^ others bear In labor, like an eqnal share. 114 THE MILLENIUM. THE liA'ITLE OF THE ARMAGEDDON, WHICH BllINGS THIS HIS- TORY TO THE EVE OF MILLENIl'M. 'Tis good to recapitulate At times, in other words, to state What has been Avritten once before. For explanations sake — no more. Be it remembered then a trade, Concerning elephants, was made 'Twixt Saint and Sinner, and wherein The Saint's abhorrence of the sin Of elephantine slavery Occurs not in this knavery. In course of time, some way or other, ^ They learn'd to love them as a brother ; Nay, found them, tho^ they would not pay, Their equals fully ev'ry way. Experience proves beyond a doubt That that was true, nay carries out, That elephants, in honesty. Were their siq)enors, we shall see : The bargain struck, at once began A war of words that puzzles man : ^^^-' — Each lesser Saint to greater bowed Horse, foot, dragoon — a motly crowd. Till all Utopia became Confusion worse than a Bedlam. Ye gods! how wind and thunder roiPd From such as lately bought and sold ! With what poetic frenzy told. How elephants, from day to day. In sighs and tears, groan'd life away! At times the saintly bilingsgate Was measureless; invoking Fate, And all the furies out of Hell, Forthwith to come the curse to quell ; Pronounced the writ that gave them breath, THE MILLENIUM. *' A league and coveDaut with death ! *' Like saints, who true Millenium saw, Began to preach ^^ the higher law,'' In short, to ruin fabric reared By patriots whom worlds revered,, For that alone which only time, And that, hut short, to prove a crime, Which public sentiment w^ould damn, Without recourse to cant and sham. Yet those who owned them calmly stood, With patience long ago subdued, In holies at least a better mind Might seize a populace so blind, Great souls there were on either side Who sought to stem the fearful tide : One who in prophetic awe. His country ^s degradation saw, And warn'd them of their coming fate, His sole reward — his country's hate. Another pray'd the beauteous sun. Whose beams he last might gaze upon, Might never shine upon a State Drench'd in fraternal blood, but fate Took his capacious soul away Before the horrors of that day. It came — alas, the dreadful day ! A million homes in ruin lay As fire and sword in fury swept O'er fields that late in harvests slept, And sow'd the earth above, beneath. With Hell's own idea — dragon's teeth. Tis past— the elephant is free. His master slave instead of he. 116 THE MILLENIUM. The Millenium in Full Blast — A Great Chan Now could all heresy and schism, All doctrine, brochure, and each isui Be put in practice and no fool Be standing by to ridicule. Hail mighty era (to be plain) Ne^er seen before, nor will again, When all mankind stood just at par, The Sun, the Moon, and little star, All twinkled with an equal light In one wide Ethiopian night, The history past of human race Was nothing now but common place : No genius ever liv'd before. No poet ever dar'd to soar To steeps of such a giddy height In his imaginative flight. That could in madness thus excell Such scenes as to this age befell. Religious age, when law and love Together blend and sweetly move In unison, when politics And piety could meet and mix, The lion lying with the lamb, When Truth went coquetting with Sham, When rank conceit and impudence, For talents pass'd and common-sense W^hen silly ode and sorry pun Could vie with aught by Homer done. When windy words in long array. Blew great Demosthenes away ; When one wild patriotic blow Knock'd all the props frow Cicero, And sermons, but with folly fraught, Surpassed all Jesus ever taught. 126 THE MILLENIUM. A AVAR liKEAKS OUT IN THE HOLY CITY — GREAT CONFUSION OCCASIONED THEREBY. How prone are mankind "svhen tbey fall, On human nature lay it all, And by such plea, expect to shun A condemnation for what's done, When Saints however fall away From grace, as certain church-men say, What cause on earth shall skeptics seek, As giving clue to such a freak ; For how can sinless natures stray In paths forbidden and away ; More so, whom, this want of power Of self-control in such an hour As this, when all men had agreed, Millenium had come indeed, Except a few poor reprobates Like lepers standing from the gates. But so it was, the war begun, Altho' St. Andrew long had gone, It seems the Saints that brought around Millenium at length had found Sufficient cause to break away, From Saints whose only aim was pay, Who under plea of holiness, Indulging in all wickedness ; St. Carlos the alarum gave — Expecting '' a great tidal wave,'^ To sweep at once from place and power The pseudo Saints that rul'd the hour ; St. Horace, their illustrious chief, Was figure head that lead to grief, Behind his back a motly throng Of noisy foll'wers, but not strong ; Fierce wax'd the fight throughout the land, Thick fell the shafts on either hand. THE MILLENIUM. 12: The sinners were not loath to join 8t. Horace, so fell into line, St. Ulysses, who once had been The vilest sinner ever seen, Led on as presently we see The loyal Saints to victory ; In sooth, the war of words that sprung, Surpassed all Homer ever sung, St. Carlos launch'd out in a stream Of calumny that shook the beam. Of all Saintdom, so dark and deep, That Ulysses lost all his sleep ; St. Lyman, aided h}^ St. Carl, Plung'd madly, in the burning marl, The war in Heaven (pardon me), On earth was horrible to see ; " Villain, liar, knave and cheat" Were terms that crowded every sheet, Whilst saintly records, (what Nemesis) Were fairly riddled, torn in x>ieces ; St. Horace was as black a traitor As e'er disgrac'd human nature, St. Carlos base a hypocrite, As ever liv'd and saw the light ; St. Ulysses a drunken fool, Aspiring to monarchic rule, St. Henry but a knave or tool, Of his, St. Schuyler turn'd His face to West, he had been spurned, Kick'd out by Henry and his friends To gratify their selfish ends ; In short, the saints of each degree. From high to low, join'd in melee, But Ulysses prov'd more than match, For good St. Horace and his batch ; Them routed, horse, foot and dragoon. 128 THE MILLENIUM. Dead, dead without the hope or boon, Of resurrection, late or soon. (IHEAT CONSTEKNATIOX IN THE NEW JERUSALEM. It had been said by way of hint, (So oft there seem'd be something in't.) During this tierce and hot debate, That something bad, or soon or late, Would be developed, whereby saint As well sinner would be taint ; What was before a campaign lie, And nail'd as such by sanctity. Now took such color, shape and size As to surpass all common lies, So far that it was claim'd the best To put it to the crucial test. St. James therefore with wrathful tone, Demanded that the facts be shown, And order'd a committee straight The ugly facts t'investigate. THE EXPLOSION — THE STARS FALL FROM IIEAVKN — GREA' WAILING IN THE HOLY CITY. Had some tierce earthquake crack' the ground And yawning abyss gap'd profound. Surprise and fear, not have been more Than struck each Saint upon the floor, Who felt his deeds, when brought to light, Would show an unmasked hypocrite ; They saw alas beyond recall The hand- writing on the wall. St. Schuyler first, oh oily Saint ! Whose smile all artists lov'd to paint, Whose *^ ready, swift and tuneful tongue '* Had Virtue's charms so often sung, The beau-ideal and model man THE MILLENIUM. 129 Built up OQ Christian statesniau's plan, He saw, be lied, and gave a groan, '^ Othello's occupation's gone ;" Alas, all parliamentary rules To be immur'd in Sunday Schools, He fiercely battled to regain His lost estate ; it was in vain, His bloody head roU'd on the floor, And the great Smiler smiled no more; Aye dead, and to perdition went, For what ? alas, too much per cent. So with the rest, from day to day. And hour to hour thej^ pass'd away ; In life so lovel^^, 'twas decided, In death they should not be divided. THE END. Thus ends the great experiment. In manner needing no comment, Save that the hardy souls who bore The battle brunt in years before. Came out unscathed from that fierce lire That burnt the hypocrite and liar. St. Carlos, now to niem'ry dear, Thy soul was white, much as we fear Thy head was wrong, we drop a tear Above the dark and narrow bed. That covers the distinguish'd dead ! St. Horace, too, no venal train Of ideas throng'd thy busy brain, Sleep peacefullj, a nation's grief Will follow her eccentric chief. The ordeal past, the fever o'er, Vex'd. with Milleniums no more That come in such a doubtful shape 130 ART vs. ARTIFICE. And thaDking God for such escape, Mild common-sense resumes her sway, Delirium Tremens passed away, The sequel proves beyond recall, That man is only man — that's all. ART VS. ARTIFICE A DIALOGUE. SCE.\E: STATITE-ROOH, CAPITOL, WASHINGTON, D. t TO MV FRIEND, HORATIO STONE, (Jfht) understands Ihe circumstajices under which this poem icas written, it is respectfully dedicated.) Artifice: Humph, sir, and then you don't believe The end of Art is to deceive, Nor that, unlike another trade. It may not summon to its aid Expedients which magnify Yourself before the vulgar eye ; And that in no conspicuous place True artists dare to show their face? Nonsense I one must advertise Their wares, or else nobody buys ; And without this, no one can rise. I should not start to hear you say ''True Artists never work for pay, But their reward expect to find In unbought judgment of mankind, ART vs. ARTIFICE. 131 Fame, or money." One can choose Which he will take ; I can't refuse To take them both, but much prefer A pile of lucre to the stir My fame may make; that is to say, I wish no fame that will not pay. Art: Art is Truth and Truth is An ; Both are but parcels and a part Of Beauty's universal law Apelles felt and Phidias saw. Nor can I e'er be made believe The end of Art is to deceive ; — That it should advertise itself By vulgar arts, producing pelf; By tricks to catch the common eye, Who idly gape, while standing by, As you the facile trowel ply — To re-adjust a shattered arm. Purposely broke — I mean no harm — But merely wish to criticise What deeply pains artistic eyes. Art has no tricks which serve to pass Or make an artist of ^n ass. Yes, I repeat all that I say — No genuine artist dreams of pay. E'en fame is but an afterthought That should be neither shunned nor sought; If given, taken as a part Of homage mankind yields to Art, For know you not that Genius can Be sep'rate and distinct from man Or woman, whom high Heaven deigns To bear its pleasures and its pains ? That mankind worship it, yet shun 132 ART vs. ARTIFICE. Its owner, if that such an one Be found unworthy of that fame That gilds a consecrated name ? Ah ! know you not that artists lose Their best existence, if they choose The baser arts to magnify Their ideal children, and supply The vulgar appetite which craves A fool befitting moral slaves ; Who, conscious of their nakedness Of character, are wont to dress Their basest motives in a guise That might deceive an angel's eyes? Artifice : Nay, not so harshly; hear me speak — " Ends justify the means," I seek Substantial things. You dream about Prerequisites. I carry out My best designs; in life 'tis art That captivates the common heart, And wrings from a reluctant hand The pelf that one cannot command By force of genius. I defy The evil pen of calumny To WEiTE ME DOWN. It PAYS them best To Avrite me up ; and with what zest Their facile sentences aver, '' Blithe Artifice, none equal her.'^ What matter is it if I lack True genius ? I have the knack To pacify the hungry pack Of pseudo critics, fear no lash. While I am well supplied with cash. Have I not often and enough Five dollars paid them for a puff. ART vs. ARTIFICE. 133 And wiitteu well enough to please A Phidias or an Apelles ? Your moral lectures will not do. Have I in Rome not studied too f Metaphysics are well enough In proper places, but such stuff Applied to Art, (I use you mild) Is like the babbling of a child. I find that brusqueness pays me best. I'll take the money — you the rest. A in' : No more ; I will not waste my words On one who without blushing herds With jyarven lies. No words reclaim A soul that glories in its shame, (3r prostitution, if such phrase Be apropos to one who weighs The soul of art for what it pays. Swindler ! By Art^s mighty name, By that Brotherhood I claim, I bid thee from my realm depart, — Thy very presence poisons Art. Go hence to sordid commonplace, The rostrum mount with shameless face, And gull the naught-denying masses Of would-be critics, fools, and asses ! Go preach to them, and demonstrate How soulless Art, with bitter hate. Hath followed you, while feeling men Have piped your praises with their pen. Create around the golden calf A sympathy in your behalf; Teach them again, if out of mind, *'A fellow-feeling makes us kind." Point to that weak and wanting face, L 134 ART vs. ARTIFICE. Of streDgth devoid and manly grace, Make fools believe such is the jyose Of spirit mighty when the throes Of inward conflict on it flings A mountain of distasteful things ; Make them believe that guilty look, That stoop of shame from life you took ; Teach them, dispite all common-sense, You have committed no offence 'Gainst Nature first, and then to Art, At once by this base counterpart. Aye, teach them better, for they would Imagine it some Robin Hood Or Claude Duvall, with face denied The traces of highwayman pride ; Where ev'ry look and feature i)leads But guilty to the darkest deeds. Explain also the mighty bother In making one leg long as ^' tother" — How, had they both been parallel, Thy cliief (Vmivre had not stood, but fell ; To end it all, exclaim, when done, " This is the Second Washington ! " This do, and Art may yet condone Such grave oifences to her shown ; And wounded taste a joy ovrn That uiust be foreign to her heart While such abortions pass for Art. Intrigue, cajole, do as you please, But do not saddle Art wilh these, Which but perpetuate disgrace Upon the noblest of the race. Go, and with polluted arts, And impudence, supplanting parts Impress the gaping crowds who gazo With admiration at your ways ; VIRGINIA. 135 Stand on the corners of the street, Lift up your voice and compete With auctioneers, and all that ilk Who barter garden truck and milk ; Like them enjoy that content That springs from getting good per cent. For bargains struck, for these are part Of trade alone, and not of Art. Success ^ill follow if you try, For there no doubt your talents lie. There flippancy and ready wit And want of conscience always hit. Art has no hits ; and so, of course. In following it, your last resource Is wholly lost. Take my advice, And sell thy wares, for any price Would be a bargain to the crier — You do not care as to the buyer. But leave to me this hallow'd spot, Already marr'd by many a blot. No more. I bid the stand aside, Since thou art wantixg found when tried. VIRGINIA. DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND, C. X. MATHEWS, OF WYTHEVILLE, VA. Dear "Mac,'- the House adjourned and gone To their constituents to condone For past offences by a lease On private life that shall not cease ; As was my wont when you were here, Without affection, favor, fear, T now resume a caustic pen !::;; VIRGINIA. To perforate our little men. How oft this tliouo'ht conies in my head What hoots it that a man's well read ; Why study Latin, classic Greek, And French so well that one can speak As fluently as un Francals, Wheu dunces rule and fools obey 1 Why need one, when an eager youth From Fiction glean as well as Truth Such nohle sentiments, to stand Beneath the asses of the land ? He feels the pangs of keenest kind, Who prostitutes a noble mind. Who ever does, by tongue or pen, For sake of pay, puff little men So much that even dunces do Believe themselves a Richelieu : For asses have a right to bray When genius sells itself for pay, And rest contented with a lot. That any blockhead might have got. But, asses, hear me ! when I vow On you to war henceforth from now, To wring, without remorse or dread, The lion's skin from off your head. Until henceforth, instead of ears. The carcass and whole head appears : Till he, who did for statesman pass, Be shown just what he is— an ass. Constituents, see the error they Fell into on '* Election Day,'' And, by experience taught and vexed, Take care to mend it at the next. Example apropos have we,— A certain ass: alias, M. C, Who hither came, (let it be known,) VIRGINIA. i:^7 Whence Henry and John Randolph shone, Who gapes and yawns, by Fortune placed, In halls that Clay and Webster graced, Where Randolph, with incessant wit, Aim'd at the mark and always hit, Where dunce and Puritanic fool To nothing shrunk from ridicule Heap'd on by that unsparing hand, That flay'd the asses of the land. And here he sits (God save the phrase) The dunce, who would in Randolph's days,^ Have been, by terms at his command, The laughing-stock of all the land. Virginia, great and glorious State, Great as thou art, perforce such weight Must sink thee, or become by rules Infallible, the home of fools ; Where wit and talent overslaughed, The dunce may merit still defraud Of all its rights, by accident Slip into places never meant For such as spend their lives by halves. In breaking colts, or salting calves ; Who without sense enough to sin Themselves, can cry down clever men, Whose greatest errors, as a rule, Excel the wisdom of a fool. Proud Mother, could'st thou substance take. In human form for Truth's own sake, And hither come, thine eyes would see Thy children's pride — a mockery I Wouldst see one son with talents fair Enough perhaps to fill the chair Of such societies as harp 13* VIRGINIA. About the meiits of '' Bill Arp,"" Or else explain the Golden Rule' To children of a Sunday School, A sprightly, windy, legal chap, Who thinks the whole world on the niap^ Of his own county, which contains Towms, mountains, rivers — hut no brains }■ Would'st see this son with talents fair, Arise in place, address the Chair, In tones that sound like squeaking hare As urchins drag it from its lair, While loud guffaws of laughter ring At speaker — not the spoken thing, Yet he, poor soul, convinced the while, His wit that makes them laugh and smile^ Subsides amid a gen'ral roar, From cloak-room, gallery, and floor. While Mercy weeps and Justice frowns To know thy champions are clowns ! Another, whose stentorian roar, Like bull a neighbor's bent to gore, Arises in his place to shake His fist and horrid grimace make, Tho' taxing ev'ry nerve and joint Yet fails at last to make a point. Subsides amid the gen'ral peal Of merriment to make Thee feel The stings of wounded pride and shame At ridicule of thy proud name. Enough to make thee curse the hour That brought such dunces into power. Again, behold another stands. Look at the motion of his hands Which chop the air as if he would* Imagine it a log of wood. VIRGINIA. 131> Which by incessant chops and knocks He fain would fashion into blocks. Out of an idea, he begun, Now out of wind — the speech is done. Once more, Fond Mother, strain thine eye. See if thou can'st that vacancy ! Look, look at that imposing front, That seat of brain where ideas hunt. Like Noah's dove, above the deep ; Why take the dunce, he's fast asleep I Not so, proud Mother; put up thy dagger I Great Ciesar was no Carpet-bagger; Stain not thy garments with the blood ''That's crept thro' scoundrels since the flood I" Couldst thou with thine imperial eye Behold such scenes thy heart would die Within thee, like the virtuous dame Of Eome, who slew herself for shame. Great State, why should a son of thine In thy proud annals seek to shine. When dance and ass and knave and fool Not only aspire, but even rule I Thank God, there dawns a brighter day When talent shall resume its sway, When accidents be made return To breaking clods and hoeing corn, Be taught that it is dangerous still, This running counter to God's will, That all things with peculiar grace Shine best in their appointed place ; If otherwise, expect to find In me a stubborn foe, so kind 140 VIRGINIA. To all and any who desire In their own places to aspire, Take note, the pen jaw-bone surpasses, For it hath slain ten thousand asses. Si$C0Estiiiuttf §^^$m$. THE RETROSPECT. A RAMBLING POEM, DP:DICATED TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER. It is midnight now, and the silent earth Is wrapt in darkness, and no sound is heard Save the lonely oavI's, the halls of mirth Are tenantless, and, save the moaning bird, I am alone and feeling just so near Of being bodiless as one can be here. The pale starlight but twinkles dimly througli The shattered pane where I have bent my gaze, Capricious sleep has bidden me adieu In search of those whom woe nor joy sways. Who in bright dreams traverse the worlds of light, And in Elysium spend the blackest night. But why so restless, why not one resign His wear}' mind to Lethe's sweet embrace. Or why will not our anxious hearts recline In Hope's sweet cradle and contrive to chase The butterflies of fancy, as real there. In the land of shadows, as they are elsewhere! But none may tell why past existence Obtrudes itself at an unwelcome hour And e'en conquers Nature's own resistance, Compelling us to retrospect and pour The strength united of spirit soul and brain On scenes forgotten — we cannot explain. 142 THE RETROSPECT. Yet I begin, at first, an irksome lot. Recall tlie scenes where youthful feet first strayed ; And, as I yield, impressions long forgot, Are re-awaken'd, and the light and shade Of former pleasures kindle in my heart A joy, of which I dream'd not at the start. The sweet bye-gone I Ah, yes, the happy hours Of young existence ; aye the better time Of innocent youth, ere the ripen'd powers Of manhood stern connive or covet crime. Ere passions lava, boiling in our breast. Consumed to ashes the brightest and the best. Till by degrees we all in sin advance, Wrong in ourselves, our fellows we suspect, A dozen outward for one inward glance, That we in others may some flaw detect To balance ours, mankind are happiest when They are no better nor worse than other men. There is a moral in retrospection, A duty important we ever owe. Not to ourselves, but to each connection, Father, Mother, still oftener, a foe. And if the fount of life so bitter seem Our hands, may be, pour'd poison in the stream. But I have wauder'd, and now return To sweeter thoughts of innocence and love, To purer life, and when my soul could spurn What bore no impress to the life above ; . For though to man supplies of grace be given, Youth is the time when he is next to Heaven. THE KETROSPECT. 14:^ Ah, yes! the mem'ry qf some early scene, Made sacred and sweet by the heart's first love, Surpasses all the sterner joys of men, And is just but next to a life above. Deceitful Time may promise us far more, But never, gives the bliss we had before. The quaint old swing, hard by the road, where oft At eventide we threw all care away. Some well-known comrade pushing ns aloft, Then crouch'd beneath to give us greater play For strokes mofe potent, that we might excel Tom, Dick, or Harry, as the case befell. At other times, along the shaded brook, *^Sheeing" to comrades that they must not talk ; As in silence baiting the barbed hook. Or gazing intently at the dancing cork, As luckless minnow nibbled at the bait As if to toy with his very fate. Ah! how our young hearts were throbbing tlien With hope and fear, and Caesar never knew In all his conquests such a joy as when Forth from the brook our shining prize we drew When comrades all, with wonder^Avaitiug eyes, W^ould crowd around and gaze upon the prize. *^My stars!" anon some boy would exclaim, *^ He is a whale ; it is a real wonder Your linens not broke:" soon after, vow the same, '' Indeed the fish they just saw passing under That ledge of rock ; " while others say we struck, What older gamblers term, '' a streak of luck." 144 THE RETROSPECT. At length au urchin, smaller than the rest, Would, in his turn, get what he calFd " a bite ;" With mighty jerk, with force enough to wrest A young sea-serpent ; but, oh woful sight! The Ashless hook entangled in a bough, His mighty joy was turned to anguish now. This season past, came on the dismal hour, When ''off to school! " became the morning cry, The boyish prayer that sudden rain might pour, The disappointment of a naked sky; One joy was yet, and this, with cheer and shout. We signalized whenever school let out. Short-liv'd however, these idle hours Seem'd swifter now than when, as erst, we chased Hope's butterflies through the pretty flowers That our childish fancy had so naively placed In all lifes pathway; could such things but last Forever, our heaven ne'er would be past. A plain log-hut, whose walls had long withstood The pelting storms, until its shingles were Far more like moss than to their native wood, Was first the spot where we were forc'd to hear The name of learning ; all our stock, just then. In monosvllables — such as do^r and hen. Mountains impress us with a sense sublime ; Hills are forgotten as we speed along. But till the last letter of recorded time Has spelt our life and pronounced it wrong, Can we forget, tho' years our sense befog, That dreadful man, our primal pedagogue. THE RETROSPECT. 145 We see him still reclining in his chair, His legs extended and his eyes intent Upon some problem, tngging at his hair, And all forgetful ; we, on mischief bent, Improv'd our chance to hurl a paper ball At some one's head, or else against the wall. What bashful boy does not recollect His first sensations as he enter'd school, The awful stare, the quick glance to detect Each faulty movement, feeling like a fool. And half resolv'd to either laugh or cry, Without doing either, not knowing why. The irksome hours of simulated study, Catching anon the ready teacher's eye. And then an idea, undefin'd and muddy, Of what this means, how long to last, and why, Until worn out he drops off in a doze. But soon awakes, as some one pulls his nose. Endless almost the study-hours seem Ere playtime comes; indeed, it is an age I The wheel of time seems running to a team Of sloths and snails, while the dirty page Of thumb-eaten primers would at once construe, That if not learning, we are getting through. It comes at last, but never came too soon For boys expectant, fond of fun and sport. And more attractiv^e than maps of earth or moon. Our playing- ground, than any map in short. Who cares, ere he '• is smit wnth love of learniiii>," To know if earth be standing still, or turning ? M 146 THE KETROSPECT. Let war delight the rugged hero's soul, Let battle fierce soothe him with bloody charms, His ear delight the murder-telling roll Of musketry, and yet the clash of arms Seems tasteless to one whom mem'ry conveys To the mild enjoyments of his younger days. But they have vanished : scarce enjoy'd ere gone, Parcel and part of all we left behind ; And scenes we knew will never more be known Save as a part of imperishable mind. Like those sweet beams that gild the setting sun, They brighten'd our youth, and their work was done. The primer, anon, is laid aside, and then Came tougher studies, such as do require A deal of thinking by heads of wiser men Than our good old teacher's, who could aspire To naught beyond the '' Double Rule of Three." We pass him by — tears to his memorj^ What next on programme f Boarding school of course The trunk is pack'd, and oif again we go. To reap fresh sorrow from another source ; Hard study, high price, all such things as llow To the full complement of first-class schools, V/here all things, even food, must go by rules. We had our share at least of rancid butter. Insipid hash restew'd a dozen times, — A fluid with live full parts of water To one of milk, — no wonder then that rliymes Not fit for eyes polite nor ears acute, Adorn'd our walls, wrath cannot long be mute. THE RETROSPECT. 147 Such is the dark side, for despite all this There is a pleasure in the first sensation Of heing ador'd hy some country Miss, Who deems a boarder the hope of the nation. To he lionised is not unpleasant, Tho' it he done hy a jiretty peasant. Sweet romance I ere the youthful heart is '^smit With the love of learning," when some fair face Is become our idol and we worship it With such security that it leaves no trace Of inward disquiet on the placid brow For deceit and auguish are strangers now. This is Heav'n, this the sweet Elysian That poets write about and lovers feel Ere interest chills it with cold decision, Or age can laugh at all our mighty zeal. Ere jealousy becomes a serious joke, And we are hamper'd by the older folk. But this is past, and now the little scene '' Grows beautifully less," for cubic feet And square root were never friends I ween To love and fancy ; naught that may be sw eet : A sure panacea for all such ills Is time and study, for this always kills. And all is chang'd; too sad! for our sweetheart now Has ceas'd to love us, and for aught we know, Loves a sunburnt rustic ; yet she did vow That she did love us, and w^e all thought so, But time convinced her we were insincere And she's forsaken us this manv a vear. MS THK ki:trospect. Lilf\s bill tic ill t^nnirsl, and all the rest Was but a lirchidc to that stern array Of nii'iital forces, ])rlz() to b(^ possost, All that striplinnjs craves wo jinibi lion's day Hath dawn'd in sph'iidcr: thcsii an* but rays Thai herald the conu't in its lurid blaze. Now may be seen, e'en at the niidni<»lit hour, 'I'he ]>al(^l'acM studcni })orin^ o'er his book, ()bli\ious of all thin«rs, save tlu^ silent power or his busy th()u«;hts, as with [)U/z1(h1 look 11(^ lifts his eyes and bends their steady gaze Into uii^ht's (l(»ep darkness where the watch-dog bays. Wrapt in fit of i)leasing niedilation lb' falls asleep, and fancy takes hitn back To her and the- little infatuation. That has been nientiou'd iu his youthful track, lie sleei>s an hour, and thon — awak<\s to lind His lanj}) is gon«\ or else he must be blind. SouK' little rascal, with nothing els(^ to do, Terfornis this trick, but ^' look out, inner mind," He'll ^^W revengM " and make him sadly rue His fine delight ; for surely can he lind Somt^ cunning con/'rcrc who is too w illing To givt' him no (]uarter, but a '' killing." An hour more and all the house is still Save the heavy snoring of the roguish chap Who to(dv his lamp, and on him he w ill Take his revenge as he takes his nap, With a cat-like tread to his couch h(^ doth go And tiiMli a cord to his major to<'. THE RETROSPECT. M'.» Poor fellow ! ho is dreainin*^ hadly now ; How his face contorts as wo draw tho rope, Dreams ho is fallin*; from a summits' brow, And feels tho last throes of expirin<; liojx' ; The pain increases and his <;roaiis l)e<;in, Awakes, and fmds that he is taken in. These an^ th(5 pleasant little interludes, Ere the curtain rises for another part In the melo-drama of verbs and moods, A short rehearsal of the ma^^ic art, That thrills mankind, ere from tho schools we To