Part 5 (1/2)

Opinions which I had been taught to hold As full of pith and gravity, he took As 'twere, 'twixt thumb and finger of his wit-- Rubbed off their gloss, until they seemed to me, All, as he said, varnished hypocrisies.

Most wise for one so young! and strangely read In books of quaint philosophy--although His mind's strange alchemy could find some Rich thought hidden in the basest thing, Which he trans.m.u.ted into golden words, So that in hearing him I often thought Upon the story of that Saint whose mouth Was radiant with the angel's blessed touch, Which gave him superhuman eloquence; And though he was thus gifted, yet--ah me!

Still earnest with my theme, I bade him think Of Auerbach's cellar, and that wa.s.sail night Whole centuries ago: and then in phrase, Better than that which cometh to me now I likened it--the necromancy which Drew richest vintage from the rugged boards-- Unto the spell wherewith he'd bound himself-- The spell by which he drew from simplest things Conceptions beautiful, as Faust drew wine From the rude table; for this friend of mine Was a true poet, though he seldom wrote: The wealth which might have royally endowed Some n.o.ble charity for coming time Was idly wasted--pearls dissolved in wine--

Still on my theme I hung and pointed out, Full eagerly, how Mephistopheles Ordered the gimlet wherewith it was drawn:

But he who went his way that summer night, Beneath the shadow of those stately trees Comes back to me--to earth--ah! nevermore.

He fell obscurely in the common ranks-- His keen sword rusted in its splendid sheath.

G.o.d pardon him his faults! for faults he had; But oh! so blent with goodness, that the while The lip of every theory of his Curved with a sneer, each action smiled With Christian charity.

Like Manfred he had summoned to his aid Forbidden ministers--but unlike his-- Of the earth, earthy, which did slowly clutch Upon his lofty faculties until They summoned him from the lone tow'r of thought And false philosophy wherein he dwelt.

G.o.d pardon him! Amen.

INDOLENCE. [5]

I turn aside; and, in the pause, might start As Mem'ry's elbow leans upon Time's Chart, Which shows, alas! how soon all men must glide Over meridians on life's ocean tide-- Meridians showing how both youth and sage Are sailing northward to the zone of age: On to an atmosphere of gloom I wist, Where mariners are lost in melancholy mist.

But gayer thoughts, like spring-tide swallows, dart Through youth's brave mind and animate its heart.

But Indolence is seen a pallid Ruth-- A timid gleaner in the fields of youth-- A wretched gath'rer of the scattered grain Left by the reapers who have swept the plain; But with no Boaz standing by the while, To watch its figure with approving smile.

[Footnote 5: (From a Poem p.r.o.nounced before the Phi Beta Kappa Society and graduating cla.s.ses of William and Mary College, July 4th, 1858.)]

THE JAMESTOWN ANNIVERSARY ODE.

In those vast forests dwelt a race of kings, Free as the eagle when he spreads his wings-- His wings which never in their wild flight lag-- In mists which fly the fierce tornado's flag; Their flight the eagle's! and their name, alas!

The eagle's shadow swooping o'er the gra.s.s, Or, as it fades, it well may seem to be The shade of tempest driven o'er the sea.

Fierce, too, this race, as mountain torrent wild, With haughty hearts, where Mercy rarely smiled-- All their traditions--histories imbued With tales of war and sanguinary feud, Yet though they never couched the knightly lance, The glowing songs of Europe's old romance Can find their parallels amid the race, Which, on this spot, met England face to face.

And when they met the white man, hand to hand, Twilight and sunrise stood upon the strand-- Twilight and sunrise? Saxon suns.h.i.+ne gleams To-day o'er prairies and those distant streams, Which hurry onward through far Western plains, Where the last Indian, for a season, reigns.

Here, the red CANUTE on this spot, sat down, His splendid forehead stormy with a frown, To quell, with the wild lightning of his glance The swift encroachment of the wave's advance; To meet and check the ruthless tide which rose, Crest after crest of energetic foes, While high and strong poured on each cruel wave, Until they left his royalty--a grave; But, o'er this wild, tumultuous deluge glows A vision fair as Heaven to saint e'er shows; A dove of mercy o'er the billows dark Fluttered awhile then fled within G.o.d's ark.

Had I the power, I'd reverently describe That peerless maid--the ”pearl of all her tribe,”

As evening fair, when coming night and day Contend together which shall wield its sway.

But, here abashed, my paltry fancy stays; For her, too humble its most stately lays.