Part 27 (1/2)
Friends.h.i.+p's balmy words may pain, Love's are e'en more false than they-- Oh! 'tis only music's strain Can sweetly soothe and not betray.”
”Those are very beautiful lines, Mr. Smythe,” I observed; ”can you tell me whose they are?”
Placing his hand to his head, he answered, ”Really, Mr. Bond, I do not now remember.”
”They are Moore's,” I replied.
”Oh yes, yes, so they are. I could give you numberless other pieces, Mr.
Bond, equally fine and touching.”
”Thank you, that will do for the present, Mr. Smythe.”
We began to talk about travelling in Scotland, Switzerland, and other parts, when I gave a little of my experience in plain words, as to the effect of the scenery upon my mind and health, when he suddenly interrupted me and said, ”Let me see, what is it the poet says upon that? If I can call it up, I will give it you, Mr. Bond,--
'Go abroad, Upon the paths of Nature, and, when all Its voices whisper, and its silent things Are breathing the deep beauty of the world, Kneel at its simple altar.'”
I spoke of neglected genius both in Church and State, when he exclaimed with much emphasis, as though the lines had fallen on my ears for the first time,--
”Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”
A voyage to America, with a few incidents about the sea, were spoken of.
”Ah, ah, Mr. Bond,” he said, ”I have seen some fine lines by J. G.
Percival on that subject,--
'I, too, have been upon thy rolling breast, Wildest of waters! I have seen thee lie Calm as an infant pillowed in its rest On a fond mother's bosom, when the sky, Not smoother, gave the deep its azure dye, Till a new heaven was arched and gla.s.sed below.'
”And then, Mr. Bond, you are familiar with--
'The sea! the sea! the open sea!
The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
Without a mark, without a bound, It runneth the earth's wide region round; It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies; Or like a cradled creature lies.'”
I spoke of progress in the age in which we live, when he instantly said, ”Ah, that reminds me now of what Tennyson says,--
'Not in vain the distant beacons. Forward, forward, let us range, Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.
Through the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day; Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.'”
The worth of a good name was spoken of, and the words of Solomon quoted in support of what was said. But Solomon was not enough. The poetic spirit of our student was astir instantly within him, and broke forth in the well-known lines of Shakespeare, already quoted in this volume,--
”Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing, 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands; But he who filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.”