Dying!-Farewell! good master!-room! more room! Abra! I loved thee! star! bright star! I- -come!"
How idly of the human heart we speak,
Giving it gods of clay! How worse than vain
Is the school homily, that Eden's fruit
Cannot be pluck'd too freely from "the tree
Of good and evil." Wisdom sits alone,
Topmost in heaven ;-she is its light-its God!
And in the heart of man she sits as high-
Though grovelling eyes forget her oftentimes,
Seeing but this world's idols. The pure mind
Sees her forever: and in youth we come
Fill'd with her sainted ravishment, and kneel,
Worshipping God through her sweet altar-fires,
And then is knowledge "good." We come too oft-
The heart grows proud with fulness, and we soon
Look with licentious freedom on the maid
Throned in celestial beauty. There she sits,
Robed in her soft and seraph loveliness,
Instructing and forgiving, and we gaze
Until desire grows wild, and, with our hands
Upon her very garments, are struck down,
Blasted with a consuming fire from heaven!
Yet, oh! how full of music from her lips
Breathe the calm tones of wisdom! Human praise
Is sweet-till envy mars it, and the touch
Of new-won gold stirs up the pulses well;
And woman's love, if in a beggar's lamp
'Twould burn, might light us clearly through the world;
But Knowledge hath a far more 'wildering tongue,
And she will stoop and lead you to the stars,
And witch you with her mysteries-till gold
Is a forgotten dross, and power and fame
Toys of an hour, and woman's careless love,
Light as the breath that breaks it. He who binds
His soul to knowledge steals the key of heaven-
But 'tis a bitter mockery that the fruit
May hang within his reach, and when, with thirst
Wrought to a maddening frenzy, he would taste-
It burns his lips to ashes!
"Love borrows greatly from opinion. Pride, above all things, strengthens affection."-E. L. BULWER.
He sat and read. A book with silver clasps,
All gorgeous with illuminated lines
Of gold and crimson, lay upon a frame
Before him. 'Twas a volume of old time;
And in it were fine mysteries of the stars
Solved with a cunning wisdom, and strange thoughts,
Half prophecy, half poetry, and dreams
Clearer than truth, and speculations wild
That touch'd the secrets of your very soul,
They were so based on Nature. With a face
Glowing with thought, he pored upon the book.
The cushions of an Indian loom lay soft
Beneath his limbs, and, as he turn'd the page,
The sunlight, streaming through the curtain's fold,
Fell with a rose-tint on his jewell'd hand;
And the rich woods of the quaint furniture
Lay deepening their vein'd colors in the sun,
And the stain'd marbles on the pedestals
Stood like a silent company-Voltaire,
With an infernal sneer upon his lips;
And Socrates, with godlike human love
Stamp'd on his countenance; and orators,
Of times gone by that made them; and old bards,
And Medicean Venus, half divine.
Around the room were shelves of dainty lore,
And rich old pictures hung upon the walls
Where the slant light fell on them; and wrought gems,
Medallions, rare mosaics, and antiques
From Herculaneum, the niches fill'd;
And on a table of enamel, wrought
With a lost art in Italy, there lay
Prints of fair women, and engravings rare,
And a new poem, and a costly toy;
And in their midst a massive lamp of bronze
Burning sweet spices constantly. Asleep
Upon the carpet couch'd a graceful hound,
Of a rare breed, and, as his master gave
A murmur of delight at some sweet line,
He raised his slender head, and kept his eye
Upon him till the pleasant smile had pass'd
From his mild lips, and then he slept again.
The light beyond the crimson folds grew dusk,
And the clear letters of the pleasant book
Mingled and blurr'd, and the lithe hound rose up,
And, with his earnest eye upon the door,
Listen'd attentively. It came as wont-
The fall of a light foot upon the stair-
And the fond animal sprang out to meet
His mistress, and caress the ungloved hand,
He seem'd to know was beautiful. She stoop'd
Gracefully down and touch'd his silken ears
As she pass'd in-then, with a tenderness,
Half playful and half serious, she knelt
Upon the ottoman and press'd her lips
Upon her husband's forehead.
She rose and put the curtain-folds aside
From the high window, and look'd out upon
The shining stars in silence. "Look they not
Like Paradises to thine eye ?" he said-
But, as he spoke, a tear fell through the light-
And-starting from his seat-he folded her
Close to his heart, and-with unsteady voice-
Ask'd-if she was not happy. A faint smile
Broke through her tears; and pushing off the hair
From his broad forehead, she held back his head
With her white hand, and, gazing on his face,
Gave to her heart free utterance :-
"Happy?—yes, dearest !—blest
Beyond the limit of my wildest dream-
Too bright, indeed, my blessings ever seem;
There lives not in my breast
One of Hope's promises by Love unkept,
And yet-forgive me, Ernest-I have wept.
"How shall I speak of sadness,
And seem not thankless to my God and thee?
How can the lightest wish but seem to be
The very whim of madness?
Yet, oh, there is a boon thy love beside-
And I will ask it of thee-in my pride!
"List, while my boldness lingers!
If thou hadst won yon twinkling star to hear thee-
If thou couldst bid the rainbow's curve bend near thee--
If thou couldst charm thy fingers
To weave for thee the sunset's tent of gold-
Wouldst in thine own heart treasure it untold?
"If thou hadst Ariel's gift,
To course the veined metals of the earth-
If thou couldst wind a fountain to its birth-
If thou couldst know the drift
Of the lost cloud that sail'd into the sky-
Wouldst keep it for thine own unanswer'd eye?
"It is thy life and mine!
Thou, in thyself-and I in thee-misprison
|