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Lo, more than life, Man's great Estate comprises! While for the earthly corner of his mansion

A little nook in shady Time suffices, The rainbow-pillared heavenly roof arises

Ethereal in limitless expansion!

THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN.

All round the lake the wet woods shake

From drooping boughs their showers of pearl; From floating skiff to towering cliff

The rising vapors part and curl. The west-wind stirs among the firs High up the mountain side emerging;

The light illumes a thousand plumes Through billowy banners round them surging.

A glory smites the craggy heights:

And in a halo of the haze. Flushed with faint gold, far up, behold

That mighty face, that stony gaze! In the wild sky upborne so high

Above us perishable creatures, Confronting Time with those sublime,

Impassive, adamantine, features.

Thou beaked and bald high front,
miscalled
The profile of a human face!
No kin art thou, O Titan brow,

To puny man's ephemeral race. The groaning earth to thee gave birth,—

Throes and convulsions of the planet;

Lonely uprose, in grand repose, Those eighty feet of facial granite.

Here long, while vast, slow ages passed,

Thine eyes (if eyes be thine) beheld But solitudes of crags and woods. Where eagles screamed and panthem yelled.

Before the fires of our pale sires
In the first log-built cabin twinkled,

Or red men came for fish and game, That scalp was scarred, that face was wrinkled.

We may not know how long ago That ancient countenance was young;

Thy sovereign brow was seamed as now

When Moses wrote and Homer sung.

Empires and states it antedates, And wars, and arts, and crime, and glory;

In that dim morn when man was born

Thy head with centuries was hoary.

Thou lonely one! nor frost, nor sun, Nor tempest leaves on thee its trace;

The stormy years are but as tears That pass from thy unchanging face.

With unconcern as grand and stern, Those features viewed, which now survey us, A green world rise from seas of ice, And order come from mud and chaos.

Canst thou not tell what then befell? What forces moved, or fast or slow;

How grew the hills; what heats, what, chills,

What strange, dim life, so long ago? High-visaged peak, wilt thou not

speak?

One word for all our learned wrangle!

What earthquakes shaped, what glaciers scraped, That nose, and gave the chin its angle?

Our pygmy thought to thee is naught, Our petty questionings are vain;

In its great trance thy countenance Knows not compassion nor disdain.

With far-off hum we go and come, The gay, the grave, the busy-idle;

And all things done, to thee are one, Alike the burial and the bridal.

Thy permanence, long ages hence, Will mock the pride of mortals still.

Returning springs, with songs and wings [ fill;

And fragrance, shall these valleys The free winds blow, fall rain or snow,

The mountains brim their crystal breakers; Still come and go, still ebb and flow,

The summer tides of pleasure-seekers.

The dawns shall gild the peaks where build

The eagles, many a future pair; The gray scud lag on wood and crag,

Dissolving in the purple air; The sunlight gleam on lake and stream,

Boughs wave, storms break, and

still at even All glorious hues the world suffuse, Heaven mantle earth, earth melt in

heaven!

Nations shall pass like summer's grass.

And times unborn grow old and change;

New governments and great events shall rise, and science new and strange;

Yet will thy gaze confront the days With its eternal calm and patience,

The evening red still light thy head, Above thee burn the constellations.

0 silent speech, that well can teach The little worth of words or fame!

I go my way, but thou wilt stay While future millions pass the

same:

But what is this I seem to miss?

Those features fall into confusion! A further pace — where was that face?

The veriest fugitive illusion!

Gray eidolon! so quickly gone, When eyes that make thee onward move;

Whose vast pretence of permanence

A little progress can disprove! Like some huge wraith of human faith

That to the mind takes form and measure; Grim mcnolith of creed or myth, Outlined against the eternal azure!

O Titan, how disliinned art thou!

A withered cliff is all we see; That giant nose, that grand repose,

Have in a moment ceased to be; Or still depend on lines that blend,

On merging shapes, and sight, and distance, And in the mind alone can find

Imaginary brief existence!

STANZAS FROM "SERVICE."

Well might red shame my cheek bones !

0 service slighted!

0 Bride of Paradise, to whom

I long was plighted!

Do I with burning lips profess

To serve thee wholly.
Yet labor less for blessedness

Than fools for folly?

The wary worldling spread his toils

Whilst I was sleeping; The wakeful miser locked his spoils,

Keen vigils keeping:

I loosed the latches of my soul To pleading pleasure,

Who stayed one little hour, and stole My heavenly treasure.

A friend for friend's sake will endure

Sharp provocations:
And knaves are cunning to secure,

By bringing patience,
And smiles upon a smarting cheek,

Some dear advantage.— Swathing their grievances in meek

Submission's bandage.

Yet for thy sake I will not take

One drop of trial,
But raise rebellious hands to break

The bitter vial.
At hardship's surly-visaged churl

My spirit sallies;
And melts, O Peace! thy priceless
pearl

In passion's chalice.

Yet never quite, in darkest night,

Was 1 forsaken:
Down trickles still some starry rill

My heart to waken.

O Love Divine! could I resign

This changeful spirit To walk thy ways, what wealth of grace

Might I inherit!

If one poor flower of thanks to thee

Be truly given,
All night tiiou snowest down to me

Lilies of heaven!
One task of human love fulfilled

Thy glimpses tender.
My days of lonely labor gild,

With gleams of splendor!

MY COMRADE AND I.

We two have grown up so divinely together,

Flower within flower from seed within seed,
The sagest philosopher cannot say whether

His being or mine was first called and decreed.
In the life before birth, by inscrutable ties,

We were linked each to each; I am bound up in him;
He sickens, I languish; without me, he dies;

I am life of hislife, he is limb of my limb.

Twin babes from one cradle, I tottered about with him,

Chased the bright butterflies, singing, a boy with him;
Still as a man I am borne in and out with him,

Sup with him, sleep with him, suffer, enjoy with him.
Faithful companion, me long he has carried

Unseen in his bosom, a lamp to his feet;
More near than a bridegroom, to him I am married,

As light in the sunbeam is wedded to heat.

If my beam be withdrawn he is senseless and blind;

I am sight to his vision, I hear with his ears;
His the marvellous brain, I the masterful mind;

I laugh with his laughter. and weep with his tears
So well that the ignorant deem us but one:

They see but one shape and they name us one name.
O pliant accomplice! what deeds we have done,

Thus banded together for glory or shame.

When evil waylays us. and passion surprises,

And we are too feeble to strive or to fly,
When hunger compels or when pleasure entices,

Which most is the sinner, my comrade or I?
And when over perils and pains and temptations

I trlumnh, where still I should falter and faint,
But for him. Iron-nerved for heroical patience.

Whose, then is the virtue, and which is the saint?

Am I the one sinner? of honors sole claimant

For actions which only we two can perform?
Am I the true creature, and thou but the raiment?

Thou magical mantle, all vital and warm.
Wrapped about me, a screen from the rough winds of Time,

Of texture so flexible to feature and gesture!
Can ever I part from thee? Is there a clime

Where Life needeth not this terrestrial vesture 1

When comes the sad summons to sever the sweet

Subtle tie that unites us, and tremulous, fearful.
I feel thy loosed fetters depart from my feet;

When friends gather round us, pale-visaged and tearful,
Beweep and bewail thee, thou fair earthly prison!

And kiss thy cold doors, for thy inmate mistaken;
Their eyes seeing not the freed captive, arisen

From thy trammels unclasped and thy shackles downshaken;

Oh, then shall I linger, reluctant to break
The dear sensitive chains that about me have grown?

And all this bright world, can I bear to forsake
Its embosoming beauty and love, and along

Journey on to I know not what regions untried?
Exists there, beyond the dim cloud-rack of death,

Such life as enchants us? O skies arched world wide!

0 delicate senses! O exquisite breath!

Ah, tenderly, tenderly over thee hovering,

I shall look down on thee, empty and cloven.
Pale mould of my being! — thou visible covering

Wherefroni my invisible raiment is woven.
Though sad be the passage, nor pain shall appall me,

Nor parting, assured, wheresoever I range
The glad fields of existence that naught can befall me

That is not still beautiful, blessed and strange.

Martin Farquhar Tupper.»

[From Self-Acquaintance.]

ILL-CHOSEN PURS CITS.

Color blind at an easel, the palsied with a graver, the halt making for the goal,
The deaf ear tuning psaltery, the stammerer discoursing eloquence,—
What wonder if all fail? the shaft flieth wide of the mark,
Alike if itself be crooked, or the bow be strung awry;
And the mind which were excellent in one way, but foolishly toileth in
another,

What is it but an ill-strung bow. and its aim a crooked arrow?
By knowledge of self, thou provest thy powers; put not the racer to the
plough.

Nor goad the toilsome ox to wager his slowness with the fleet.

• The extracts from this author are from Proverbial Philosophy.

[From Fame.]

THE DIGNITY AND PATIENCE OF GENIUS.

A Great mind is an altar on a hill; should the priest descend from his altitude

To canvass offerings and worship from dwellers on the plain?
Kuther with majestic perseverance, will be minister in solitary grandeur,
Confident the time will come when pilgrims shall be flocking to the shrine.
For fame is the birthright of genius; and he recketh not how long it be
delayed:

The heir need not hasten to his heritage, when he knoweth that his tenure is eternal.

The careless poet of Avon, was he troubled for his fame?
Or the deep-mouthed chronicler of Paradise, heeded he the suffrage of his
equals 1

Moeonides took no thought, committing all his honors to the future,
And Flaccus, standing on his watch-tower, spied the praise of ages.

(From Truth in Things False.]

SPIRITUAL FEELERS.

The soul hath its feelers, cobwebs floating on the wind,
That catch events in their approach with Bare and apt presentiment,
So that some halo of attraction heraldeth a coming friend.
Investing, in his likeness, the stranger that passed on before;
And while the word is in thy mouth, behold thy word fulfilled,
And he of whom we spake can answer for himself.

[From Writing.]
LETTERS.

Thkir preciousness in absence is proved by the desire of their presence:
When the despairing lover waiteth day after day.
Looking for a word in reply, one word writ by that hand,
And cursing bitterly the morn ushered in by blank disappointment:
Or when the long-looked-for answer argueth a cooling friend,
And the mind is plied suspiciously with dark inexplicable doubts,
While thy wounded heart connteth its imaginary scars,
And thou art the innocent and injured, that friend the capricious and in
fault:

Or when the earnest petition, that craveth for thy needs
Unheeded, yea, unopened, tortureth with starving delay:
Or when the silence of a son, who would have written of his welfare,
Racketh a father's bosom with sharp-cutting fears:
For a letter, timely writ, is a rivet to the chain of affection;
And a letter, untimely delayed, is as rust to the solder.
The pen, flowing in love, or dipped black in hate.
Or tipped with delicate courtesies, or harshly edged with censure,
Hath quickened more good than the sun, more evil than the sword,
More joy than woman's smile, more woe than frowning fortune;
And shouldst thou ask my judgment of that which hath most profit in the
world,

For answer take thou this, The prudent penning of a letter.

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