MAN! weak insect, poor and proud,
Atom, lost amid the crowd,
Ever pushing on through life
Buffeted by sinful strife,
Man! mere drop of all those seas,
Leaf among the forest trees,
Paltry pebble on the shore
Heap'd by myriad myriads more, --
Man! mean item in the list,
Hardly counted, little miss'd,
Unconsider'd and unknown,
Lightly cared for, left alone,
Daily toiling in thy lot,
And, when dead, remember'd not,--
Man! how evil is thy state,
Cold, and stern, and desolate!
Man! rare chrysalis of Light
Watch'd and nurst by angels bright,
Heir of Grandeurs! soon to be
Ripen'd and reveal'd in thee,-
Man! true claimant of the Skies,
Owner of Creation's prize,
Waiting meek at Glory's door,
King among ten thousand more,—
Man! great end of all beside,
To the LORD OF ALL allied,—
Undiscover'd lump of gold,
Spring unseal'd of joys untold,
In thy duties daily blest,
And-when all are done-at Rest;
Man! how beauteous and divine
Is this low estate of thine !
(SUGGESTED BY AN IDEAL PORTRAIT.)
THOU fair enchantress of my willing heart,
Who charmest it to deep and dreamy slumber,
Gilding mine evening clouds of reverie,-
Thou Siren, who, with lovelit eyes, and voice
Most softly musical, dost lure me on
O'er the wide sea of indistinct idea
Or quaking sands of untried theory
Or ridgy shoals of fixt experiment
That wind a dubious pathway through the deep,—-
Imagination, I am thine own child:
Have I not often sat with thee retired,
Alone yet not alone, though grave most glad,
All silent outwardly, but loud within
As from the distant hum of many waters,
Weaving the tissue of some delicate thought,
And hushing every breath that might have rent
Our web of gossamer, so finely spun?
Have I not often listed thy sweet song,
(While in vague echoes and Æolian notes
The chambers of my heart have answer'd it,)
With eye as bright in joy, and fluttering pulse,
As the coy village maiden's, when her lover
Whispers his hope to her delighted ear?
And taught by thee, angelic visitant,
Have I not learnt to love the tuneful lyre,
Draining from every chord its musical soul?
Have I not learnt to find in all that is,
Somewhat to touch the heart, or raise the mind,
Somewhat of grand and beautiful to praise
Alike in small and great things? and this power
This clearing of the eye, this path made straight
Even to the heart's own heart, its innermost core,
This keenness to perceive and seek and find
And love and prize all-present harmony,
This, more than choosing words to clothe the thought, Makes the true poet; this thy glorious gift,
Imagination, rescues me thy son
(Thy son, albeit least worthy,) from the lust
Of mammon, and the cares of animal life,
And the dull thraldom of this work-day world.
Indulgent lover, I am all thine own;
What art thou not to me?-ah, little know
The worshippers of cold reality,
The grosser minds, who most sincerely think
That sense is the broad avenue to bliss,
Little know they the thrilling ecstacy
The delicate refinement in delight
That cheers the thoughtful spirit, as it soars
Far above all these petty things of life;
And strengthen'd by the flight and cordial joys
Can then come down to earth and common men
Better in motive, stronger in resolve
Apter to use all means that compass good,
And of more charitable mind to all.
Imagination, art thou not my friend
In crowds and solitude, my comrade dear,
Brother, and sister, mine own other self,
The Hector to my soul's Andromache?
Triumphant beauty, bright intelligence!
The chasten'd fire of ecstacy suppress'd
Beams from thine eye; because thy secret heart,
Like that strange sight burning yet unconsumed,
Is all on flame a censer fill'd with odours;
And to my mind, who feel thy fearful power,
Suggesting passive terrors and delights,
A slumbering volcano; thy dark cheek,
Warm and transparent, by its half-form'd dimple
Reveals an under-world of wondrous things
Ripe in their richness,-as among the bays
Of blest Bermuda, through the sapphire deep
Ruddy and white fantastically branch
The coral groves; thy broad and sunny brow,
Made fertile by the genial smile of heaven,
Shoots up an hundred-fold the glorious crop
Of arabesque ideas; forth from thy curls.
Half hidden in their black luxuriance
The twining sister-graces lightly spring,
The muses, and the passions, and young love,
Tritons and Naiads, Pegasus, and Sphinx,
Atlas, Briareus, Phaeton, and Cyclops,
Centaurs, and shapes uncouth and wild conceits;
And in the midst blazes the star of mind,
Illumining the classic portico
That leads to the high dome where Learning sits:
On either side of that broad sunny brow
Flame-colour'd pinions, streak'd with gold and blue,
Burst from the teeming brain; while under them
The forked lightning, and the cloud-robed thunder,
And fearful shadows, and unhallow'd eyes,
And strange foreboding forms of terrible things
Lurk in the midnight of thy raven locks!
And thou hast been the sunshine to my landscape,
Imagination; thou hast wreathed me smiles,
And hung them on a statue's marble lips;
Hast made earth's dullest pebbles bright like gems;
Hast lent me thine own silken clue, to rove
The ideal labyrinths of a thousand spheres ;
Hast lengthen'd out my nights with life-long dreams,
And with glad seeming gilt my darkest day;
Help'd me to scale in thought the walls of heaven,
While journeying wearily this busy world;
Sent me to pierce the palpable clouds with eagles,
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