Chapter 13

Not on the vulgar massCalled “work” must sentence pass,Things done, that took the eye and had the price;O’er which, from level stand,The low world laid its hand,Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice:But all, the world’s coarse thumbAnd finger failed to plumb,So passed in making up the main account;All instincts immature,All purposes unsure,That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man’s amount:Thoughts hardly to be packedInto a narrow act,Fancies that broke through language and escaped;All, I could never be,All, men ignored in me,This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped,So, take and use thy work:Amend what flaws may lurk,What strain o’ the stuff, what warpings past the aim!My times be in Thy hand!Perfect the cup as planned!Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same.Robert Browning(Rabbi ben Ezra).

Not on the vulgar mass

Called “work” must sentence pass,

Things done, that took the eye and had the price;

O’er which, from level stand,

The low world laid its hand,

Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice:

But all, the world’s coarse thumbAnd finger failed to plumb,So passed in making up the main account;All instincts immature,All purposes unsure,That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man’s amount:

But all, the world’s coarse thumb

And finger failed to plumb,

So passed in making up the main account;

All instincts immature,

All purposes unsure,

That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man’s amount:

Thoughts hardly to be packedInto a narrow act,Fancies that broke through language and escaped;All, I could never be,All, men ignored in me,This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped,

Thoughts hardly to be packed

Into a narrow act,

Fancies that broke through language and escaped;

All, I could never be,

All, men ignored in me,

This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped,

So, take and use thy work:Amend what flaws may lurk,What strain o’ the stuff, what warpings past the aim!My times be in Thy hand!Perfect the cup as planned!Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same.

So, take and use thy work:

Amend what flaws may lurk,

What strain o’ the stuff, what warpings past the aim!

My times be in Thy hand!

Perfect the cup as planned!

Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same.

Robert Browning(Rabbi ben Ezra).

“All (that) I could never be, All (that) man ignored in me.” All that the world could not know, a man’s thoughts, desires, and intentions, all that he wished or tried to be or do, although unknown to his fellows, have their value in God’s eyes. Man is the Cup, whose shape (i.e., character) has been formed by the wheel of the great Potter, God. See further as to this Eastern metaphor.The late Mrs. A. W. Verrall, widow of Doctor Verrall and herself a brilliant scholar, pointed out in theProceedingsof the Society for Psychical Research, June, 1911, a probable connection between “Rabbi ben Ezra,” and “Omar Khayyam,” and I do not think that her interesting views have been published elsewhere.Both poems centre round the idea of man as a Cup, but treat the metaphor from very different standpoints. Omar’s cup (quoting from the first edition) is to be filled with “Life’s Liquor” (ii), with “Wine!RedWine!” (vi), with what “clears To-Day of past regrets” (xx); the object is to drown the memory of the fact that “without asking” we are “hurried hither” and “hurried hence” (xxx); the “Ruby Vintage” is to be drunk “with old Khayyam,” and “when the Angel with his darker Draught draws up” to us we are to take that draught without shrinking (xlviii). On the other hand Rabbi ben Ezra’s Cup is to be used by the great Potter. We are told to look “not down but up! to uses of a cup” (30). The Rabbi asks “God who mouldest men ... to take and use His work” (32) and the ultimate purpose of the Cup, when it has been made “perfect as planned,” is to slake the thirst of the Master.The comparison of man to the Clay of the Potter in both poems is not sufficient in itself to show any connection between them. Such a comparison is found, as Fitzgerald reminds us, “in the Literature of the World from the Hebrew Prophets to the present time”[30]; and it is as appropriately employed by the Hebrew as by the Persian thinker. But Mrs. Verrall has other grounds:The little pamphlet in its brown wrapper containing theRubaiyat of Omar Khayyamwas first published by Edward Fitzgerald in 1859, and, as is well known, attracted so little attention that, although there were only 250 copies, it found its way into the two-penny boxes of the book-sellers, (It now sells for about £50!) But, nevertheless, the poem was eagerly read and enthusiastically praised by a small group, among whom were Swinburne and Rossetti. In 1861 Robert Browning came to livein London, and often saw Rossetti, who was his friend. It is, therefore, very improbable that he did not learn of the poem, which had so impressed Rossetti. In 1864 “Rabbi ben Ezra” was published in the volume calledDramatis Personae.Again, there is intrinsic evidence that Browning intended a direct refutation of Omar’s theory of life. Compare verses 26 and 27 of “Rabbi ben Ezra” with verses xxxvi and xxxvii of “Omar Khayyam” (first edition).Omar says that he “watched the Potter thumping his wet clay,” and, thereupon advises:Ah, fill the Cup;—what boots it to repeatHow Time is slipping underneath our Feet:Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday,Why fret about them if To-day be sweet!Rabbi ben Ezra says:... Note that Potter’s wheel.That metaphor!and proceeds:Thou, to whom fools propound,When the wine makes its round,“Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize To-day!”Fool! all that is, at all,Lasts ever, past recall;Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure.Although the “carpe diem” (“seize to-day”) theory of life is no doubt common to all literatures, the cumulative effect of Mrs. Verrall’s argument is strong, although not conclusive.As regards the above verses, compare the next quotation.

The late Mrs. A. W. Verrall, widow of Doctor Verrall and herself a brilliant scholar, pointed out in theProceedingsof the Society for Psychical Research, June, 1911, a probable connection between “Rabbi ben Ezra,” and “Omar Khayyam,” and I do not think that her interesting views have been published elsewhere.

Both poems centre round the idea of man as a Cup, but treat the metaphor from very different standpoints. Omar’s cup (quoting from the first edition) is to be filled with “Life’s Liquor” (ii), with “Wine!RedWine!” (vi), with what “clears To-Day of past regrets” (xx); the object is to drown the memory of the fact that “without asking” we are “hurried hither” and “hurried hence” (xxx); the “Ruby Vintage” is to be drunk “with old Khayyam,” and “when the Angel with his darker Draught draws up” to us we are to take that draught without shrinking (xlviii). On the other hand Rabbi ben Ezra’s Cup is to be used by the great Potter. We are told to look “not down but up! to uses of a cup” (30). The Rabbi asks “God who mouldest men ... to take and use His work” (32) and the ultimate purpose of the Cup, when it has been made “perfect as planned,” is to slake the thirst of the Master.

The comparison of man to the Clay of the Potter in both poems is not sufficient in itself to show any connection between them. Such a comparison is found, as Fitzgerald reminds us, “in the Literature of the World from the Hebrew Prophets to the present time”[30]; and it is as appropriately employed by the Hebrew as by the Persian thinker. But Mrs. Verrall has other grounds:

The little pamphlet in its brown wrapper containing theRubaiyat of Omar Khayyamwas first published by Edward Fitzgerald in 1859, and, as is well known, attracted so little attention that, although there were only 250 copies, it found its way into the two-penny boxes of the book-sellers, (It now sells for about £50!) But, nevertheless, the poem was eagerly read and enthusiastically praised by a small group, among whom were Swinburne and Rossetti. In 1861 Robert Browning came to livein London, and often saw Rossetti, who was his friend. It is, therefore, very improbable that he did not learn of the poem, which had so impressed Rossetti. In 1864 “Rabbi ben Ezra” was published in the volume calledDramatis Personae.

Again, there is intrinsic evidence that Browning intended a direct refutation of Omar’s theory of life. Compare verses 26 and 27 of “Rabbi ben Ezra” with verses xxxvi and xxxvii of “Omar Khayyam” (first edition).

Omar says that he “watched the Potter thumping his wet clay,” and, thereupon advises:

Ah, fill the Cup;—what boots it to repeatHow Time is slipping underneath our Feet:Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday,Why fret about them if To-day be sweet!

Ah, fill the Cup;—what boots it to repeat

How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:

Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday,

Why fret about them if To-day be sweet!

Rabbi ben Ezra says:

... Note that Potter’s wheel.That metaphor!

... Note that Potter’s wheel.

That metaphor!

and proceeds:

Thou, to whom fools propound,When the wine makes its round,“Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize To-day!”Fool! all that is, at all,Lasts ever, past recall;Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure.

Thou, to whom fools propound,When the wine makes its round,“Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize To-day!”

Thou, to whom fools propound,

When the wine makes its round,

“Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize To-day!”

Fool! all that is, at all,Lasts ever, past recall;Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure.

Fool! all that is, at all,

Lasts ever, past recall;

Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure.

Although the “carpe diem” (“seize to-day”) theory of life is no doubt common to all literatures, the cumulative effect of Mrs. Verrall’s argument is strong, although not conclusive.

As regards the above verses, compare the next quotation.

From Thy will stream the worlds, life and nature, Thy dread Sabaoth:Iwill?—the mere atoms despise me! Why am I not lothTo look that, even that, in the face too? Why is it I dareThink but lightly of such impuissance? What stops my despair?This:—’tis not what man Does which exalts him, but what man Would do!R. Browning(Saul).

From Thy will stream the worlds, life and nature, Thy dread Sabaoth:

Iwill?—the mere atoms despise me! Why am I not loth

To look that, even that, in the face too? Why is it I dare

Think but lightly of such impuissance? What stops my despair?

This:—’tis not what man Does which exalts him, but what man Would do!

R. Browning(Saul).

Sabaoth, armies, hosts. “Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Sabaoth.”

Let the thick curtain fall;I better know than allHow little I have gained.How vast the unattained.Not by the page word-paintedLet life be banned or sainted;Deeper than written scrollThe colours of the soul.Sweeter than any sungMy songs that found no tongue;Nobler than any factMy wish that failed of act.J. G. Whittier(My Triumph).

Let the thick curtain fall;I better know than allHow little I have gained.How vast the unattained.

Let the thick curtain fall;

I better know than all

How little I have gained.

How vast the unattained.

Not by the page word-paintedLet life be banned or sainted;Deeper than written scrollThe colours of the soul.

Not by the page word-painted

Let life be banned or sainted;

Deeper than written scroll

The colours of the soul.

Sweeter than any sungMy songs that found no tongue;Nobler than any factMy wish that failed of act.

Sweeter than any sung

My songs that found no tongue;

Nobler than any fact

My wish that failed of act.

J. G. Whittier(My Triumph).

Between the great things that wecannotdo, and the small things wewillnot do, the danger is that we shall do nothing.

Adolph Monod(1802-1856).

Reputation is what men and women think of us; Character is what God and the angels know of us.

Thomas Paine.

Love is the Amen of the Universe.

Novalis.

He (Dr. Johnson) would not allow Scotland to derive any credit from Lord Mansfield, for he was educated in England. “Much,” said he, “may be made of a Scotchman, if he be caught young.”

Boswell(Life of Johnson).

(A Mr. Strahan, a Scotchman, asked Dr. Johnson what he thought of Scotland) “That it is a very vile country to be sure, Sir,” returned for answer Dr. Johnson. “Well, Sir!” replied the other, somewhat mortified, “God made it.” “Certainly he did,” answered Mr. Johnson again, “but we must always remember thathe made it for Scotchmen.”

Mrs. Piozzi(Johnsoniana).

These are the two best of Johnson’s chaffing jibes against Scotchmen. The neatness of the latter is, to my mind, spoilt by the words at the end, which I have omitted: “and—comparisons are odious, Mr. Strahan,—but God made hell.” The following may also be quoted as showing both Johnson and that clever charlatan, Wilkes, quizzing Boswell (year 1781):Wilkes: “Pray, Boswell, how much may be got in a year by an advocate at the Scotch bar?”Boswell: “I believe two thousand pounds.”Wilkes: “How can it be possible to spend that money in Scotland?”Johnson: “Why, Sir, the money may be spent inEngland; but there is a harder question. If one man in Scotland gets possession of two thousand pounds, what remains for all the rest of the nation?”Many Scotchmen undoubtedly enjoy chaff against themselves and their country, and I think this was so with Boswell. It is a phase of social psychology that needs explaining.In these jokes Johnson was, consciously or not, influenced by the fine Royalist poet, John Cleveland (1613-1658); but the latter was very much in earnest. He detested the Scotch for fighting against Charles I. His references to Scotland inThe Rebel Scotare wonderfully clever:—A land that brings in question and suspenseGod’s omnipresence.And again:—Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom;Not forced him wander, but confined him home!

Wilkes: “Pray, Boswell, how much may be got in a year by an advocate at the Scotch bar?”

Boswell: “I believe two thousand pounds.”

Wilkes: “How can it be possible to spend that money in Scotland?”

Johnson: “Why, Sir, the money may be spent inEngland; but there is a harder question. If one man in Scotland gets possession of two thousand pounds, what remains for all the rest of the nation?”

Many Scotchmen undoubtedly enjoy chaff against themselves and their country, and I think this was so with Boswell. It is a phase of social psychology that needs explaining.

In these jokes Johnson was, consciously or not, influenced by the fine Royalist poet, John Cleveland (1613-1658); but the latter was very much in earnest. He detested the Scotch for fighting against Charles I. His references to Scotland inThe Rebel Scotare wonderfully clever:—

A land that brings in question and suspenseGod’s omnipresence.

A land that brings in question and suspense

God’s omnipresence.

And again:—

Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom;Not forced him wander, but confined him home!

Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom;

Not forced him wander, but confined him home!

God is present by His essence; which, because it is infinite, cannot be contained within the limits of any place; and because He is of an essential purity and spiritual nature, He cannot be undervalued by being supposed present in the places of unnatural uncleanness: because, as the sun, reflecting upon the mud of strands and shores, is unpolluted in its beams, so is God not dishonoured when we suppose Him in every one of His creatures, and in every part of every one of them.

Jeremy Taylor(Holy Living, Ch. 1, Sec. 3).

There is an old Scottish proverb, “The sun is no waur for shining on the midden.”

I dare say Alexander the Great was somewhat staggered in his plans of conquest by Parmenio’s way of putting things. “After you have conquered Persia what will you do?” “Then I shall conquer India.” “After you have conquered India, what will you do?” “Conquer Scythia.” “And after you have conquered Scythia, what will you do?” “Sit down and rest.” “Well,” said Parmenio to the conqueror, “why not sit down and rest now?”

A. K. H. Boyd(The Recreations of a Country Parson).

I include this because it is a good short paraphrase of the actual story of Pyrrhus and Cineas (Plutarch’s Lives—“Pyrrhus”) and because of the curious absurdity of attributing such philosophic advice to the warrior, Parmenio. This general was the only one of Alexander’s old advisers who urged him to invade Asia! (Plutarch’s Lives—“Alexander”).

Sorrow and care and anxiety may quite well live in Elizabethan cottages, grown over with honeysuckle and jasmine; and very sad eyes may look forth from windows around which roses twine.

A. K. H. Boyd(The Recreations of a Country Parson).

This book had a great vogue, but not sufficient merit to preserve it from oblivion.

CANADIAN BOAT-SONG

From the Gaelic.

Listen to me, as when ye heard our fatherSing long ago the song of other shores—Listen to me, and then in chorus gatherAll your deep voices, as ye pull your oars:CHORUS.Fair these broad meads—these hoary woods are grand;But we are exiles from our father’s land.From the lone sheiling of the misty islandMountains divide us, and the waste of seas—Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland,And we in dreams behold the Hebrides:Fair these broad meads, etc.We ne’er shall tread the fancy-haunted valley,Where ’tween the dark hills creeps the small clear stream,In arms around the patriarch banner rally,Nor see the moon on royal tombstones gleam:Fair these broad meads, etc.When the bold kindred, in the time long vanish’d,Conquered the soil and fortified the keep,—No seer foretold the children would be banish’d,That a degenerate Lord might boast his sheep;Fair these broad meads, etc.Come foreign rage—let Discord burst in slaughter!O then for clansmen true, and stern claymore—The hearts that would have given their blood like water,Beat heavily beyond the Atlantic roar.Fair these broad meads—these hoary woods are grand;But we are exiles from our fathers’ land.

Listen to me, as when ye heard our fatherSing long ago the song of other shores—Listen to me, and then in chorus gatherAll your deep voices, as ye pull your oars:

Listen to me, as when ye heard our father

Sing long ago the song of other shores—

Listen to me, and then in chorus gather

All your deep voices, as ye pull your oars:

CHORUS.Fair these broad meads—these hoary woods are grand;But we are exiles from our father’s land.

CHORUS.

Fair these broad meads—these hoary woods are grand;

But we are exiles from our father’s land.

From the lone sheiling of the misty islandMountains divide us, and the waste of seas—Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland,And we in dreams behold the Hebrides:Fair these broad meads, etc.

From the lone sheiling of the misty island

Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas—

Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland,

And we in dreams behold the Hebrides:

Fair these broad meads, etc.

We ne’er shall tread the fancy-haunted valley,Where ’tween the dark hills creeps the small clear stream,In arms around the patriarch banner rally,Nor see the moon on royal tombstones gleam:Fair these broad meads, etc.

We ne’er shall tread the fancy-haunted valley,

Where ’tween the dark hills creeps the small clear stream,

In arms around the patriarch banner rally,

Nor see the moon on royal tombstones gleam:

Fair these broad meads, etc.

When the bold kindred, in the time long vanish’d,Conquered the soil and fortified the keep,—No seer foretold the children would be banish’d,That a degenerate Lord might boast his sheep;Fair these broad meads, etc.

When the bold kindred, in the time long vanish’d,

Conquered the soil and fortified the keep,—

No seer foretold the children would be banish’d,

That a degenerate Lord might boast his sheep;

Fair these broad meads, etc.

Come foreign rage—let Discord burst in slaughter!O then for clansmen true, and stern claymore—The hearts that would have given their blood like water,Beat heavily beyond the Atlantic roar.Fair these broad meads—these hoary woods are grand;But we are exiles from our fathers’ land.

Come foreign rage—let Discord burst in slaughter!

O then for clansmen true, and stern claymore—

The hearts that would have given their blood like water,

Beat heavily beyond the Atlantic roar.

Fair these broad meads—these hoary woods are grand;

But we are exiles from our fathers’ land.

The authorship of these verses is uncertain, but it probably lies between John Galt, author ofAnnals of the Parish, and Lockhart, son-in-law of Sir Walter Scott. The verses were quoted by Professor Wilson (Christopher North) in hisNoctes AmbrosianaeinBlackwood, Sept., 1829, but, because Wilson was not the author, they are not reproduced in his collected works (Blackwood, 1855).A degenerate Lord, &c. This refers to the eviction of the Highland crofters and cottars. In 1829 the Duke of Hamilton had just cleared the population out of the Isle of Arran.SheilingorShealing, a hut used by shepherds, fishermen, or others for shelter when at work at a distance from home.

A degenerate Lord, &c. This refers to the eviction of the Highland crofters and cottars. In 1829 the Duke of Hamilton had just cleared the population out of the Isle of Arran.

SheilingorShealing, a hut used by shepherds, fishermen, or others for shelter when at work at a distance from home.

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might;Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.Tennyson(Locksley Hall).

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might;Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might;

Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.

Tennyson(Locksley Hall).

If thou wouldst have high God thy soul assureThat she herself shall as herself endure,Shall in no alien semblance, thine and wise,Fulfil her and be young in Paradise,One way I know; forget, forswear, disdainThine own best hopes, thine utmost loss and gain,Till when at last thou scarce rememberest nowIf on the earth be such a man as thou,Nor hast one thought of self-surrender,—no,For self is none remaining to forego,—If ever, then shall strong persuasion fallThat in thy giving thou hast gained thine all,Given the poor present, gained the boundless scope,And kept thee virgin for the further hope....When all base thoughts like frighted harpies flownIn her own beauty leave the soul alone;When Love,—not rosy-flushed as he began,But Love, still Love, the prisoned God in man,—Shows his face glorious, shakes his banner free,Cries like a captain for Eternity:—O halcyon air across the storms of youth,O trust him, he is true, he is one with Truth!Nay, is he Christ? I know not; no man knowsThe right name of the heavenly Anterôs,—But here is God, whatever God may be,And whomsoe’er we worship, this is He.F. W. Myers(The Implicit Promise of Immortality).

If thou wouldst have high God thy soul assure

That she herself shall as herself endure,

Shall in no alien semblance, thine and wise,

Fulfil her and be young in Paradise,

One way I know; forget, forswear, disdain

Thine own best hopes, thine utmost loss and gain,

Till when at last thou scarce rememberest now

If on the earth be such a man as thou,

Nor hast one thought of self-surrender,—no,

For self is none remaining to forego,—

If ever, then shall strong persuasion fall

That in thy giving thou hast gained thine all,

Given the poor present, gained the boundless scope,

And kept thee virgin for the further hope....

When all base thoughts like frighted harpies flown

In her own beauty leave the soul alone;

When Love,—not rosy-flushed as he began,

But Love, still Love, the prisoned God in man,—

Shows his face glorious, shakes his banner free,

Cries like a captain for Eternity:—

O halcyon air across the storms of youth,

O trust him, he is true, he is one with Truth!

Nay, is he Christ? I know not; no man knows

The right name of the heavenly Anterôs,—

But here is God, whatever God may be,

And whomsoe’er we worship, this is He.

F. W. Myers(The Implicit Promise of Immortality).

Anterôs is the god of mutual love, who punishes those who do not return the love of others, as otherwise his brother Erôs, god of love, will be unhappy.The fine poem from which this is quoted represents one of the phases of Myers’ experience. It was published in 1882, but written about ten years before. He had then lost his faith in Christianity, but believed in a future life on grounds based partly upon philosophy and partly on “vision.” He had those moments of exaltation when, as he says:The open secret flashes on the brain,As if one almost guessed it, almost knewWhence we have sailed and voyage whereunto.For entrance into the future life, Love and complete Self-surrender are the best equipment for the soul.

Anterôs is the god of mutual love, who punishes those who do not return the love of others, as otherwise his brother Erôs, god of love, will be unhappy.

The fine poem from which this is quoted represents one of the phases of Myers’ experience. It was published in 1882, but written about ten years before. He had then lost his faith in Christianity, but believed in a future life on grounds based partly upon philosophy and partly on “vision.” He had those moments of exaltation when, as he says:

The open secret flashes on the brain,As if one almost guessed it, almost knewWhence we have sailed and voyage whereunto.

The open secret flashes on the brain,

As if one almost guessed it, almost knew

Whence we have sailed and voyage whereunto.

For entrance into the future life, Love and complete Self-surrender are the best equipment for the soul.

But all through life I see a Cross,Where sons of God yield up their breath:There is no gain except by loss,There is no life except by death,There is no vision but by Faith.Nor glory but by bearing shame,Nor Justice but by taking blame;And that Eternal Passion saith,“Be emptied of glory and right and name.”W. C. Smith(Olrig Grange).

But all through life I see a Cross,

Where sons of God yield up their breath:

There is no gain except by loss,

There is no life except by death,

There is no vision but by Faith.

Nor glory but by bearing shame,

Nor Justice but by taking blame;

And that Eternal Passion saith,

“Be emptied of glory and right and name.”

W. C. Smith(Olrig Grange).

Life is short, and we have not too much time for gladdening the lives of those who are travelling the dark road with us. Oh, be swift to love, make haste to be kind.

Amiel’sJournal.

SELF-SACRIFICE

What though thine arm hath conquered in the fight,—What though the vanquished yield unto thy sway,Or riches garnered pave thy golden way,—Not therefore hast thou gained the sovran heightOf man’s nobility! No halo’s lightFrom these shall round thee shed its sacred ray;If these be all thy joy,—then dark thy day,And darker still thy swift approaching night!But if in thee more truly than in othersHath dwelt Love’s charity;—if by thine aidOthers have passed above thee, and if thou,Though victor, yieldest victory to thy brothers,Though conquering conquered, and a vassal made—Then take thy crown, well mayst thou wear it now.Samuel Waddington.

What though thine arm hath conquered in the fight,—

What though the vanquished yield unto thy sway,

Or riches garnered pave thy golden way,—

Not therefore hast thou gained the sovran height

Of man’s nobility! No halo’s light

From these shall round thee shed its sacred ray;

If these be all thy joy,—then dark thy day,

And darker still thy swift approaching night!

But if in thee more truly than in othersHath dwelt Love’s charity;—if by thine aidOthers have passed above thee, and if thou,Though victor, yieldest victory to thy brothers,Though conquering conquered, and a vassal made—Then take thy crown, well mayst thou wear it now.

But if in thee more truly than in others

Hath dwelt Love’s charity;—if by thine aid

Others have passed above thee, and if thou,

Though victor, yieldest victory to thy brothers,

Though conquering conquered, and a vassal made—

Then take thy crown, well mayst thou wear it now.

Samuel Waddington.

We bury decay in the earth; we plant in it the perishing; we feed it with offensive refuse: but nothing grows out of it that is not clean; it gives us back life and beauty.

Charles Dudley Warner(My Summer in a Garden).

SOUL’S BEAUTY

Under the arch of Life, where love and death,Terror and mystery guard her shrine, I sawBeauty enthroned; and though her gaze struck awe,I drew it in as simply as my breath.Hers are the eyes which, over and beneath,The sky and sea bend on thee,—which can draw,By sea or sky or woman, to one law,The allotted bondman of her palm and wreath.This is that Lady Beauty, in whose praiseThy voice and hand shake still,—long known to theeBy flying hair and fluttering hem,—the beatFollowing her daily of thy heart and feet,How passionately and irretrievably,In what fond flight, how many ways and days!D. G. Rossetti.

Under the arch of Life, where love and death,

Terror and mystery guard her shrine, I saw

Beauty enthroned; and though her gaze struck awe,

I drew it in as simply as my breath.

Hers are the eyes which, over and beneath,

The sky and sea bend on thee,—which can draw,

By sea or sky or woman, to one law,

The allotted bondman of her palm and wreath.

This is that Lady Beauty, in whose praise

Thy voice and hand shake still,—long known to thee

By flying hair and fluttering hem,—the beat

Following her daily of thy heart and feet,

How passionately and irretrievably,

In what fond flight, how many ways and days!

D. G. Rossetti.

Although Rossetti was not a classical student, he seems here to have arrived at the Platonic idea of an abstract Beauty, of whose essence are all beautiful things, “sea or sky or woman.” Love and death, terror and mystery guard her, as a goddess on her throne, and all lovers of the beautiful are worshippers at her shrine.

Thinking is only a dream of feeling; a dead feeling; a pale-grey, feeble life.

Novalis.

A whetstone cannot cut, but it makes iron sharp, and gives it a keen edge.

Isocrates(436-338B.C.).

This is quoted in Plutarch’sLives. Isocrates was asked why he taught rhetoric so much and yet spoke so rarely; and this was his reply. Horace (Ars Poetica304) playfully says that he is no longer able to write verses but he will teach others to write, adding “a whetstone is not used for cutting, but is used for sharpening steel nevertheless.”The career of Isocrates, “that old man eloquent,”[31]is extremely interesting. He preserved his energy and his influence to the end of his long life of 98 years.

The career of Isocrates, “that old man eloquent,”[31]is extremely interesting. He preserved his energy and his influence to the end of his long life of 98 years.

From too much love of living,From hope and fear set free,We thank with brief thanksgivingWhatever gods there beThat no life lives for ever;That dead men rise up never;That even the weariest riverWinds somewhere safe to sea.Swinburne(The Garden of Proserpine).

From too much love of living,

From hope and fear set free,

We thank with brief thanksgiving

Whatever gods there be

That no life lives for ever;

That dead men rise up never;

That even the weariest river

Winds somewhere safe to sea.

Swinburne(The Garden of Proserpine).

A very musical expression of a very ugly thought.

Women never betray themselves to men as they do to each other.

George Eliot(Middlemarch).

THE RETREAT

Happy those early days, when IShined in my Angel-infancy!Before I understood this placeAppointed for my second race,Or taught my soul to fancy aughtBut a white celestial thought:When yet I had not walk’d aboveA mile or two from my first Love,And looking back, at that short space,Could see a glimpse of His bright face:When on some gilded cloud or flowerMy gazing soul would dwell an hour,And in those weaker glories spySome shadows of eternity:Before I taught my tongue to woundMy Conscience with a sinful sound,Or had the black art to dispenseA several sin to ev’ry sense,But felt through all this fleshly dressBright shoots of everlastingness.O how I long to travel back,And tread again that ancient track!That I might once more reach that plainWhere first I left my glorious train;From whence th’ enlighten’d spirit seesThat shady City of Palm-trees!But ah! my soul with too much stayIs drunk, and staggers in the way!Some men a forward motion love,But I by backward steps would move;And when this dust falls to the urn,In that state I came, return.Henry Vaughan(1621-1695).

Happy those early days, when I

Shined in my Angel-infancy!

Before I understood this place

Appointed for my second race,

Or taught my soul to fancy aught

But a white celestial thought:

When yet I had not walk’d above

A mile or two from my first Love,

And looking back, at that short space,

Could see a glimpse of His bright face:

When on some gilded cloud or flower

My gazing soul would dwell an hour,

And in those weaker glories spy

Some shadows of eternity:

Before I taught my tongue to wound

My Conscience with a sinful sound,

Or had the black art to dispense

A several sin to ev’ry sense,

But felt through all this fleshly dress

Bright shoots of everlastingness.

O how I long to travel back,And tread again that ancient track!That I might once more reach that plainWhere first I left my glorious train;From whence th’ enlighten’d spirit seesThat shady City of Palm-trees!But ah! my soul with too much stayIs drunk, and staggers in the way!Some men a forward motion love,But I by backward steps would move;And when this dust falls to the urn,In that state I came, return.

O how I long to travel back,

And tread again that ancient track!

That I might once more reach that plain

Where first I left my glorious train;

From whence th’ enlighten’d spirit sees

That shady City of Palm-trees!

But ah! my soul with too much stay

Is drunk, and staggers in the way!

Some men a forward motion love,

But I by backward steps would move;

And when this dust falls to the urn,

In that state I came, return.

Henry Vaughan(1621-1695).

I include this poem, although it is in the anthologies, because from my own experience a young reader will not see its beauty without some words of explanation. It is the precursor of the greatest ode ever written, Wordsworth’sOde on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood. Wordsworth, Vaughan, and many others believe that we had a separate existence before we came into this world (and there is much in the experience of each of us to warrant that belief). Wordsworth says:Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,Hath had elsewhere its setting,And cometh from afar.But in order to appreciate either Wordsworth’s or Vaughan’s poem it is not necessary to have this belief in a past separate existence—it is enough to realize thatTrailing clouds of glory do we comeFrom God, who is our home.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,Hath had elsewhere its setting,And cometh from afar.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;

The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar.

But in order to appreciate either Wordsworth’s or Vaughan’s poem it is not necessary to have this belief in a past separate existence—it is enough to realize that

Trailing clouds of glory do we comeFrom God, who is our home.

Trailing clouds of glory do we come

From God, who is our home.

One may see the small value God has for riches by the people He gives them to.

Alexander Pope.

There’s a fancy some lean to and others hate—That, when this life is ended, beginsNew work for the soul in another state,Where it strives and gets weary, loses and wins:Where the strong and the weak, this world’s congeries,Repeat in large what they practised in small,Through life after life in unlimited series;Only the scale’s to be changed, that’s all.Yet I hardly know. When a soul has seenBy the means of Evil that Good is best,And, through earth and its noise, what is heaven’s serene,—When our faith in the same has stood the test—Why, the child grown man, you burn the rod,The uses of labour are surely done;There remaineth a rest for the people of God:And I have had troubles enough, for one.R. Browning(Old Pictures in Florence).

There’s a fancy some lean to and others hate—

That, when this life is ended, begins

New work for the soul in another state,

Where it strives and gets weary, loses and wins:

Where the strong and the weak, this world’s congeries,

Repeat in large what they practised in small,

Through life after life in unlimited series;

Only the scale’s to be changed, that’s all.

Yet I hardly know. When a soul has seenBy the means of Evil that Good is best,And, through earth and its noise, what is heaven’s serene,—When our faith in the same has stood the test—Why, the child grown man, you burn the rod,The uses of labour are surely done;There remaineth a rest for the people of God:And I have had troubles enough, for one.

Yet I hardly know. When a soul has seen

By the means of Evil that Good is best,

And, through earth and its noise, what is heaven’s serene,—

When our faith in the same has stood the test—

Why, the child grown man, you burn the rod,

The uses of labour are surely done;

There remaineth a rest for the people of God:

And I have had troubles enough, for one.

R. Browning(Old Pictures in Florence).

Browning in his last poem, the well-known “Epilogue,” speaks with another voice. He wishes his friends to think of him after death as he was when alive:—One who never turned his back but marched breast-forward.Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,Sleep to wake.No, at noonday in the bustle of man’s work-timeGreet the unseen with a cheer!Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,“Strive and thrive!” cry, “Speed,—fight on, fare ever,There as here!”F. W. H. Myers wrote:—We need a summons to no houri-haunted paradise, no passionless contemplation, no monotony of prayer and praise; but to endless advance by endless effort, and, if need be, by endless pain. Be it mine, then, to plunge among the unknown Destinies—to dare and still to dare!Emerson’s heaven also wasBuilt of furtherance and pursuing,Not of spent deeds, but of doing.(“Threnody.”)

Browning in his last poem, the well-known “Epilogue,” speaks with another voice. He wishes his friends to think of him after death as he was when alive:—

One who never turned his back but marched breast-forward.Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,Sleep to wake.No, at noonday in the bustle of man’s work-timeGreet the unseen with a cheer!Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,“Strive and thrive!” cry, “Speed,—fight on, fare ever,There as here!”

One who never turned his back but marched breast-forward.Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,Sleep to wake.

One who never turned his back but marched breast-forward.

Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,

Sleep to wake.

No, at noonday in the bustle of man’s work-timeGreet the unseen with a cheer!Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,“Strive and thrive!” cry, “Speed,—fight on, fare ever,There as here!”

No, at noonday in the bustle of man’s work-time

Greet the unseen with a cheer!

Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,

“Strive and thrive!” cry, “Speed,—fight on, fare ever,

There as here!”

F. W. H. Myers wrote:—

We need a summons to no houri-haunted paradise, no passionless contemplation, no monotony of prayer and praise; but to endless advance by endless effort, and, if need be, by endless pain. Be it mine, then, to plunge among the unknown Destinies—to dare and still to dare!

Emerson’s heaven also was

Built of furtherance and pursuing,Not of spent deeds, but of doing.(“Threnody.”)

Built of furtherance and pursuing,Not of spent deeds, but of doing.

Built of furtherance and pursuing,

Not of spent deeds, but of doing.

(“Threnody.”)

In life, Love comes first. Indeed,weonly come because Love calls for us. We find it waiting with outstretched arms on arrival. Love is the beginning of everything.

F. W. Boreham(Faces in the Fire).

Our daies are full of dolor and disease,Our life afflicted with incessant paine,That nought on earth may lessen or appease.Why then should I desire here to remaine?Or why should he that loves me, sorie beeFor my deliverence, or at all complaineMy good to hear, and tóward joyes to see?Edmund Spenser(Daphnaïda).

Our daies are full of dolor and disease,

Our life afflicted with incessant paine,

That nought on earth may lessen or appease.

Why then should I desire here to remaine?

Or why should he that loves me, sorie bee

For my deliverence, or at all complaine

My good to hear, and tóward joyes to see?

Edmund Spenser(Daphnaïda).

Tóward, “approaching.”

My closing remark is as to avoiding debates that are in their very nature interminable.... There is a certain intensity of emotion, interest, bias or prejudice if you will, that can neitherreason nor be reasoned with. On the purely intellectual side, the disqualifying circumstances are complexity and vagueness. If a topic necessarily hauls in numerous other topics of difficulty, the essay may do something for it, but not the debate. Worst of all is the presence of several large, ill-defined, and unsettled terms. A not unfrequent case is a combination of the several defects, each, perhaps, in a small degree. A tinge of predilection or party, a double or triple complication of doctrines, and one or two hazy terms will make a debate that is pretty sure to end as it began. Thus it is that a question, plausible to appearance, may contain within it capacities of misunderstanding, cross-purposes, and pointless issues, sufficient to occupy the long night of Pandemonium, or beguile the journey to the nearest fixed star.

Alexander Bain(Contemporary Review, April, 1877).

From an address to the Edinburgh University Philosophical Society.

Diogenes, seeing Neptune’s temple with votive pictures of those saved from wreck, says, “Yea, but where are they painted, that have been drowned?”

Bacon.

THE BELLE OF THE BALL-ROOM

I saw her at the County Ball:There, when the sounds of flute and fiddleGave signal sweet in that old hallOf hands across and down the middle,Hers was the subtlest spell by farOf all that set young hearts romancing;She was our queen, our rose, our star;And then she danced—O Heaven, her dancing!Through sunny May, through sultry June,I loved her with a love eternal;I spoke her praises to the moon,I wrote them to the Sunday Journal:My mother laugh’d: I soon found outThat ancient ladies have no feeling;My father frown’d: but how should goutSee any happiness in kneeling?...She smiled on many, just for fun,—I knew that there was nothing in it;I was the first—the only oneHer heart had thought of for a minute.—I knew it, for she told me so,In phrase which was divinely moulded;She wrote a charming hand,—and oh!How sweetly all her notes were folded!...We parted; months and years roll’d byWe met again four summers after:Our parting was all sob and sigh;Our meeting was all mirth and laughter:For in my heart’s most secret cellThere had been many other lodgers;And she was not the ball-room’s Belle,But only—Mrs. Something Rogers!W. M. Praed.

I saw her at the County Ball:

There, when the sounds of flute and fiddle

Gave signal sweet in that old hall

Of hands across and down the middle,

Hers was the subtlest spell by far

Of all that set young hearts romancing;

She was our queen, our rose, our star;

And then she danced—O Heaven, her dancing!

Through sunny May, through sultry June,I loved her with a love eternal;I spoke her praises to the moon,I wrote them to the Sunday Journal:My mother laugh’d: I soon found outThat ancient ladies have no feeling;My father frown’d: but how should goutSee any happiness in kneeling?...

Through sunny May, through sultry June,

I loved her with a love eternal;

I spoke her praises to the moon,

I wrote them to the Sunday Journal:

My mother laugh’d: I soon found out

That ancient ladies have no feeling;

My father frown’d: but how should gout

See any happiness in kneeling?...

She smiled on many, just for fun,—I knew that there was nothing in it;I was the first—the only oneHer heart had thought of for a minute.—I knew it, for she told me so,In phrase which was divinely moulded;She wrote a charming hand,—and oh!How sweetly all her notes were folded!...We parted; months and years roll’d byWe met again four summers after:Our parting was all sob and sigh;Our meeting was all mirth and laughter:For in my heart’s most secret cellThere had been many other lodgers;And she was not the ball-room’s Belle,But only—Mrs. Something Rogers!

She smiled on many, just for fun,—

I knew that there was nothing in it;

I was the first—the only one

Her heart had thought of for a minute.—

I knew it, for she told me so,

In phrase which was divinely moulded;

She wrote a charming hand,—and oh!

How sweetly all her notes were folded!

...

We parted; months and years roll’d by

We met again four summers after:

Our parting was all sob and sigh;

Our meeting was all mirth and laughter:

For in my heart’s most secret cell

There had been many other lodgers;

And she was not the ball-room’s Belle,

But only—Mrs. Something Rogers!

W. M. Praed.

A canon of my own in judging verses is that no man has a right to put into metre what he can as well say out of metre. To which I may add, as a corollary, thata fortiorehe has no right to put into metre what he can better say out of metre.

W. S. Lilly(Essay on George Eliot).

Aujourd’hui, ce qui ne vaut pas la peine d’être dit, on le chante.

(Now-a-days when a thing is not worth saying they sing it—i.e.put it in a song.)

Beaumarchais(Le Barbier de Séville, Act I. Sc. I.)

I do not know whether I gave you at any time the details of my work here, or the principles upon which I have been proceeding.... Some of the work set down includes Ancient Ethics—which is almost entirely grossly wrong and great rubbish also. This part I have persistently refused to get up, not because I disliked it, but because it is decidedly injurious to warp andtwist the brain by impressing it with wrong thoughts and systems—just as it would be insane in the polisher of a mirror to think it would reflect the external world more truly, if he gave it a dint here, a scratch there, a bulge in another place, and so forth. It would take me too long to describe the details. Suffice it to say that one of the examiners in Mental Philosophy and in Moral and Political Philosophy is an old,blind(literally) man of the old school, who gave a very abnormally large amount of questions relating to Ancient Ethics, and an abnormally large amount to theearlypart of English Ethics—leaving hardly any marks to be scored by thorough understanding and ability to use the principles of the subjects.

The consequence was that those, who had crammed up the earlier text-books and could reproduce them, had an enormous advantage. This old fogey moreover is strongly anti-Spencerian. Indeed I heard that he had objected to my answers because “there was too much of Spencer and myself!” So that instead ofcriticism and originality, he avowedly preferredmere reproduction, a good example of the slavishness of that method of examination predominant mostly, which, as Spencer wrote to me some time ago, is devised for testing a man’s “power of acquisition instead of using that which has been acquired.”

Richard Hodgson(1855-1905) (Letter, Dec., 1881).

This letter was written to me from Cambridge, when Hodgson (see Preface) had found his immediate prospects blasted by the results of the Moral Science Tripos. No one was placed in the First Class and he (although at the head of the Tripos) only in the Second Class. This meant that he had no hope of a Fellowship, which would have enabled him to go on with original work in philosophy, and he would have to employ his time in earning a livelihood. Added to this was the cruel disappointment to his family and friends.Hodgson was one of the most gifted men that Australia has produced. He had completed his M.A. and LL.D. courses in Melbourne by 1877, when he was twenty-two years of age, and then, discarding the profession of the law, left for Cambridge to read Mental and Moral Science. While still an undergraduate there he had written an article in reply to T. H. Green, and submitted it to Herbert Spencer, who highly approved of it, and sent it to theContemporary. However, as stated above, Hodgson’s immediate future depended on the result of the examination. (He was at the time preparing one of the articles he contributed toMind, and had in view further original work.)When the result of the Tripos appeared, Henry Sidgwick and Venn who were then Lecturers and by far the best Moral Science men in Cambridge, came to sympathize with Hodgson, on the unfair result. They urged him to go to Germany so that he might acquire that perfect command of the German language which was necessary for his philosophic work. On learning that he was not in a position to do this, Sidgwickinsisted—as he said, “in the interests of philosophy”—on defrayingthe whole of the expensesof Hodgson’s residence in Germany. As he insisted strongly, Hodgson accepted the offer, and went to Jena, armed with a very flattering letter of introduction from Herbert Spencer to Haeckel.Almost immediately after his return from Germany the Society for Psychical Research was founded, and Hodgson joined it. He came to the conclusion that the work of this Society was more important than any other study, while probably it would also be of fundamental assistance to philosophy. He went out to India in 1884, and thoroughly exposed Madame Blavatsky and her “Theosophy,” and, from about 1886, devoted the rest of his life to Psychical Research. Although maintaining his reading and his intimacy with Henry Sidgwick, William James, and others, his services practically became lost to philosophy. This, however, does not affect the important fact illustrated by the Tripos incident. We learn what ineptitude can exist in a great university, and what grave results must necessarily follow therefrom.Although Hodgson was writing under stress of a grievous calamity (yet with a dauntless heart—see verse on Dedication page), his remarks on Ancient Ethics are not, in my opinion, exaggerated.Herbert Spencer’s remark to Hodgson about examinations may also be noted.

Hodgson was one of the most gifted men that Australia has produced. He had completed his M.A. and LL.D. courses in Melbourne by 1877, when he was twenty-two years of age, and then, discarding the profession of the law, left for Cambridge to read Mental and Moral Science. While still an undergraduate there he had written an article in reply to T. H. Green, and submitted it to Herbert Spencer, who highly approved of it, and sent it to theContemporary. However, as stated above, Hodgson’s immediate future depended on the result of the examination. (He was at the time preparing one of the articles he contributed toMind, and had in view further original work.)

When the result of the Tripos appeared, Henry Sidgwick and Venn who were then Lecturers and by far the best Moral Science men in Cambridge, came to sympathize with Hodgson, on the unfair result. They urged him to go to Germany so that he might acquire that perfect command of the German language which was necessary for his philosophic work. On learning that he was not in a position to do this, Sidgwickinsisted—as he said, “in the interests of philosophy”—on defrayingthe whole of the expensesof Hodgson’s residence in Germany. As he insisted strongly, Hodgson accepted the offer, and went to Jena, armed with a very flattering letter of introduction from Herbert Spencer to Haeckel.

Almost immediately after his return from Germany the Society for Psychical Research was founded, and Hodgson joined it. He came to the conclusion that the work of this Society was more important than any other study, while probably it would also be of fundamental assistance to philosophy. He went out to India in 1884, and thoroughly exposed Madame Blavatsky and her “Theosophy,” and, from about 1886, devoted the rest of his life to Psychical Research. Although maintaining his reading and his intimacy with Henry Sidgwick, William James, and others, his services practically became lost to philosophy. This, however, does not affect the important fact illustrated by the Tripos incident. We learn what ineptitude can exist in a great university, and what grave results must necessarily follow therefrom.

Although Hodgson was writing under stress of a grievous calamity (yet with a dauntless heart—see verse on Dedication page), his remarks on Ancient Ethics are not, in my opinion, exaggerated.

Herbert Spencer’s remark to Hodgson about examinations may also be noted.

Prometheus.And thou, O Mother Earth!Earth.I hear, I feelThy lips are on me, and their touch runs downEven to the adamantine central gloomAlong these marble nerves; ’tis life, ’tis joy,And, through my withered, old, and icy frameThe warmth of an immortal youth shoots downCircling. Henceforth the many children fairFolded in my sustaining arms; all plants,And creeping forms, and insects rainbow-winged,And birds, and beasts, and fish, and human shapes,Which drew disease and pain from my wan bosomDraining the poison of despair, shall takeAnd interchange sweet nutriment.Shelley(Prometheus Unbound, III, 3).

Prometheus.And thou, O Mother Earth!

Earth.I hear, I feel

Thy lips are on me, and their touch runs down

Even to the adamantine central gloom

Along these marble nerves; ’tis life, ’tis joy,

And, through my withered, old, and icy frame

The warmth of an immortal youth shoots down

Circling. Henceforth the many children fair

Folded in my sustaining arms; all plants,

And creeping forms, and insects rainbow-winged,

And birds, and beasts, and fish, and human shapes,

Which drew disease and pain from my wan bosom

Draining the poison of despair, shall take

And interchange sweet nutriment.

Shelley(Prometheus Unbound, III, 3).

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