POEMS ON LIFE AND DUTY.

Duty—that’s to say, complyingWith whate’er’s expected here;On your unknown cousin’s dying,Straight be ready with the tear;Upon etiquette relying,Unto usage nought denying,Lend your waist to be embraced,Blush not even, never fear;Claims of kith and kin connection,Claims of manners honour still,Ready money of affectionPay, whoever drew the bill.With the form conforming duly,Senseless what it meaneth truly,Go to church—the world require you,To balls—the world require you too,And marry—papa and mamma desire you,And your sisters and schoolfellows do.Duty—’tis to take on trustWhat things are good, and right, and just;And whether indeed they be or be not,Try not, test not, feel not, see not:’Tis walk and dance, sit down and riseBy leading, opening ne’er your eyes;Stunt sturdy limbs that Nature gave,And be drawn in a Bath chair along to the grave.’Tis the stern and prompt suppressingAs an obvious deadly sin,All the questing and the guessingOf the soul’s own soul within:’Tis the coward acquiescenceIn a destiny’s behest,To a shade by terror made,Sacrificing, aye, the essenceOf all that’s truest, noblest, best:’Tis the blind non-recognitionOr of goodness, truth, or beauty,Save by precept and submission;Moral blank, and moral void,Life at very birth destroyed.Atrophy, exinanition!Duty!Yea, by duty’s prime conditionPure nonentity of duty!

Duty—that’s to say, complying

With whate’er’s expected here;

On your unknown cousin’s dying,

Straight be ready with the tear;

Upon etiquette relying,

Unto usage nought denying,

Lend your waist to be embraced,

Blush not even, never fear;

Claims of kith and kin connection,

Claims of manners honour still,

Ready money of affection

Pay, whoever drew the bill.

With the form conforming duly,

Senseless what it meaneth truly,

Go to church—the world require you,

To balls—the world require you too,

And marry—papa and mamma desire you,

And your sisters and schoolfellows do.

Duty—’tis to take on trust

What things are good, and right, and just;

And whether indeed they be or be not,

Try not, test not, feel not, see not:

’Tis walk and dance, sit down and rise

By leading, opening ne’er your eyes;

Stunt sturdy limbs that Nature gave,

And be drawn in a Bath chair along to the grave.

’Tis the stern and prompt suppressing

As an obvious deadly sin,

All the questing and the guessing

Of the soul’s own soul within:

’Tis the coward acquiescence

In a destiny’s behest,

To a shade by terror made,

Sacrificing, aye, the essence

Of all that’s truest, noblest, best:

’Tis the blind non-recognition

Or of goodness, truth, or beauty,

Save by precept and submission;

Moral blank, and moral void,

Life at very birth destroyed.

Atrophy, exinanition!

Duty!

Yea, by duty’s prime condition

Pure nonentity of duty!

To wear out heart, and nerves, and brain,And give oneself a world of pain;Be eager, angry, fierce, and hot,Imperious, supple—God knows what,For what’s all one to have or not;O false, unwise, absurd, and vain!For ’tis not joy, it is not gain,It is not in itself a bliss,Only it is precisely thisThat keeps us all alive.To say we truly feel the pain,And quite are sinking with the strain;—Entirely, simply, undeceived,Believe, and say we ne’er believedThe object, e’en were it achieved,A thing we e’er had cared to keep;With heart and soul to hold it cheap,And then to go and try it again;O false, unwise, absurd, and vain!O, ’tis not joy, and ’tis not bliss,Only it is precisely thisThat keeps us still alive.

To wear out heart, and nerves, and brain,

And give oneself a world of pain;

Be eager, angry, fierce, and hot,

Imperious, supple—God knows what,

For what’s all one to have or not;

O false, unwise, absurd, and vain!

For ’tis not joy, it is not gain,

It is not in itself a bliss,

Only it is precisely this

That keeps us all alive.

To say we truly feel the pain,And quite are sinking with the strain;—Entirely, simply, undeceived,Believe, and say we ne’er believedThe object, e’en were it achieved,A thing we e’er had cared to keep;With heart and soul to hold it cheap,And then to go and try it again;O false, unwise, absurd, and vain!O, ’tis not joy, and ’tis not bliss,Only it is precisely thisThat keeps us still alive.

To say we truly feel the pain,

And quite are sinking with the strain;—

Entirely, simply, undeceived,

Believe, and say we ne’er believed

The object, e’en were it achieved,

A thing we e’er had cared to keep;

With heart and soul to hold it cheap,

And then to go and try it again;

O false, unwise, absurd, and vain!

O, ’tis not joy, and ’tis not bliss,

Only it is precisely this

That keeps us still alive.

Each for himself is still the rule;We learn it when we go to school—The devil take the hindmost, O!And when the schoolboys grow to men,In life they learn it o’er again—The devil take the hindmost, O!For in the church, and at the bar,On ’Change, at court, where’er they are,The devil takes the hindmost, O!Husband for husband, wife for wife,Are careful that in married lifeThe devil takes the hindmost, O!From youth to age, whate’er the game,The unvarying practice is the same—The devil takes the hindmost, O!And after death, we do not know,But scarce can doubt, where’er we go,The devil takes the hindmost, O!Ti rol de rol, ti rol de ro,The devil take the hindmost, O!

Each for himself is still the rule;We learn it when we go to school—The devil take the hindmost, O!

Each for himself is still the rule;

We learn it when we go to school—

The devil take the hindmost, O!

And when the schoolboys grow to men,In life they learn it o’er again—The devil take the hindmost, O!

And when the schoolboys grow to men,

In life they learn it o’er again—

The devil take the hindmost, O!

For in the church, and at the bar,On ’Change, at court, where’er they are,The devil takes the hindmost, O!

For in the church, and at the bar,

On ’Change, at court, where’er they are,

The devil takes the hindmost, O!

Husband for husband, wife for wife,Are careful that in married lifeThe devil takes the hindmost, O!

Husband for husband, wife for wife,

Are careful that in married life

The devil takes the hindmost, O!

From youth to age, whate’er the game,The unvarying practice is the same—The devil takes the hindmost, O!

From youth to age, whate’er the game,

The unvarying practice is the same—

The devil takes the hindmost, O!

And after death, we do not know,But scarce can doubt, where’er we go,The devil takes the hindmost, O!

And after death, we do not know,

But scarce can doubt, where’er we go,

The devil takes the hindmost, O!

Ti rol de rol, ti rol de ro,The devil take the hindmost, O!

Ti rol de rol, ti rol de ro,

The devil take the hindmost, O!

Thou shalt have one God only; whoWould be at the expense of two?No graven images may beWorshipped, except the currency:Swear not at all; for, for thy curseThine enemy is none the worse:At church on Sunday to attendWill serve to keep the world thy friend:Honour thy parents; that is, allFrom whom advancement may befall;Thou shalt not kill; but need’st not striveOfficiously to keep alive:Do not adultery commit;Advantage rarely comes of it:Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat,When it’s so lucrative to cheat:Bear not false witness; let the lieHave time on its own wings to fly:Thou shalt not covet, but traditionApproves all forms of competition.

Thou shalt have one God only; who

Would be at the expense of two?

No graven images may be

Worshipped, except the currency:

Swear not at all; for, for thy curse

Thine enemy is none the worse:

At church on Sunday to attend

Will serve to keep the world thy friend:

Honour thy parents; that is, all

From whom advancement may befall;

Thou shalt not kill; but need’st not strive

Officiously to keep alive:

Do not adultery commit;

Advantage rarely comes of it:

Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat,

When it’s so lucrative to cheat:

Bear not false witness; let the lie

Have time on its own wings to fly:

Thou shalt not covet, but tradition

Approves all forms of competition.

The human spirits saw I on a day,Sitting and looking each a different way;And hardly tasking, subtly questioning,Another spirit went around the ringTo each and each: and as he ceased his say,Each after each, I heard them singly sing,Some querulously high, some softly, sadly low,We know not—what avails to know?We know not—wherefore need we know?This answer gave they still unto his suing,We know not, let us do as we are doing.Dost thou not know that these things only seem?—I know not, let me dream my dream.Are dust and ashes fit to make a treasure?—I know not, let me take my pleasure.What shall avail the knowledge thou hast sought?—I know not, let me think my thought.What is the end of strife?—I know not, let me live my life.How many days or e’er thou mean’st to move?—I know not, let me love my love.Were not things old once new?—I know not, let me do as others do.And when the rest were over past,I know not, I will do my duty, said the last.Thy duty do? rejoined the voice,Ah, do it, do it, and rejoice;But shalt thou then, when all is done,Enjoy a love, embrace a beautyLike these, that may be seen and wonIn life, whose course will then be run;Or wilt thou be where there is none?I know not, I will do my duty.And taking up the word around, above, below,Some querulously high, some softly, sadly low,We know not, sang they all, nor ever need we know;We know not, sang they, what avails to know?Whereat the questioning spirit, some short space,Though unabashed, stood quiet in his place.But as the echoing chorus died awayAnd to their dreams the rest returned apace,By the one spirit I saw him kneeling low,And in a silvery whisper heard him say:Truly, thou know’st not, and thou need’st not know;Hope only, hope thou, and believe alway;I also know not, and I need not know,Only with questionings pass I to and fro,Perplexing these that sleep, and in their follyImbreeding doubt and sceptic melancholy;Till that, their dreams deserting, they with meCome all to this true ignorance and thee.1847

The human spirits saw I on a day,

Sitting and looking each a different way;

And hardly tasking, subtly questioning,

Another spirit went around the ring

To each and each: and as he ceased his say,

Each after each, I heard them singly sing,

Some querulously high, some softly, sadly low,

We know not—what avails to know?

We know not—wherefore need we know?

This answer gave they still unto his suing,

We know not, let us do as we are doing.

Dost thou not know that these things only seem?—

I know not, let me dream my dream.

Are dust and ashes fit to make a treasure?—

I know not, let me take my pleasure.

What shall avail the knowledge thou hast sought?—

I know not, let me think my thought.

What is the end of strife?—

I know not, let me live my life.

How many days or e’er thou mean’st to move?—

I know not, let me love my love.

Were not things old once new?—

I know not, let me do as others do.

And when the rest were over past,

I know not, I will do my duty, said the last.

Thy duty do? rejoined the voice,Ah, do it, do it, and rejoice;But shalt thou then, when all is done,Enjoy a love, embrace a beautyLike these, that may be seen and wonIn life, whose course will then be run;Or wilt thou be where there is none?I know not, I will do my duty.

Thy duty do? rejoined the voice,

Ah, do it, do it, and rejoice;

But shalt thou then, when all is done,

Enjoy a love, embrace a beauty

Like these, that may be seen and won

In life, whose course will then be run;

Or wilt thou be where there is none?

I know not, I will do my duty.

And taking up the word around, above, below,Some querulously high, some softly, sadly low,We know not, sang they all, nor ever need we know;We know not, sang they, what avails to know?Whereat the questioning spirit, some short space,Though unabashed, stood quiet in his place.But as the echoing chorus died awayAnd to their dreams the rest returned apace,By the one spirit I saw him kneeling low,And in a silvery whisper heard him say:Truly, thou know’st not, and thou need’st not know;Hope only, hope thou, and believe alway;I also know not, and I need not know,Only with questionings pass I to and fro,Perplexing these that sleep, and in their follyImbreeding doubt and sceptic melancholy;Till that, their dreams deserting, they with meCome all to this true ignorance and thee.

And taking up the word around, above, below,

Some querulously high, some softly, sadly low,

We know not, sang they all, nor ever need we know;

We know not, sang they, what avails to know?

Whereat the questioning spirit, some short space,

Though unabashed, stood quiet in his place.

But as the echoing chorus died away

And to their dreams the rest returned apace,

By the one spirit I saw him kneeling low,

And in a silvery whisper heard him say:

Truly, thou know’st not, and thou need’st not know;

Hope only, hope thou, and believe alway;

I also know not, and I need not know,

Only with questionings pass I to and fro,

Perplexing these that sleep, and in their folly

Imbreeding doubt and sceptic melancholy;

Till that, their dreams deserting, they with me

Come all to this true ignorance and thee.

1847

I saw again the spirits on a day,Where on the earth in mournful case they lay;Five porches were there, and a pool, and round,Huddling in blankets, strewn upon the ground,Tied-up and bandaged, weary, sore and spent,The maimed and halt, diseased and impotent.For a great angel came, ’twas said, and stirredThe pool at certain seasons, and the wordWas, with this people of the sick, that theyWho in the waters here their limbs should layBefore the motion on the surface ceasedShould of their torment straightway be released.So with shrunk bodies and with heads down-dropt,Stretched on the steps, and at the pillars propt,Watching by day and listening through the night,They filled the place, a miserable sight.And I beheld that on the stony floorHe too, that spoke of duty once before,No otherwise than others here to-day,Foredone and sick and sadly muttering lay.‘I know not, I will do—what is it I would say?What was that word which once sufficed alone for all,Which now I seek in vain, and never can recall?’And then, as weary of in vain renewingHis question, thus his mournful thought pursuing,‘I know not, I must do as other men are doing.’But what the waters of that pool might be,Of Lethe were they, or Philosophy;And whether he, long waiting, did attainDeliverance from the burden of his painThere with the rest; or whether, yet before,Some more diviner stranger passed the doorWith his small company into that sad place,And breathing hope into the sick man’s face,Bade him take up his bed, and rise and go,What the end were, and whether it were so,Further than this I saw not, neither know.1849

I saw again the spirits on a day,

Where on the earth in mournful case they lay;

Five porches were there, and a pool, and round,

Huddling in blankets, strewn upon the ground,

Tied-up and bandaged, weary, sore and spent,

The maimed and halt, diseased and impotent.

For a great angel came, ’twas said, and stirred

The pool at certain seasons, and the word

Was, with this people of the sick, that they

Who in the waters here their limbs should lay

Before the motion on the surface ceased

Should of their torment straightway be released.

So with shrunk bodies and with heads down-dropt,

Stretched on the steps, and at the pillars propt,

Watching by day and listening through the night,

They filled the place, a miserable sight.

And I beheld that on the stony floorHe too, that spoke of duty once before,No otherwise than others here to-day,Foredone and sick and sadly muttering lay.‘I know not, I will do—what is it I would say?What was that word which once sufficed alone for all,Which now I seek in vain, and never can recall?’And then, as weary of in vain renewingHis question, thus his mournful thought pursuing,‘I know not, I must do as other men are doing.’

And I beheld that on the stony floor

He too, that spoke of duty once before,

No otherwise than others here to-day,

Foredone and sick and sadly muttering lay.

‘I know not, I will do—what is it I would say?

What was that word which once sufficed alone for all,

Which now I seek in vain, and never can recall?’

And then, as weary of in vain renewing

His question, thus his mournful thought pursuing,

‘I know not, I must do as other men are doing.’

But what the waters of that pool might be,Of Lethe were they, or Philosophy;And whether he, long waiting, did attainDeliverance from the burden of his painThere with the rest; or whether, yet before,Some more diviner stranger passed the doorWith his small company into that sad place,And breathing hope into the sick man’s face,Bade him take up his bed, and rise and go,What the end were, and whether it were so,Further than this I saw not, neither know.

But what the waters of that pool might be,

Of Lethe were they, or Philosophy;

And whether he, long waiting, did attain

Deliverance from the burden of his pain

There with the rest; or whether, yet before,

Some more diviner stranger passed the door

With his small company into that sad place,

And breathing hope into the sick man’s face,

Bade him take up his bed, and rise and go,

What the end were, and whether it were so,

Further than this I saw not, neither know.

1849

Hope evermore and believe, O man, for e’en as thy thoughtSo are the things that thou see’st; e’en as thy hope and belief.Cowardly art thou and timid? they rise to provoke thee against them;Hast thou courage? enough, see them exulting to yield.Yea, the rough rock, the dull earth, the wild sea’s furying waters(Violent say’st thou and hard, mighty thou think’st to destroy),All with ineffable longing are waiting their Invader,All, with one varying voice, call to him, Come and subdue;Still for their Conqueror call, and, but for the joy of being conquered(Rapture they will not forego), dare to resist and rebel;Still, when resisting and raging, in soft undervoice say unto him,Fear not, retire not, O man; hope evermore and believe.Go from the east to the west, as the sun and the stars direct thee,Go with the girdle of man, go and encompass the earth.Not for the gain of the gold; for the getting, the hoarding, the having,But for the joy of the deed; but for the Duty to do.Go with the spiritual life, the higher volition and action,With the great girdle of God, go and encompass the earth.Go; say not in thy heart, And what then were it accomplished,Were the wild impulse allayed, what were the use or the good!Go, when the instinct is stilled, and when the deed is accomplished,What thou hast done and shalt do, shall be declared to thee then.Go with the sun and the stars, and yet evermore in thy spiritSay to thyself: It is good: yet is there better than it.This that I see is not all, and this that I do is but little;Nevertheless it is good, though there is better than it.

Hope evermore and believe, O man, for e’en as thy thought

So are the things that thou see’st; e’en as thy hope and belief.

Cowardly art thou and timid? they rise to provoke thee against them;

Hast thou courage? enough, see them exulting to yield.

Yea, the rough rock, the dull earth, the wild sea’s furying waters

(Violent say’st thou and hard, mighty thou think’st to destroy),

All with ineffable longing are waiting their Invader,

All, with one varying voice, call to him, Come and subdue;

Still for their Conqueror call, and, but for the joy of being conquered

(Rapture they will not forego), dare to resist and rebel;

Still, when resisting and raging, in soft undervoice say unto him,

Fear not, retire not, O man; hope evermore and believe.

Go from the east to the west, as the sun and the stars direct thee,Go with the girdle of man, go and encompass the earth.Not for the gain of the gold; for the getting, the hoarding, the having,But for the joy of the deed; but for the Duty to do.Go with the spiritual life, the higher volition and action,With the great girdle of God, go and encompass the earth.

Go from the east to the west, as the sun and the stars direct thee,

Go with the girdle of man, go and encompass the earth.

Not for the gain of the gold; for the getting, the hoarding, the having,

But for the joy of the deed; but for the Duty to do.

Go with the spiritual life, the higher volition and action,

With the great girdle of God, go and encompass the earth.

Go; say not in thy heart, And what then were it accomplished,Were the wild impulse allayed, what were the use or the good!Go, when the instinct is stilled, and when the deed is accomplished,What thou hast done and shalt do, shall be declared to thee then.Go with the sun and the stars, and yet evermore in thy spiritSay to thyself: It is good: yet is there better than it.This that I see is not all, and this that I do is but little;Nevertheless it is good, though there is better than it.

Go; say not in thy heart, And what then were it accomplished,

Were the wild impulse allayed, what were the use or the good!

Go, when the instinct is stilled, and when the deed is accomplished,

What thou hast done and shalt do, shall be declared to thee then.

Go with the sun and the stars, and yet evermore in thy spirit

Say to thyself: It is good: yet is there better than it.

This that I see is not all, and this that I do is but little;

Nevertheless it is good, though there is better than it.

O happy they whose hearts receiveThe implanted word with faith; believeBecause their fathers did before,Because they learnt, and ask no more.High triumphs of convictions wrought,And won by individual thought;The joy, delusive oft, but keen,Of having with our own eyes seen,What if they have not felt nor knownAn amplitude instead they own,By no self-binding ordinance prestTo toil in labour they detest:By no deceiving reasoning tiedOr this or that way to decide.O happy they! above their headThe glory of the unseen is spread;Their happy heart is free to rangeThro’ largest tracts of pleasant change;Their intellects encradled lieIn boundless possibility.For impulses of varying kindsThe Ancient Home a lodging finds:Each appetite our nature breeds,It meets with viands for its needs.Oh happy they! nor need they fearThe wordy strife that rages near:All reason wastes by day, and more,Will instinct in a night restore.O happy, so their state but giveA clue by which a man can live;O blest, unless ’tis proved by factA dream impossible to act.

O happy they whose hearts receive

The implanted word with faith; believe

Because their fathers did before,

Because they learnt, and ask no more.

High triumphs of convictions wrought,

And won by individual thought;

The joy, delusive oft, but keen,

Of having with our own eyes seen,

What if they have not felt nor known

An amplitude instead they own,

By no self-binding ordinance prest

To toil in labour they detest:

By no deceiving reasoning tied

Or this or that way to decide.

O happy they! above their headThe glory of the unseen is spread;Their happy heart is free to rangeThro’ largest tracts of pleasant change;Their intellects encradled lieIn boundless possibility.For impulses of varying kindsThe Ancient Home a lodging finds:Each appetite our nature breeds,It meets with viands for its needs.

O happy they! above their head

The glory of the unseen is spread;

Their happy heart is free to range

Thro’ largest tracts of pleasant change;

Their intellects encradled lie

In boundless possibility.

For impulses of varying kinds

The Ancient Home a lodging finds:

Each appetite our nature breeds,

It meets with viands for its needs.

Oh happy they! nor need they fearThe wordy strife that rages near:All reason wastes by day, and more,Will instinct in a night restore.O happy, so their state but giveA clue by which a man can live;O blest, unless ’tis proved by factA dream impossible to act.

Oh happy they! nor need they fear

The wordy strife that rages near:

All reason wastes by day, and more,

Will instinct in a night restore.

O happy, so their state but give

A clue by which a man can live;

O blest, unless ’tis proved by fact

A dream impossible to act.

Say, will it, when our hairs are grey,And wintry suns half light the day,Which cheering hope and strengthening trustHave left, departed, turned to dust,—Say, will it soothe lone years to extractFrom fitful shows with sense exactTheir sad residuum, small, of fact?Will trembling nerves their solace findIn plain conclusions of the mind?Or errant fancies fond, that stillTo fretful motions prompt the will,Repose upon effect and cause,And action of unvarying laws,And human life’s familiar doom,And on the all-concluding tomb?Or were it to our kind and race,And our instructive selves, disgraceTo wander then once more in you,Green fields, beneath the pleasant blue;To dream as we were used to dream,And let things be whate’er they seem?O feeble shapes of beggars greyThat, tottering on the public way,Die out in doting, dim decay,Is it to you when all is pastOur would-be wisdom turns at last?

Say, will it, when our hairs are grey,

And wintry suns half light the day,

Which cheering hope and strengthening trust

Have left, departed, turned to dust,—

Say, will it soothe lone years to extract

From fitful shows with sense exact

Their sad residuum, small, of fact?

Will trembling nerves their solace find

In plain conclusions of the mind?

Or errant fancies fond, that still

To fretful motions prompt the will,

Repose upon effect and cause,

And action of unvarying laws,

And human life’s familiar doom,

And on the all-concluding tomb?

Or were it to our kind and race,And our instructive selves, disgraceTo wander then once more in you,Green fields, beneath the pleasant blue;To dream as we were used to dream,And let things be whate’er they seem?

Or were it to our kind and race,

And our instructive selves, disgrace

To wander then once more in you,

Green fields, beneath the pleasant blue;

To dream as we were used to dream,

And let things be whate’er they seem?

O feeble shapes of beggars greyThat, tottering on the public way,Die out in doting, dim decay,Is it to you when all is pastOur would-be wisdom turns at last?

O feeble shapes of beggars grey

That, tottering on the public way,

Die out in doting, dim decay,

Is it to you when all is past

Our would-be wisdom turns at last?

Whence are ye, vague desires,Which carry men along,However proud and strong;Which, having ruled to-day,To-morrow pass away?Whence are ye, vague desires?Whence are ye?Which women, yielding to,Find still so good and true;So true, so good to-day,To-morrow gone away,Whence are ye, vague desires?Whence are ye?From seats of bliss above,Where angels sing of love;From subtle airs around,Or from the vulgar ground,Whence are ye, vague desires?Whence are ye?A message from the blest,Or bodily unrest;A call to heavenly good,A fever in the blood:What are ye, vague desires?What are ye?Which men who know you bestAre proof against the least,And rushing on to-day,To-morrow cast away.What are ye, vague desires?What are ye?Which women, ever new,Still warned, surrender to;Adored with you to-day,Then cast with you away,What are ye, vague desires?What are ye?Which unto boyhood’s heartThe force of man impart,And pass, and leave it cold,And prematurely old,What are ye, vague desires?What are ye?Which, tremblingly confest,Pour in the young girl’s breastJoy, joy—the like is none,And leave her then undone—What are ye, vague desires?What are ye?Ah yet! though man be marred,Ignoble made, and hard;Though broken women lieIn anguish down to die;Ah yet! ye vague desires,Ah yet!By Him who gave you birth,And blended you with earth,Was some good end designedFor man and womankind;Ah yet! ye vague desires,Ah yet!The petals of to-day,To-morrow fallen away,Shall something leave instead,To live when they are dead;When you, ye vague desires,Have vanished;A something to survive,Of you though it deriveApparent earthly birth,But of far other worthThan you, ye vague desires,Than you.

Whence are ye, vague desires,Which carry men along,However proud and strong;Which, having ruled to-day,To-morrow pass away?Whence are ye, vague desires?Whence are ye?

Whence are ye, vague desires,

Which carry men along,

However proud and strong;

Which, having ruled to-day,

To-morrow pass away?

Whence are ye, vague desires?

Whence are ye?

Which women, yielding to,Find still so good and true;So true, so good to-day,To-morrow gone away,Whence are ye, vague desires?Whence are ye?

Which women, yielding to,

Find still so good and true;

So true, so good to-day,

To-morrow gone away,

Whence are ye, vague desires?

Whence are ye?

From seats of bliss above,Where angels sing of love;From subtle airs around,Or from the vulgar ground,Whence are ye, vague desires?Whence are ye?

From seats of bliss above,

Where angels sing of love;

From subtle airs around,

Or from the vulgar ground,

Whence are ye, vague desires?

Whence are ye?

A message from the blest,Or bodily unrest;A call to heavenly good,A fever in the blood:What are ye, vague desires?What are ye?

A message from the blest,

Or bodily unrest;

A call to heavenly good,

A fever in the blood:

What are ye, vague desires?

What are ye?

Which men who know you bestAre proof against the least,And rushing on to-day,To-morrow cast away.What are ye, vague desires?What are ye?

Which men who know you best

Are proof against the least,

And rushing on to-day,

To-morrow cast away.

What are ye, vague desires?

What are ye?

Which women, ever new,Still warned, surrender to;Adored with you to-day,Then cast with you away,What are ye, vague desires?What are ye?

Which women, ever new,

Still warned, surrender to;

Adored with you to-day,

Then cast with you away,

What are ye, vague desires?

What are ye?

Which unto boyhood’s heartThe force of man impart,And pass, and leave it cold,And prematurely old,What are ye, vague desires?What are ye?

Which unto boyhood’s heart

The force of man impart,

And pass, and leave it cold,

And prematurely old,

What are ye, vague desires?

What are ye?

Which, tremblingly confest,Pour in the young girl’s breastJoy, joy—the like is none,And leave her then undone—What are ye, vague desires?What are ye?

Which, tremblingly confest,

Pour in the young girl’s breast

Joy, joy—the like is none,

And leave her then undone—

What are ye, vague desires?

What are ye?

Ah yet! though man be marred,Ignoble made, and hard;Though broken women lieIn anguish down to die;Ah yet! ye vague desires,Ah yet!

Ah yet! though man be marred,

Ignoble made, and hard;

Though broken women lie

In anguish down to die;

Ah yet! ye vague desires,

Ah yet!

By Him who gave you birth,And blended you with earth,Was some good end designedFor man and womankind;Ah yet! ye vague desires,Ah yet!

By Him who gave you birth,

And blended you with earth,

Was some good end designed

For man and womankind;

Ah yet! ye vague desires,

Ah yet!

The petals of to-day,To-morrow fallen away,Shall something leave instead,To live when they are dead;When you, ye vague desires,Have vanished;

The petals of to-day,

To-morrow fallen away,

Shall something leave instead,

To live when they are dead;

When you, ye vague desires,

Have vanished;

A something to survive,Of you though it deriveApparent earthly birth,But of far other worthThan you, ye vague desires,Than you.

A something to survive,

Of you though it derive

Apparent earthly birth,

But of far other worth

Than you, ye vague desires,

Than you.

The grasses green of sweet contentThat spring, no matter high or low,Where’er a living thing can grow,On chilly hills and rocky rent,And by the lowly streamlet’s side—Oh! why did e’er I turn from these?—The lordly, tall, umbrageous trees,That stand in high aspiring pride,With massive bulk on high sustainA world of boughs with leaf and fruits,And drive their wide-extending rootsDeep down into the subject plain.Oh, what with these had I to do?—That germs of things above their kindMay live, pent up and close confinedIn humbler forms, it may be true;Yet great is that which gives our lot;High laws and powers our will transcendAnd not for this, till time do end,Shall any be what he is not.Each in its place, as each was sent,Just nature ranges side by side;Alike the oak tree’s lofty prideAnd grasses green of sweet content.

The grasses green of sweet content

That spring, no matter high or low,

Where’er a living thing can grow,

On chilly hills and rocky rent,

And by the lowly streamlet’s side—

Oh! why did e’er I turn from these?—

The lordly, tall, umbrageous trees,

That stand in high aspiring pride,

With massive bulk on high sustain

A world of boughs with leaf and fruits,

And drive their wide-extending roots

Deep down into the subject plain.

Oh, what with these had I to do?—

That germs of things above their kind

May live, pent up and close confined

In humbler forms, it may be true;

Yet great is that which gives our lot;

High laws and powers our will transcend

And not for this, till time do end,

Shall any be what he is not.

Each in its place, as each was sent,

Just nature ranges side by side;

Alike the oak tree’s lofty pride

And grasses green of sweet content.

Whate’er you dream with doubt possest,Keep, keep it snug within your breast,And lay you down and take your rest;Forget in sleep the doubt and pain,And when you wake, to work again.The wind it blows, the vessel goes,And where and whither, no one knows.’Twill all be well: no need of care;Though how it will, and when, and where,We cannot see, and can’t declare.In spite of dreams, in spite of thought,’Tis not in vain, and not for nought,The wind it blows, the ship it goes,Though where and whither, no one knows.

Whate’er you dream with doubt possest,

Keep, keep it snug within your breast,

And lay you down and take your rest;

Forget in sleep the doubt and pain,

And when you wake, to work again.

The wind it blows, the vessel goes,

And where and whither, no one knows.

’Twill all be well: no need of care;Though how it will, and when, and where,We cannot see, and can’t declare.In spite of dreams, in spite of thought,’Tis not in vain, and not for nought,The wind it blows, the ship it goes,Though where and whither, no one knows.

’Twill all be well: no need of care;

Though how it will, and when, and where,

We cannot see, and can’t declare.

In spite of dreams, in spite of thought,

’Tis not in vain, and not for nought,

The wind it blows, the ship it goes,

Though where and whither, no one knows.

Upon the water, in the boat,I sit and sketch as down I float:The stream is wide, the view is fair,I sketch it looking backward there.The stream is strong, and as I sitAnd view the picture that we quit,It flows and flows, and bears the boat,And I sit sketching as we float.Each pointed height, each wavy line,To new and other forms combine;Proportions vary, colours fade,And all the landscape is remade.Depicted neither far nor near,And larger there and smaller here,And varying down from old to new,E’en I can hardly think it true.Yet still I look, and still I sit,Adjusting, shaping, altering it;And still the current bears the boatAnd me, still sketching as I float.Still as I sit, with something newThe foreground intercepts my view;Even the distant mountain rangeFrom the first moment suffers change.

Upon the water, in the boat,I sit and sketch as down I float:The stream is wide, the view is fair,I sketch it looking backward there.

Upon the water, in the boat,

I sit and sketch as down I float:

The stream is wide, the view is fair,

I sketch it looking backward there.

The stream is strong, and as I sitAnd view the picture that we quit,It flows and flows, and bears the boat,And I sit sketching as we float.

The stream is strong, and as I sit

And view the picture that we quit,

It flows and flows, and bears the boat,

And I sit sketching as we float.

Each pointed height, each wavy line,To new and other forms combine;Proportions vary, colours fade,And all the landscape is remade.

Each pointed height, each wavy line,

To new and other forms combine;

Proportions vary, colours fade,

And all the landscape is remade.

Depicted neither far nor near,And larger there and smaller here,And varying down from old to new,E’en I can hardly think it true.

Depicted neither far nor near,

And larger there and smaller here,

And varying down from old to new,

E’en I can hardly think it true.

Yet still I look, and still I sit,Adjusting, shaping, altering it;And still the current bears the boatAnd me, still sketching as I float.

Yet still I look, and still I sit,

Adjusting, shaping, altering it;

And still the current bears the boat

And me, still sketching as I float.

Still as I sit, with something newThe foreground intercepts my view;Even the distant mountain rangeFrom the first moment suffers change.

Still as I sit, with something new

The foreground intercepts my view;

Even the distant mountain range

From the first moment suffers change.

O stream descending to the sea,Thy mossy banks between,The flow’rets blow, the grasses grow,The leafy trees are green.In garden plots the children play,The fields the labourers till,And houses stand on either hand,And thou descendest still.O life descending into death,Our waking eyes behold,Parent and friend thy lapse attend,Companions young and old.Strong purposes our mind possess,Our hearts affections fill,We toil and earn, we seek and learn,And thou descendest still.O end to which our currents tend,Inevitable sea,To which we flow, what do we know,What shall we guess of thee?A roar we hear upon thy shore,As we our course fulfil;Scarce we divine a sun will shineAnd be above us still.

O stream descending to the sea,Thy mossy banks between,The flow’rets blow, the grasses grow,The leafy trees are green.

O stream descending to the sea,

Thy mossy banks between,

The flow’rets blow, the grasses grow,

The leafy trees are green.

In garden plots the children play,The fields the labourers till,And houses stand on either hand,And thou descendest still.

In garden plots the children play,

The fields the labourers till,

And houses stand on either hand,

And thou descendest still.

O life descending into death,Our waking eyes behold,Parent and friend thy lapse attend,Companions young and old.

O life descending into death,

Our waking eyes behold,

Parent and friend thy lapse attend,

Companions young and old.

Strong purposes our mind possess,Our hearts affections fill,We toil and earn, we seek and learn,And thou descendest still.

Strong purposes our mind possess,

Our hearts affections fill,

We toil and earn, we seek and learn,

And thou descendest still.

O end to which our currents tend,Inevitable sea,To which we flow, what do we know,What shall we guess of thee?

O end to which our currents tend,

Inevitable sea,

To which we flow, what do we know,

What shall we guess of thee?

A roar we hear upon thy shore,As we our course fulfil;Scarce we divine a sun will shineAnd be above us still.

A roar we hear upon thy shore,

As we our course fulfil;

Scarce we divine a sun will shine

And be above us still.

Put forth thy leaf, thou lofty plane,East wind and frost are safely gone;With zephyr mild and balmy rainThe summer comes serenely on;Earth, air, and sun and skies combineTo promise all that’s kind and fair:—But thou, O human heart of mine,Be still, contain thyself, and bear.December days were brief and chill,The winds of March were wild and drear,And, nearing and receding still,Spring never would, we thought, be here.The leaves that burst, the suns that shine,Had, not the less, their certain date:—And thou, O human heart of mine,Be still, refrain thyself, and wait.

Put forth thy leaf, thou lofty plane,

East wind and frost are safely gone;

With zephyr mild and balmy rain

The summer comes serenely on;

Earth, air, and sun and skies combine

To promise all that’s kind and fair:—

But thou, O human heart of mine,

Be still, contain thyself, and bear.

December days were brief and chill,The winds of March were wild and drear,And, nearing and receding still,Spring never would, we thought, be here.The leaves that burst, the suns that shine,Had, not the less, their certain date:—And thou, O human heart of mine,Be still, refrain thyself, and wait.

December days were brief and chill,

The winds of March were wild and drear,

And, nearing and receding still,

Spring never would, we thought, be here.

The leaves that burst, the suns that shine,

Had, not the less, their certain date:—

And thou, O human heart of mine,

Be still, refrain thyself, and wait.

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