Fame.
A Fragment.OO GLORIOUS Fame! next grandest word to God,Father of all things beautiful and grand,Of all the thoughts ideal and sublimeThat grace the annals of our literature.Thou stirrer of the heart to noble deeds!Thou powerful antidote to cringing fearOf battle, rolling ’mid the billowy smokeThat wreaths its curls blue over flood and field!In the cold, creaking garret, or besideThe entrance to a theatre, or whereLuxury pillows soft the somnolent head,Or where the dew-bent daisy droops to kissThe dark grey eggs of lark, companion sweet!There thou dost lift their souls above this world,And teachest them in language fair and wild,To ope their hearts in strains of poesy.Ah, noble Fame! how deeply I adoreThy altar, smelling sweet with fond applause!Sages may shun, philosophers may scorn;But, ah! to a young heart, how gloriousThe thought that he, by well-earned merit, shallBe spoken of, yea praised, ’neath the roof-treeOf peasant, or beneath the monarch’s dome!That learned men will wonder, and in joyWill lift their hands and shake astonished heads;That by the fireside, while the flick’ring lampDoth send its shadow-forming light athwart.The genius young shall read, and read, and readUntil the warning bell strike one short hour,Then fling it past, and, pillowed on his couch,Dream of the happy-gifted one that wrote it;That maidens, high in rank and fair in form,Shall speak to one another of that manWho, bathing in the pure Castalian fount,Arose, and from his form with pearlets cladShook off the diamonds in bright profusion,That, while the clouds do tell their pattering beads,And through the forest roars the wailing windSporting with the brown leaves that wheel aloft,A joyous family, seated by a fireThat roars in laughter at the storm without,Talked of the poet—
A Fragment.OO GLORIOUS Fame! next grandest word to God,Father of all things beautiful and grand,Of all the thoughts ideal and sublimeThat grace the annals of our literature.Thou stirrer of the heart to noble deeds!Thou powerful antidote to cringing fearOf battle, rolling ’mid the billowy smokeThat wreaths its curls blue over flood and field!In the cold, creaking garret, or besideThe entrance to a theatre, or whereLuxury pillows soft the somnolent head,Or where the dew-bent daisy droops to kissThe dark grey eggs of lark, companion sweet!There thou dost lift their souls above this world,And teachest them in language fair and wild,To ope their hearts in strains of poesy.Ah, noble Fame! how deeply I adoreThy altar, smelling sweet with fond applause!Sages may shun, philosophers may scorn;But, ah! to a young heart, how gloriousThe thought that he, by well-earned merit, shallBe spoken of, yea praised, ’neath the roof-treeOf peasant, or beneath the monarch’s dome!That learned men will wonder, and in joyWill lift their hands and shake astonished heads;That by the fireside, while the flick’ring lampDoth send its shadow-forming light athwart.The genius young shall read, and read, and readUntil the warning bell strike one short hour,Then fling it past, and, pillowed on his couch,Dream of the happy-gifted one that wrote it;That maidens, high in rank and fair in form,Shall speak to one another of that manWho, bathing in the pure Castalian fount,Arose, and from his form with pearlets cladShook off the diamonds in bright profusion,That, while the clouds do tell their pattering beads,And through the forest roars the wailing windSporting with the brown leaves that wheel aloft,A joyous family, seated by a fireThat roars in laughter at the storm without,Talked of the poet—
A Fragment.
OO GLORIOUS Fame! next grandest word to God,Father of all things beautiful and grand,Of all the thoughts ideal and sublimeThat grace the annals of our literature.Thou stirrer of the heart to noble deeds!Thou powerful antidote to cringing fearOf battle, rolling ’mid the billowy smokeThat wreaths its curls blue over flood and field!In the cold, creaking garret, or besideThe entrance to a theatre, or whereLuxury pillows soft the somnolent head,Or where the dew-bent daisy droops to kissThe dark grey eggs of lark, companion sweet!There thou dost lift their souls above this world,And teachest them in language fair and wild,To ope their hearts in strains of poesy.Ah, noble Fame! how deeply I adoreThy altar, smelling sweet with fond applause!Sages may shun, philosophers may scorn;But, ah! to a young heart, how gloriousThe thought that he, by well-earned merit, shallBe spoken of, yea praised, ’neath the roof-treeOf peasant, or beneath the monarch’s dome!That learned men will wonder, and in joyWill lift their hands and shake astonished heads;That by the fireside, while the flick’ring lampDoth send its shadow-forming light athwart.The genius young shall read, and read, and readUntil the warning bell strike one short hour,Then fling it past, and, pillowed on his couch,Dream of the happy-gifted one that wrote it;That maidens, high in rank and fair in form,Shall speak to one another of that manWho, bathing in the pure Castalian fount,Arose, and from his form with pearlets cladShook off the diamonds in bright profusion,That, while the clouds do tell their pattering beads,And through the forest roars the wailing windSporting with the brown leaves that wheel aloft,A joyous family, seated by a fireThat roars in laughter at the storm without,Talked of the poet—
O