BOOK V.

BOOKS.

BOOK FIFTH.

BOOKS.

WHEN Contemplation, like the night-calm felt
Through earth and sky, spreads widely, and sends deep
Into the soul its tranquillizing power,

Even then I sometimes grieve for thee, O Man,
Earth's paramount Creature! not so much for woes
That thou endurest; heavy though that weight be,
Cloud-like it mounts, or touched with light divine
Doth melt away; but for those palms achieved,
Through length of time, by patient exercise

Of study and hard thought; there, there, it is
That sadness finds its fuel. Hitherto,

In progress through this Verse, my mind hath looked
Upon the speaking face of earth and heaven

As her prime teacher, intercourse with man
Established by the sovereign Intellect,

Who through that bodily image hath diffused,

As might appear to the eye of fleeting time,

A deathless spirit. Thou also, man! hast wrought,
For commerce of thy nature with herself,
Things that aspire to unconquerable life;
And yet we feel—we cannot choose but feel—
That they must perish. Tremblings of the heart
It gives, to think that our immortal being
No more shall need such garments; and yet man,
As long as he shall be the child of earth,
Might almost "weep to have" what he may lose,
Nor be himself extinguished, but survive,
Abject, depressed, forlorn, disconsolate.

A thought is with me sometimes, and I say,-
Should the whole frame of earth by inward throes
Be wrenched, or fire come down from far to scorch
Her pleasant habitations, and dry up

Old Ocean, in his bed left singed and bare,
Yet would the living Presence still subsist
Victorious, and composure would ensue,
And kindlings like the morning-presage sure
Of day returning and of life revived.
But all the meditations of mankind,

Yea, all the adamantine holds of truth
By reason built, or passion, which itself
Is highest reason in a soul sublime;

The consecrated works of Bard and Sage,
Sensuous or intellectual, wrought by men,

Twin laborers and heirs of the same hopes;

Where would they be? Oh! why hath not the Mind
Some element to stamp her image on

In nature somewhat nearer to her own?
Why, gifted with such powers to send abroad
Her spirit, must it lodge in shrines so frail?

One day, when from my lips a like complaint
Had fallen in presence of a studious friend,
He with a smile made answer, that in truth
'Twas going far to seek disquietude;

But on the front of his reproof confessed
That he himself had oftentimes given way
To kindred hauntings. Whereupon I told,
That once in the stillness of a summer's noon,
While I was seated in a rocky cave,
By the sea-side, perusing, so it chanced,
The famous history of the errant knight
Recorded by Cervantes, these same thoughts
Beset me, and to height unusual rose,
While listlessly I sat, and, having closed

The book, had turned my eyes toward the wide sea.

On poetry and geometric truth,