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THE POET-MARTYR.

BY JOIN 8. DU S O LLE.

“Le poète est homme par les sons,
Homme par la douleur! ......
L'argile périssable où tant d'âme palpite,
Se façonne plus belle, et se brise plus vite;
Le nectar est divin, mais le vase est mortel;
C'est un Dieu dont le poids doit écraser l'autel;
C'est un souffle trop plein du soir ou de l'aurore,
Qui fait chanter le vent dans un roseau sonore,
Mais, qui brisé de son, le jette au bord de l'eau,
Comme un chaume sèche battu sous le fléau !"

LAXARTINE

Thou dark-eyed, pensive, passionate Child of Song!

Enthusiast! Dreamer! Worshipper of things
By the world's crowd unnoticed, 'mid the throng
Of beautiful creations Nature flings
The sunlight of existence on!

-The wings
Of the rude tempest are not half so strong

As thy proud hopes and wild imaginings:
Stop! ere their bold and sacrilegious flight

Reach a too-dazzling height:
So venturing sunward, that the flashing eye

Of Reason, grown deliriously bright,
Kindle to Madness and to Idiocy!

And from excessive light,
To hideous blindness fall, and tenfold night!

Some unfamiliar object to discern;

And so, Her loveliest features unregarded go! Away, proud thought I such boastings ne'er were thing Since in the meanest, humblest flower that grows, E'en in thy life-breath, as it comes and goes,

There are a thousand things whose origin,

Whose secret springs, whose impulses divine, No human art nor wisdom can disclose!

Stop! whilst the ruby fount of Life Goes bubbling onward, hurtless, through thy veins;

While yet the glorious, but capricious strife
Of Being is uncertain: while the stains

That Sin and Sorrow rust into the soul
Touch but the surface only, not the whole.
Stop! whilst to Memory earth is still so dear

And hath a thousand ties-and is not all
One sad, unvarying, spirit-wounding sphere-
Whilst Hope still smiles at thy so-frequent call,

And the dim Future comes Peopled with tiny faces, and the forms Of angel loved ones, that, with outstretched arms,

Beckon thy spirit to their sunny homes!

Stop!- I conjure thee

- Bid the Muse away! Her fatal gift cast from thee or resign

And her proud mandate heed not nor obey! E'en now thy brow hath Sorrow's pallid sign

Thine eye, though bright, is like the flickering ray Of" a stray sunbeam o'er some ruined shrine"Lighting up vestiges, almost divine,

In sad, yet dimly-beautiful decay.

Thy cheek is sunken, and the fickle play of the faint smile that curls thy parted lip,

Hath something fearful in it, though so gayA something treacherously calm and deepSuch as on sunny waters seems to sleep When, hid beneath some passing shadow's gray, The subtle Storm-Fiend watches for his prey!

Stop! if thou'dst live.

Or, hath Life left for theo No charms, that thou its last, terrific scene Shouldst with such passion worship?

-Can it be That the world nothing hath thou’dst care to win? No gem? no flower? no loveliness unseen?

No wonder unexplored ? no mystery
Still undeveloped to the eagle eye

Of Genius or of Poesy?
Where are the depths of the dark, billowy sea ?

Its peopling millions? its gigantic chain
Of gorgeous, glittering waters, wild as free?

Where the big-orbed Sun? the blue-veiled sky, With its magnificent, diamond-glistening train Of ever-burning stars!

- It may not be, (Thou fond idolater at every fane

Where beauty lingers), may not be that thou Hast treasured up Earth's precious things, till now

Thou deem'st it vain to turn,

Stop! melancholy youth:
Though bright and sparkling be the tide of song,
And many a sunbeam o'er its waters dance

Meanderingly along:
Though it be Heaven to quaff of; yet, in truth,
A deadlier venom taints its gay expanse,

More deep, more strong,
Than to the subtlest poison doth belong!
A very demon haunts its golden air!
Infatuating with his serpent glance

The wanderer there;
And, with a sad but most bewitching smile,

Wooing the while
The fond and credulous one to his desire,

With burning thoughts, whose mad, unholy fire,
With its own strength enkindles its own funeral pyre!

Stop! if thou'dst live then

Stop! or e'er thy flight
Reach & too-dazzling height:
Venturing sunward, till the flashing eye

Of Reason, grown deliriously bright,
Kindle to Madness and to Idiocy-
And, from excessive light

To hideous blindness fall, and tenfold night!

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