No men might gladen this Duk Theseus,
Saving his olde fader Egeus,
That knew this worldes transmutatioun,
As he had seen it chaungen up and down,
Joye after wo, and wo after gladnesse ;
And shewed him ensample and likenesse.
Right as ther died never man (quod he),
That he ne lived in erth in som degree,
Right so ther lived never man, he seyd,
In all this world, that sometime he ne deyd.
This world n' is but a thurghfare ful of wo,
And we ben pilgrimes, passing to and fro :
Deth is an end of every worldes sore.
CHAUCER, The Knighte's Tale.
WE live not in our moments or our years-
The Present we fling from us like the rind
Of some sweet Future, which we after find
Bitter to taste, or bind that in with fears,
And water it beforehand with our tears-
Vain tears for that which never may arrive :
Meanwhile the joy whereby we ought to live,
Neglected or unheeded, disappears.
Wiser it were to welcome and make ours
Whate'er of good, tho' small, the present brings-
Kind greetings, sunshine, song of birds, and flowers,
With a child's pure delight in little things;
And of the griefs unborn to rest secure,
Knowing that mercy ever will endure.
ARCHBISHOP TRENCH.
DAPHNE knows, with equal ease,
How to vex and how to please;
But the folly of her sex
Makes her sole delight to vex.
Never woman more devised
Surer ways to be despised;
Paradoxes weakly wielding,
Always conquer'd, never yielding.
To dispute, her chief delight,
With not one opinion right;
Thick her arguments she lays on,
And with cavils combats reason;
Answers in decisive way,
Never hears what you can say ;
Still her odd perverseness shows
Chiefly where she nothing knows.
And where she is most familiar,
Always peevisher and sillier;
All her spirits in a flame
When she knows she's most to blame.
Send me hence ten thousand miles
From a face that ever smiles;
None could ever act that part
But a fury at her heart.
Ye who hate such inconsistence,
To be easy keep your distance !
Or in folly still befriend her,
But have no concern to mend her.
Lose no time to contradict her,
Nor endeavour to convict her.
Never take it in your thought
That she'll own or cure a fault
Into contradiction warm her,
Then perhaps you may reform her!
Only take this rule along,
Always to advise her wrong;
And reprove her when she's right,
She may then grow wise for spite.
No-that scheme will ne'er succeed,
She has better learnt her creed;
She's too cunning and too skilful
When to yield, and when be wilful.
Nature holds her forth two mirrors,
One for truth and one for errors !
That looks hideous, fierce, and frightful,
This is flattering and delightful :
That she throws away as foul;
Sits by this to dress her soul.
Thus you have the case in view,
Daphne, 'twixt the Dean and you;
Heaven forbid he should despise thee,
But will never more advise thee!
Is by itself, in joy or suffering.
But she whom you have ta'en, and like a leaven With your existence kneaded, must be ever Another-scarce another, self of thine.
She breathes away her weary days and nights
Among cold, hard-eyed men, and hides behind
A quiet face of woe: but there are things,—
A song, a face, a picture, or a word,-
Which, by some semblance, touch her heart to tears,
And music, starting up among the strings
Of a wind-shaken harp, undoes her secresy,-
Rolls back her life to the first starry hour
Whose flower-fed air you used, to speak of love ;
And then she longs to throw her bursting breast,
And shut out sorrow with Orazio's arms
Thus-Oh, my Husband!
SELF-DEPENDENCE.
WEARY of myself, and sick of asking
What I am, and what I ought to be,
At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me
Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea.
And a look of passionate desire
O'er the sea and to the stars I send :
"Ye who from my childhood up have calm'd me Calm me, ah, compose me to the end!
"Ah, once more,” I cried, “ye stars, ye waters, On my heart your mighty charm renew;
Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you
Feel my soul becoming vast like you!"
From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven,
Over the lit sea and unquiet way,
In the rustling night-air came the answer :
"Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they.
"Unaffrighted by the silence round them,
Undistracted by the sights they see,
These demand not that the things without them Yield them love, amusement, sympathy.
"And with joy the stars perform their shining,
And the sea its long moon-silvered roll;
For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting
All the fever of some differing soul.
"Bounded by themselves, and unregardful
In what state God's other works may be,
In their own tastes all their powers pouring;
These attain the mighty life you see."
Oh, air-born voice! long since, severely clear,
A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear :
"Resolve to be thyself; and know that he
Who finds himself loses his misery!"
WITH partial hands the gods their gifts dispense,
Some greatly think, some speak with manly sense;
Here Heav'n an elegance of form denies,
But wisdom the defect of form supplies;
This man with energy of thought controls,
And steals with modest violence on souls ;
He speaks reserv'dly, but he speaks with force,
Nor can one word be chang'd but for a worse.
In public more than mortal he appears,
And as he moves, the gazing crowd reveres,
While others beauteous as th' ethereal kind,
The nobler portion want, a knowing mind.
In outward show Heav'n gives thee to excel,
But Heav'n denies the praise of thinking well.
POPE'S Odyssey, Book viii. 185.
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