His skies are
shoal, and imagination, like a thirsty traveller, pants to be
through their desert. The roving mind impatiently bursts the
fetters of astronomical orbits, like cobwebs in a corner of its
universe, and launches itself to where distance fails to follow,
and law, such as science has discovered, grows weak and weary.
The mind knows a distance and a space of which all those sums
combined do not make a unit of measure, - the interval between
that which _appears_, and that which _is_. I know that there are
many stars, I know that they are far enough off, bright enough,
steady enough in their orbits, - but what are they all worth?
They are more waste land in the West, - star territory, - to be
made slave States, perchance, if we colonize them. I have
interest but for six feet of star, and that interest is
transient. Then farewell to all ye bodies, such as I have known
ye.
Every man, if he is wise, will stand on such bottom as will
sustain him, and if one gravitates downward more strongly than
another, he will not venture on those meads where the latter
walks securely, but rather leave the cranberries which grow there
unraked by himself. Perchance, some spring a higher freshet will
float them within his reach, though they may be watery and
frost-bitten by that time. Such shrivelled berries I have seen
in many a poor man's garret, ay, in many a church-bin and
state-coffer, and with a little water and heat they swell again
to their original size and fairness, and added sugar enough,
stead mankind for sauce to this world's dish.
What is called common sense is excellent in its department, and
as invaluable as the virtue of conformity in the army and
navy, - for there must be subordination, - but uncommon sense, that
sense which is common only to the wisest, is as much more
excellent as it is more rare. Some aspire to excellence in the
subordinate department, and may God speed them. What Fuller says
of masters of colleges is universally applicable, that "a little
alloy of dulness in a master of a college makes him fitter to
manage secular affairs."
"He that wants faith, and apprehends a grief
Because he wants it, hath a true belief;
And he that grieves because his grief's so small,
Has a true grief, and the best Faith of all."
Or be encouraged by this other poet's strain, -
"By them went Fido marshal of the field:
Weak was his mother when she gave him day;
And he at first a sick and weakly child,
As e'er with tears welcomed the sunny ray;
Yet when more years afford more growth and might,
A champion stout he was, and puissant knight,
As ever came in field, or shone in armor bright.
"Mountains he flings in seas with mighty hand;
Stops and turns back the sun's impetuous course;
Nature breaks Nature's laws at his command;
No force of Hell or Heaven withstands his force;
Events to come yet many ages hence,
He present makes, by wondrous prescience;
Proving the senses blind by being blind to sense."
"Yesterday, at dawn," says Hafiz, "God delivered me from all
worldly affliction; and amidst the gloom of night presented me
with the water of immortality."
In the life of Sadi by Dowlat Shah occurs this sentence: "The
eagle of the immaterial soul of Shaikh Sadi shook from his
plumage the dust of his body."
Thus thoughtfully we were rowing homeward to find some autumnal
work to do, and help on the revolution of the seasons. Perhaps
Nature would condescend to make use of us even without our
knowledge, as when we help to scatter her seeds in our walks, and
carry burrs and cockles on our clothes from field to field.
All things are current found
On earthly ground,
Spirits and elements
Have their descents.
Night and day, year on year,
High and low, far and near,
These are our own aspects,
These are our own regrets.
Ye gods of the shore,
Who abide evermore,
I see your far headland,
Stretching on either hand;
I hear the sweet evening sounds
From your undecaying grounds;
Cheat me no more with time,
Take me to your clime.
As it grew later in the afternoon, and we rowed leisurely up the
gentle stream, shut in between fragrant and blooming banks, where
we had first pitched our tent, and drew nearer to the fields
where our lives had passed, we seemed to detect the hues of our
native sky in the southwest horizon. The sun was just setting
behind the edge of a wooded hill, so rich a sunset as would never
have ended but for some reason unknown to men, and to be marked
with brighter colors than ordinary in the scroll of time. Though
the shadows of the hills were beginning to steal over the stream,
the whole river valley undulated with mild light, purer and more
memorable than the noon. For so day bids farewell even to
solitary vales uninhabited by man. Two herons, _Ardea herodias_,
with their long and slender limbs relieved against the sky, were
seen travelling high over our heads, - their lofty and silent
flight, as they were wending their way at evening, surely not to
alight in any marsh on the earth's surface, but, perchance, on
the other side of our atmosphere, a symbol for the ages to study,
whether impressed upon the sky, or sculptured amid the
hieroglyphics of Egypt. Bound to some northern meadow, they held
on their stately, stationary flight, like the storks in the
picture, and disappeared at length behind the clouds. Dense
flocks of blackbirds were winging their way along the river's
course, as if on a short evening pilgrimage to some shrine of
theirs, or to celebrate so fair a sunset.
