That low man seeks a little thing to do, Sees it and does it: This high man, with a great thing to pursue, That low man goes on adding one to one, This high man, aiming at a million, Misses an unit. That, has the world here, should he need the next, Let the world mind him! This, throws himself on God, and unperplext So, with the throttling hands of Death at strife, Still, through the rattle, parts of speech were rife. He settled Hoti's business, let it be !- Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De, Well, here's the platform, here's the proper place. All ye highfliers of the feathered race, Here's the top-peak! the multitude below This man decided not to Live but Know, Bury this man there? Here, — here's his place, where meteors shoot, clouds form, Lightnings are loosened, Stars come and go! let joy break with the storm, Peace let the dew send! Lofty designs must close in like effects: Loftily lying, Leave him, still loftier than the world suspects, Living and dying. I THE CONFESSIONAL. T is a lie, [SPAIN.] their Priests, their Pope, You think Priests just and holy men! I was a human creature too, With flesh and blood like one of you, I had a lover, - shame avaunt! This poor wrenched body, grim and gaunt, Was kissed all over till it burned, By lips the truest, love e'er turned His heart's own tint: one night they kissed My soul out in a burning mist. So, next day when the accustomed train But when I falter Beltran's name, "Ha? quoth the father; "much I blame The sin; yet wherefore idly grieve? Despair not, strenuously retrieve! Nay, I will turn this love of thine To lawful love, almost divine. "For he is young, and led astray, For, when he lies upon thy breast, Thou mayst demand and be possessed Of all his plans, and next day steal To me, and all those plans reveal, THE CONFESSIONAL. That I and every priest, to purge His soul, may fast and use the scourge." That father's beard was long and white, He told me what he would not tell I told the father all his schemes, Who were his comrades, what their dreams, Nor next night: on the after-morn, It led me to the market-place, Where, lo! on high-the father's face! That horrible black scaffold drest, - on the neck these arms caressed. . . ... No part in aught they hope or fear! 87 No Earth, not so much space as pens But shall bear God and Man my cry, lies, again, — and still, they lie! ONE WAY OF LOVE. LL June I bound the rose in sheaves. rest rose, sup the And strew them where Pauline may pass. She will not turn aside? Alas! Let them lie. Suppose they die? The chance was they might take her eye. How many a month I strove to suit She will not hear my music? So! My whole life long I learned to love. And speak my passion. - Heaven or hell? Those who win heaven, blest are they. |