No More Learning

I never taught it what it teaches me;
I only follow, when I act aright.

October 9, 1832.



And when I am entombed in my place,
Be it remembered of a single man,
He never, though he dearly loved his race,
For fear of human eyes swerved from his plan.



Oh what is Heaven but the fellowship
Of minds that each can stand against the world
By its own meek and incorruptible will?



The days pass over me
And I am still the same;
The aroma of my life is gone
With the flower with which it came.

1833.



WRITTEN IN NAPLES

We are what we are made; each following day
Is the Creator of our human mould
Not less than was the first; the all-wise God
Gilds a few points in every several life,
And as each flower upon the fresh hillside,
And every colored petal of each flower,
Is sketched and dyed, each with a new design,
Its spot of purple, and its streak of brown,
So each man's life shall have its proper lights,
And a few joys, a few peculiar charms,
For him round in the melancholy hours
And reconcile him to the common days.
Not many men see beauty in the fogs
Of close low pine-woods in a river town;
Yet unto me not morn's magnificence,
Nor the red rainbow of a summer eve,
Nor Rome, nor joyful Paris, nor the halls
Of rich men blazing hospitable light,
Nor wit, nor eloquence,--no, nor even the song
Of any woman that is now alive,--
Hath such a soul, such divine influence,
Such resurrection of the happy past,
As is to me when I behold the morn
Ope in such law moist roadside, and beneath
Peep the blue violets out of the black loam,
Pathetic silent poets that sing to me
Thine elegy, sweet singer, sainted wife.

March, 1833.



WRITTEN AT ROME

Alone in Rome. Why, Rome is lonely too;--
Besides, you need not be alone; the soul
Shall have society of its own rank.
Be great, be true, and all the Scipios,
The Catos, the wise patriots of Rome,
Shall flock to you and tarry by your side,
And comfort you with their high company.
Virtue alone is sweet society,
It keeps the key to all heroic hearts,
And opens you a welcome in them all.
You must be like them if you desire them,
Scorn trifles and embrace a better aim
Than wine or sleep or praise;
Hunt knowledge as the lover wooes a maid,
And ever in the strife of your own thoughts
Obey the nobler impulse; that is Rome:
That shall command a senate to your side;
For there is no might in the universe
That can contend with love. It reigns forever.
Wait then, sad friend, wait in majestic peace
The hour of heaven. Generously trust
Thy fortune's web to the beneficent hand
That until now has put his world in fee
To thee. He watches for thee still. His love
Broods over thee, and as God lives in heaven,
However long thou walkest solitary,
The hour of heaven shall come, the man appear.

1833.



WEBSTER

1831

Let Webster's lofty face
Ever on thousands shine,
A beacon set that Freedom's race
Might gather omens from that radiant sign.



FROM THE PHI BETA KAPPA POEM

1834

Ill fits the abstemious Muse a crown to weave
For living brows; ill fits them to receive:
And yet, if virtue abrogate the law,
One portrait--fact or fancy--we may draw;
A form which Nature cast in the heroic mould
Of them who rescued liberty of old;
He, when the rising storm of party roared,
Brought his great forehead to the council board,
There, while hot heads perplexed with fears the state,
Calm as the morn the manly patriot sate;
Seemed, when at last his clarion accents broke,
As if the conscience of the country spoke.
Not on its base Monadnoc surer stood,
Than he to common sense and common good:
No mimic; from his breast his counsel drew,
Believed the eloquent was aye the true;
He bridged the gulf from th' alway good and wise
To that within the vision of small eyes.
Self-centred; when he launched the genuine word
It shook or captivated all who heard,
Ran from his mouth to mountains and the sea,
And burned in noble hearts proverb and prophecy.



1854

Why did all manly gifts in Webster fail?
He wrote on Nature's grandest brow, _For Sale_.

* * * * *




INDEX OF FIRST LINES


A dull uncertain brain
"A new commandment," said the smiling Muse
A patch of meadow upland
A queen rejoices in her peers
A ruddy drop of manly blood
A score of airy miles will smooth
A sterner errand to the silken troop
A subtle chain of countless rings
A train of gay and clouded days
Ah Fate, cannot a man
Ah, not to me those dreams belong!
All day the waves assailed the rock
Alone in Rome. Why, Rome is lonely too
Already blushes on thy cheek
And as the light divides the dark
And Ellen, when the graybeard years
And I behold once more
And when I am entombed in my place
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky
Around the man who seeks a noble end
Ascending thorough just degrees
Askest, 'How long thou shalt stay? '
As sings the pine-tree in the wind
As sunbeams stream through liberal space
As the drop feeds its fated flower
Atom from atom yawns as far

Be of good cheer, brave spirit; steadfastly
Because I was content with these poor fields
Bethink, poor heart, what bitter kind of jest
Blooms the laurel which belongs
Boon Nature yields each day a brag which we now first behold
Bring me wine, but wine which never grew
Bulkeley, Hunt, Willard, Hosmer, Meriam, Flint
Burly, dozing humble-bee
But God said
But if thou do thy best
But Nature whistled with all her winds
But never yet the man was found
But over all his crowning grace
By fate, not option, frugal Nature gave
By the rude bridge that arched the flood
By thoughts I lead

Can rules or tutors educate
Cast the bantling on the rocks
Coin the day dawn into lines

Dark flower of Cheshire garden
Darlings of children and of bard
Daughter of Heaven and Earth, coy Spring
Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days
Day by day for her darlings to her much she added more
Day by day returns
Day! hast thou two faces
Dear brother, would you know the life
Dearest, where thy shadow falls
Deep in the man sits fast his fate

Each spot where tulips prank their state
Each the herald is who wrote
Easy to match what others do
Ere he was born, the stars of fate
Ever the Poet _from_ the land
Ever the Rock of Ages melts
Every day brings a ship
Every thought is public

Fall, stream, from Heaven to bless; return as well
Farewell, ye lofty spires
Flow, flow the waves hated
For art, for music over-thrilled
For every God
For Fancy's gift
For Genius made his cabin wide
For joy and beauty planted it
For Nature, true and like in every place
For thought, and not praise
For what need I of book or priest
Forbore the ant-hill, shunned to tread
Freedom all winged expands
Friends to me are frozen wine
From fall to spring, the russet acorn
From high to higher forces
From the stores of eldest matter
From thy worth and weight the stars gravitate

Gifts of one who loved me
Give all to love
Give me truths
Give to barrows, trays and pans
Go if thou wilt, ambrosial flower
Go speed the stars of Thought
Go thou to thy learned task
Gold and iron are good
Good-bye, proud world!