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The convent lay eke on the pavement
Weeping and herying1 Christes mother dear;
And after that they risen, and forth been went,
Enclosen they his little body sweet:
There he is now God lene2 us for to meet.
CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR.—
Who is the happy warrior? Who is he
! Praising. 2 Grant.
306 CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR.
Is placable, — because occasions rise So often that demand such sacrifice;More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure, As tempted more; more able to endure, As more exposed to suffering and distress;Thence, also, more alive to tenderness. — 'T is he whose law is reason; who depends Upon that law as on the best of friends;Whence, in a state where men are tempted still To evil for a guard against worse ill, And what in quality or act is best Doth seldom on a right foundation rest, He labors good on good to fix, and owes To virtue every triumph that he knows:Who, if he rise to station of command, Rises by open means; and there will stand On honorable terms, or else retire, And in himself possess his own desire:Who comprehends his trust, and to the same Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim;And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait For wealth, or honors, or for worldly state;Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall, Like showers of manna, if they come at all:Whose powers shed round him in the common strife, Or mild concerns of ordinary life, A constant influence, a peculiar grace;But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for human kind, Is happy as a lover, and attired With sudden brightness, like a man inspired;And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw;Or, if an unexpected call succeed, Come when it will, is equal to the need:
He who, though thus endued, as with a sense And faculty for storm and turbulence, Is yet a soul whose master-bias leans To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes;
Sweet images! which, wheresoe'er he be, Are at his heart; and such fidelity It is his darling passion to approve;More brave for this, that he hath much to love:
'T is, finally, the man, who, lifted high, Conspicuous object in a nation's eye, Or left unthought of in obscurity,—
Who, with a toward or untoward lot, Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not, — Plays, in the many games of life, that one Where what he most doth value must be won:
Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray:Who, not content that former worth stand fast, Looks forward, persevering to the last, From well to better, daily self-surpassed:Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth For ever, and to noble deeds give birth, Or he must fall and sleep without his fame, And leave a dead, unprofitable name,—
Finds comfort in himself and in his cause;And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause : — This is the happy warrior; this is he Whom every man in arms should wish to be.
Wodldst thou from each man's coronal select The choicest leaves with which his brows are decked \ w
That, all into one chaplet for thy head Entwined, thou may'st be proudly garlanded?
Look round thee, — is not every thing content,
The sweetest nightingale is dusky-brown;
The ruby long outlasts the scented rose;
From Egypt Moses did the people lead;
David might lay all rich materials by;His son first raised the goodly fane on high.
But once and but to One it did compete,
All rays of glory round his head should meet.
SONNET. — Trench.
Ulysses, sailing by the Sirens' isle,
Sealed first his comrades' ears, then bade them fas
Bind him with many a fetter to the mast,
Lest those sweet voices should their souls beguile,
And to their ruin flatter them, the while
Their homeward bark was sailing swiftly past;
And thus the peril they behind them cast,
Though chased by those weird voices many a mile.
But yet a nobler cunning Orpheus used;
No fetter he put on, nor stopped his ear,
But ever, as he passed, sang high and clear
The blisses of the gods, their holy joys,
And with diviner melody confused
And marred earth's sweetest music to a noise,
HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE, IN THE'VALE OF CHAMOUNI. 309
HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI. — Coleridge.
Besides the rivers Arve and Arveiron, which have their sources in the foot of Mont Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down its sides; and within a few paces of the Glaciers^ the Gentiana Major grows in immense numbers, with its "flowers of loveliest blue."
Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star
0 dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee,
Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer,
1 worshipped the Invisible alone.
Yet, like some sweet, beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought, Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy: Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, Into the mighty vision passing, — there, As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven!
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise Thou owest, — not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy! Awake5