Classic Poem

Oh, weary spirit! oh, cloudy eyes!
 Oh, heavy and misty brain!
Yon riddle that lies 'twixt earth and skies
 Ye seek to explore in vain!
See, the east is grey; put those scrolls away,
 And hide them far from my sight;
I will toil and study no more by day,
 I will watch no longer by night;
I have labour'd and long'd, and now I seem
 No nearer the mystic goal;
Orion, I fain would devise some scheme
 To quiet this restless soul;
To distant climes I would fain depart—
 I would travel by sea or land. Orion:

Nay, I warn'd you of this, “Short life, long art,”
 The proverb, though stale, will stand;
Full many a sage from youth to age
 Has toil'd to attain what you
Would master at once. In a pilgrimage,
 Forsooth, there is nothing new;
Though virtue, I ween, in change of scene,
 And vigour in change of air,
Will always be, and has always been,
 And travel is a tonic rare.
Still, the restless, discontented mood
 For the time alone is eased;
It will soon return with hunger renew'd,
 And appetite unappeased.
Nathless I could teach a shorter plan
 To win that wisdom you crave,
That lore that is seldom attain'd by man
 From the cradle down to the grave. Hugo:

Such lore I had rather do without,
 It hath nothing mystic nor awful
In my eye. Nay, I despise and doubt
 The arts that are term'd unlawful;
'Twixt science and magic the line lies plain,
 I shall never wittingly pass it;
There is now no compact between us twain. Orion :

But an understanding tacit.
You have prosper'd much since the day we met;
 You were then a landless knight;
You now have honour and wealth, and yet
 I never can serve you right. Hugo:

Enough; we will start this very day,
 Thurston, Eric, and I,
And the baffled visions will pass away,
 And the restless fires will die. Orion:

Till the fuel expires that feeds those fires
 They smoulder and live unspent;
Give a mortal all that his heart desires,
 He is less than ever content.