Classic Poem

SCENE I.

BERTRAM .

This is a lonely place.

LORENZO .

Call it not lonely;
Say, rather, that the God of Nature hath
Peopled these wilds with spiritual forms,
With which the man of an exalted mind
Can hold sweet converse in his studious hours.
Survey these hills! mark the immensity,
The wild sublimity, of those high mountains,
That with their purple summits pierce the skies,
Ev'n to the heavens above them, till they seem
Divested of their earthly coloring,
And clothed with an ethereal loveliness,
Soft as the drapery of the twilight robe
Thrown o'er the shoulders of voluptuous eve.
Behold the cataract, panting with alarm,
Leaping with frantic bound from rock to rock,
As leaps the lama o'er Peruvian hills,
When at its heels the mountain-hunter comes,
His quiver filled with death. Struggling with fate,
The tortured waters pause upon the verge
Of yonder rock, then spring into the gulf,
Rejoicing at the bound, as, all adorned
With gold-bedrizzled locks, the stricken flood
Shakes its white mane, and speeds adown the stream,
Like to an expert swimmer, hale and young,
Stunning the billows with his manly limbs.
See how the Iris blushes at its feet,
Enveloped in the white arms of the spray,
Through which, ghost-like, its delicate pulse is seen
To throb responsive to the heaving breast
Of the pale vapour spirit, in whose arms
It lies, all blushes, like a timid maid
Enfolded in her lover's chaste embrace.
The trees that nod upon the piney height;
The humble shrubbery that men pass by
Unnoticed; the soft moss that grows upon
The flinty granite; the pale, meek-eyed flower,
Half hidden by the rank, luxuriant weeds,
Like full-blown Innocence in a world of Sin;
The unformed buds; the golden-veinéd leaves
That strew the brown soil of the autumn woods;
The birds that nestle closely in the grass,
Or chirrup forth a note for every beat
Of their impulsive, overflowing hearts;
Do each and all possess a powerful claim
Upon the sober mind.

BERTRAM .

Give me the town,
Old man; its gay delights are more to me
Than all the paltry beauties of this place,
Which thou so much admirest. I would die
If I were banished to a place like this,
So lonely that my very nature shrinks
Within me at the thought of being here.
For thee, it may have charms enough to please
A spirit like to thine, bowed down with age;
To me, the prospect is most terrible;
'Tis lonely as a world without one's fellows
Can be.

LORENZO .

 Young man, thou dost not know the peace
That falls upon the spirit in these wilds,
Like gentle dew upon the parchéd leaf.
Learn to aspire to God; clutch at the stars;
Give thy ambition wings; from world to world
Mount bravely upwards, until, like the lark,
Thou disappearest in the infinity
That ends in heaven. Make the stars thy friends
Soar to their brilliant homes on wings of thought.
Or mould them to thy will upon the earth,
By careful study; like the falcon, mount,
And strike the quarry in the circling air,
Though it quadruple thee in magnitude.
Then wilt thou feel the noble aspirations
Which I am yearning for; then wilt thou pause,
Ere thy sense give permission to thy tongue
To say—this place is lonely. None dread more
Than I the thought of utter loneliness;
It is a treacherous cankerworm that feeds
Upon the flowery garden of the mind,
And leaves it seared and blighted; has its home
In the dark cell of the lean anchorite,
Who for some crime would torture his poor body
To purge his soul. But to be lonely here,
Where every breeze that passeth by interprets
God's everlasting, all-pervading truths
Unto our inmost souls; where we can feast
Our hungry mind's eye on the rich repast
Which the wild wilderness contains; is to
Be blind—insensible—to all the beauty
Which nature hath in vast profusion strewn,
With an unsparing hand, about our path.
Give me the place where I can hold communion
With Nature and with Nature's God; where I
Can analyze the secrets of my mind,
And pluck therefrom the rank, luxuriant weeds,
Which from my birth have been implanted there,
And sow some healthy seedlings in their stead,
From which will spring a ripe ambrosial fruit
That angels might partake of.

BERTRAM

Singular mortal!
Why! I would rather tread the pleasing halls
Where such light-hearted fellows as myself
Had learned to kill the pleasure-wingéd hours
With dance and song, than listen to the ravings
Of an enthusiast. I'd rather be
A playful kid—a kitten—a young widow,
Be anything that trips it joyously
Over the many ups and downs of life,
Than an ascetic mortal like to thee.

LORENZO .

Yet all of these which thou hast named, are prone
To aspire to certain ends: The kid will climb
The steepest rocks, and 'mid the grandest scenes
Of nature live, forgetful of its fellows;
The kitten, sporting by its mother's side,
Will leave her to ascend the tottering pole,
While tabby purs below, and gravely scans
Th' ambitious feats of her young progeny;
The gay young widow wears a pleasing face,
And aims at winning a becoming mate,
To ease her poignant sorrow. But for thee,
Thou dost aspire to nothing! hast no aim,
But that of being pleased with endless dances—
The ball room is the goal of thy ambition!
This is trifling too much with thy existence.
In early youth I shared in all the joys
Which thou hast named, but took no real pleasure
In them. Ever before my eyes there stood
The ladder of my thoughts, where angels came
And went, like the Aurora in the North,
And by whose aid I had resolved to climb
To something greater than I yet had been,
And step by step to struggle to the top,
Or tumble headlong from the wild ascent.
I'd many lofty thoughts, but one there was,
Like snow-crowned Jura 'mongst his subject Alps,
Catching the sun's first rays; the moon and stars
Sent down their silver-pluméd messengers,
Whose smiles did keep it in perpetual light,
While all else lay in twilight: one great thought,
A kingly oak within a field of shrubs.
If thou wouldst be a Teacher, school thyself;
The Mind of Man is as a crucible
Which the Great Giver fills with golden Thought,
Tis Human Nature which supplies the dross;
But the same nature with that aid divine
Which all must seek who would live nigh to God,
Is a most subtle Alchymist, whose skill
Turns Error's dross to Truth's refinéd gold.
Seek Truth in time. The well is deep, my friend.
See that she pass thee not upon the way.
Man never sought for Truth and found her not.
The diver may not seize the largest pearl
At the first dip, nor yet in many years,
But every hair of his devoted head
Flings back a pearl into the deep again,
As full of beauty as the one he sought,
While he, all resolute, re-seeks the gem.
In searching for the one great Truth, beware
Lest thou reject the lesser truths which heaven
Profusely scatters in thy daily path.
I'd rather mould one burning Star of Thought,
Whose light would centre in some darkened mind,
Make some lone heart a peopled universe,
Lit by the smile of God's immeasured love,
Than sway the sceptres of an hundred thrones,
Or boast the wealth of Crœsus ten times told.

BERTRAM .

Old man! Your words, like sparks from stubborn flint,
Descend in brilliant showers on my brain,
Which like the earnest tinder cannot fail
To catch therefrom some gleams of inspiration,
Almost unwillingly. Already do
I wander in my purpose, to begone
To the ephemeral sports that make my life
One round of giddy pleasure. Did I stay,
I might forget the utter loneliness
Of the place, while confounded by thy speech;
I must away at once.

LORENZO .

Not yet awhile.
I've a surprise in store for thee, if thou
Canst bear it. I would fain convince thee, friend,
That God sits throned upon these lofty wilds,
And prove to thy half-unbelieving mind
That the still voice of august nature speaks
Audibly and incessantly to man.
Let's to the mountains.

BERTRAM .

Well; to please thee, yes.
Age has its whims, which youth must knuckle to,
Or bide by the displeasure of its seniors.