Remember the rule of the JEHU-tribe is,
"Medio tutissimus ibis,'
As the judge remarked to a rowdy Scotchman
(Who was going to quod between two watchmen)
So mind your eye and spare your goad-
Be shy of the stones and keep in the road!"
Now PHAETHON, perched in the coachman's place,
Drove off the steeds at a furious pace,
Fast as coursers running a race,
Or bounding along in a steeple-chase!
Of whip and shout there was no lack—
"Crack-whack-
Resounding along the horses' back!
Frightened beneath the stinging lash,
Cutting their flanks in many a gash,
On-on they speed as swift as a flash,
Through thick and thin away they dash
(Such rapid driving is always rash)!
When, all at once, with a dreadful crash,
The whole establishment went to smash!
And PHAETHON, he,
Off the coach was suddenly hurled,
Into a puddle, and out of the world!
Don't rashly take to dangerous courses,
Nor set it down in your table of forces
That any one man equals any four horses!
Don't swear by the Styx !--
It's one of Old NICK'S
Diabolical tricks
To get people into a regular "fix,"
And hold 'em there as fast as bricks!
Is the fortune of the bard
Born out of time;
All his accomplishment
From Nature's utmost treasure spent
Booteth not him.
When the pine tosses its cones
To the song of its waterfall tones,
He speeds to the woodland walks,
To birds and trees he talks:
CÆSAR of his leafy Rome,
There the poet is at home.
He goes to the river-side,——
Not hook nor line hath he:
He stands in the meadows wide,—
Nor gun nor scythe to see;
With none has he to do,
And none to seek him,
Nor men below,
Nor spirits dim.
What he knows nobody wants;
What he knows he hides, not vaunts.
Knowledge this man prizes best
Seems fantastic to the rest;
Pondering shadows, colours, clouds,
Grass-buds, and caterpillars' shrouds,
Boughs on which the wild bees settle,
Tints that spot the violets' petal,
Why Nature loves the number five,
And why the star-form she repeats ;—
Lover of all things alive,
Wonderer at all he meets,
Wonderer chiefly at himself,-
Who can tell him what he is,
Or how meet in human elf
Coming and past eternities?
And such I knew, a forest seer,
A minstrel of the natural year,
Foreteller of the vernal ides,
Wise harbinger of spheres and tides,
A lover true, who knew by heart
Each joy the mountain-dales impart ;
It seemed that Nature could not raise
A plant in any secret place,
In quaking bog, on snowy hill,
Beneath the grass that shades the rill,
Under the snow, beneath the rocks,
In damp fields known to bird and fox,
But he would come in the very hour
It opened in its virgin bower,
As if a sunbeam showed the place,
And tell its long-descended race.
It seemed as if the breezes brought him,
It seemed as if the sparrows taught him,
As if by secret sight he knew
Where in far fields the orchis grew.
There are many events in the field,
Which are not shown to common eyes,
But all her shows did Nature yield
To please and win this pilgrim wise.
He saw the partridge drum in the woods,
He heard the woodcock's evening hymn,
He found the tawny thrush's broods,
And the shy hawk did wait for him.
What others did at distance hear,
And guessed within the thicket's gloom,
Was showed to this philosopher,
And at his bidding seemed to come.
LITTLE thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown
Of thee from the hill-top looking down;
The heifer that lows in the upland farm,
Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm;
The sexton, tolling his bell at noon,
Deems not that great NAPOLEON
Stops his horse, and lists with delight,
Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height;
Nor knowest thou what argument
Thy life to thy neighbour's creed has lent.
All are needed by each one--
Nothing is fair or good alone.
I thought the sparrow's note from heaven,
Singing at dawn on the alder-bough;
I brought him home, in his nest, at even.
He sings the song, but it pleases not now;
For I did not bring home the river and sky:
He
sang to my ear-they sang to my eye.
The delicate shells lay on shore;
The bubbles of the latest wave
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave,
And the bellowing of the savage sea
Greeted their safe escape to me.
I wiped away the weeds and foam—
I fetched my sea-born treasures home;
But the poor, unsightly, noisome things
Had left their beauty on the shore,
With the sun, and the sand, and the wild uproar.
The lover watched his graceful maid,
As mid the virgin train she strayed;
Nor knew her beauty's best attire
Was woven still by the snow white choir.
At last she came to his hermitage,
Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage;
The gay enchantment was undone
A gentle wife, but fairy none.
"Then I said, "I covet truth;
Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat-
I leave it behind with the games of youth."
As I spoke, beneath my feet
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