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Who of this crowd to-night shall tread O, when I am safe in my sylvan home,
The dance till daylight gleam again? I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome; Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead? And when I am stretched beneath the pines, Who writhe in throes of mortal pain ? Where the evening star so holy shines,
I laugh at the lore and the pride of man, Some, famine-struck, shall think how long At the sophist schools, and the learned clan;
The cold dark hours, how slow the light; For what are they all, in their high conceit, And some, who flaunt amid the throng,
When man in the bush with God may meet? Shall hide in dens of shame to-night.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
TEMPERANCE, OR THE CHEAP PHY.
MORTAL mixed of middle clay, Attempered to the night and day, Interchangeable with things, Needs no amulets nor rings. Guy possessed the talisman That all things from him began; And as, of old, Polycrates Chained the sunshine and the breeze, So did Guy betimes discover Fortune was his guard and loverIn strange junctures felt, with awe, His own symmetry with law; So that no mixture could withstand The virtue of his lucky hand. He gold or jewel could not lose, Nor not receive his ample dues. In the street, if he turned round, His eye the eye 't was seeking found. It seemed bis genius discreet Worked on the maker's own receipt, And made each tide and element Stewards of stipend and of rent; So that the common waters fell As costly wine into his well. He had so sped his wise affairs That he caught nature in his snares: Early or late, the falling rain Arrived in time to swell his grain; Stream could not so perversely wind But corn of Guy's was there to grind; The siroc found it on its way To speed his sails, to dry his hay; And the world's sun seemed to rise To drudge all day for Guy the wise. In his rich nurseries timely skill Strong crab with nobler blood did fill; The zephyr in his garden rolled From plum-trees vegetable gold; And all the hours of the year With their own harvest honored were. There was no frost but welcome came, Nor freshet, nor midsummer flame. Belonged to wind and world the toil And venture, and to Guy the oil.
RALPL WALDO EMERSON.
Go now! and with some daring drug
Methinks I hear, methinks I see,
apes ; Doleful outcries and fearful sights My sad and dismal soul affrights.
All my griefs to this are jolly;
HENCE ALL YOU VAIN DELIGHTS.
HENCE all yon vain delights,
Wherein you spend your folly!
But only melancholy;
O sweetest melancholy! Welcome folded arms and fixed eyes, A sigh that, piercing, mortifies, A look that's fastened to the ground, A tongue chained up without a sound!
The world !—it is a wilderness,