Poems by Ralph Waldo Emerson Part 39

His mother died,--the only friend he had,-- Some tears escaped, but his philosophy Couched like a cat sat watching close behind And throttled all his pa.s.sion. Is't not like That devil-spider that devours her mate Scarce freed from her embraces?

INTELLECT

Gravely it broods apart on joy, And, truth to tell, amused by pain.

LIMITS

Who knows this or that?

Hark in the wall to the rat: Since the world was, he has gnawed; Of his wisdom, of his fraud What dost thou know?

In the wretched little beast Is life and heart, Child and parent, Not without relation To fruitful field and sun and moon.

What art thou? His wicked eye Is cruel to thy cruelty.

INSCRIPTION FOR A WELL IN MEMORY OF THE MARTYRS OF THE WAR

Fall, stream, from Heaven to bless; return as well; So did our sons; Heaven met them as they fell.

THE EXILE

(AFTER TALIESSIN)

The heavy blue chain Of the boundless main Didst thou, just man, endure.

I have an arrow that will find its mark, A mastiff that will bite without a hark.

VI

POEMS OF YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD

1823-1834

THE BELL

I love thy music, mellow bell, I love thine iron chime, To life or death, to heaven or h.e.l.l, Which calls the sons of Time.

Thy voice upon the deep The home-bound sea-boy hails, It charms his cares to sleep, It cheers him as he sails.

To house of G.o.d and heavenly joys Thy summons called our sires, And good men thought thy sacred voice Disarmed the thunder's fires.

And soon thy music, sad death-bell, Shall lift its notes once more, And mix my requiem with the wind That sweeps my native sh.o.r.e.

1823.

THOUGHT

I am not poor, but I am proud, Of one inalienable right, Above the envy of the crowd,-- Thought's holy light.

Better it is than gems or gold, And oh! it cannot die, But thought will glow when the sun grows cold, And mix with Deity.

BOSTON, 1823.

PRAYER

When success exalts thy lot, G.o.d for thy virtue lays a plot: And all thy life is for thy own, Then for mankind's instruction shown; And though thy knees were never bent, To Heaven thy hourly prayers are sent, And whether formed for good or ill, Are registered and answered still.

1826 [?].

I bear in youth the sad infirmities That use to undo the limb and sense of age; It hath pleased Heaven to break the dream of bliss Which lit my onward way with bright presage, And my unserviceable limbs forego.

The sweet delight I found in fields and farms, On windy hills, whose tops with morning glow, And lakes, smooth mirrors of Aurora's charms.

Yet I think on them in the silent night, Still breaks that morn, though dim, to Memory's eye, And the firm soul does the pale train defy Of grim Disease, that would her peace affright.

Please G.o.d, I'll wrap me in mine innocence, And bid each awful Muse drive the d.a.m.ned harpies hence.

CAMBRIDGE, 1827.

Be of good cheer, brave spirit; steadfastly Serve that low whisper thou hast served; for know, G.o.d hath a select family of sons Now scattered wide thro' earth, and each alone, Who are thy spiritual kindred, and each one By constant service to, that inward law, Is weaving the sublime proportions Of a true monarch's soul. Beauty and strength, The riches of a spotless memory, The eloquence of truth, the wisdom got By searching of a clear and loving eye That seeth as G.o.d seeth. These are their gifts, And Time, who keeps G.o.d's word, brings on the day To seal the marriage of these minds with thine, Thine everlasting lovers. Ye shall be The salt of all the elements, world of the world.

TO-DAY