To Eliza Lynn, with the "Five Scenes"

Eloquence often draws the mind awry
By too much tension, then relaxes it
With magic fires round which the Passions stand
Crazed or perverse; but thine invigorates,
By leading from the flutter of the crowd,
And from the flimsy lace and rank perfume
And mirror where all faces are alike,
Up the steep hill where Wisdom, looking stern
To those afar, sits calm, benign; the Gods
But just above, the Graces just below,
Regarding blandly his decorous robe:
There are, my lovely friend, who twitch at thine;
Suffer it; walk straight on; they will have past
Soon out of sight. The powerfulest on earth
Lose all their potency by one assault
On Genius or on Virtue. Where are they
Who pelted Milton? Where are they who raised
Fresh Furies round Rousseau? Where he accurst,
Thrice a deserter, thrice a fugitive,
Always a dastard, who by torchlight shed
A Conde's blood? His march the wolf and bear
Most signalized; he gorged them till they slept,
And howl'd no longer; men alone howl'd there,
Under sharp wounds and Famine's sharper fang.
He ridged the frozen flats of Muscovy
And bridged the rivers, paved the roads, with men, . .
Men in the morning, blocks of ice at noon.
Myriads of these are less than one he threw
To death more lingering in a dungeon's damp,
The sable chief who made his brethren free.
Malevolence in guise of Flattery
Will bow before thee. Men I know of old
In whose wry mouths are friendship, truthfulness,
And gentleness, and geniality,
And good old customs, sound old hearts. Beware
Lest they come sideling, lest they slily slip
Some lout before thee whose splay foot impedes
Thy steps, whose shoulder hides thee from thy friends:
Leave such behind; let pity temper scorn.
With this encouragement, with this advice,
Accept my Christmas gift, perhaps my last.
Behold Five Scenes, scenes not indeed most fit
For gentle souls to dwell in; but the worst
Lie out of sight, dark cypresses between;
Another dared pass thro' them, I dare not.
Askest thou why none ever could lead forth
My steps upon the stage? . . I would evoke
Men's meditation, shunning men's applause.
Let this come after me, if come it will;
I shall not wait for it, nor pant for it,
Nor hold my breath to hear it, far or nigh.
Orestes and Electra walkt with me,
And few observ'd them: then Giovanna shed
Her tears into my bosom, mine alone.
The shambling step in plashy loose morass,
The froth upon the lip, the slavering tongue,
The husky speech interminable, please
More than the vulgar, tho' the vulgar most.
How little worth is fame when even the wise
Wander so widely in our wildering field!
Easy it were for one in whose domain
Each subject hath its own, and but his own,
Easy it were for him to parcel out
A few more speeches, filling up the chinks;
Difficult, far more difficult, to work
Wards for the lock than hinges for the gate.
I who have skill for wards have also strength
For hinges; nor should they disgrace the door
Of noblest temple Borne or Athens rear'd.
Content am I to go where soon I must;
Another day may see me, now unseen;
I may perhaps rise slowly from my tomb
And take my seat among the living guests.
Meanwhile let some one tell the world thy worth,
One whom the world shall listen to, one great
Above his fellows, nor much lower than thou:
He who can crown stands very near the crown'd.