  He spoke of Burns: men rude and rough Pressed round to hear the praise of one Whose heart was made of manly, simple, stuff, As homespun as their own. Drinking, with eager hearts and ears, His brook-like songs whom glory never weaned From humble smiles and tears. Slowly there grew a tender awe, 10Sunlike, o'er faces brown and hard. As if in him who read they felt and saw Some presence of the bard. It was a sight for sin and wrong And slavish tyranny to see, 15A sight to make our faith more pure and strong In high humanity. I thought, these men will carry hence Promptings their former life above. And something of a finer reverence 20For beauty, truth, and love, God scatters love on every side, Freely among his children all, And always hearts are lying open wide, Wherein some grains may fall. 25There is no wind but soweth seeds Of a more true and open life, Which burst unlocked for, into high-souled deeds, With wayside beauty rife. We find within these souls of ours 30Some wild germs of a higher birth, Which in the poet's tropic heart bear flowers Whose fragrance fills the earth. Within the hearts of all men lie These promises of wider bliss, 35Which blossom into hopes that cannot die, In sunny hours like this. All that hath been majestical In life or death, since time began, Is native in the simple heart of all, 40The angel heart of man. And thus, among the untaught poor, Great deeds and feelings find a home, That cast in shadow all the golden lore Of classic Greece and Rome. 45O, mighty brother-soul of man. Where'er thou art, in low or high, Thy skyey arches with, exulting span O'er-roof infinity! All thoughts that mould the age begin 50Deep down within the primitive soul, And from the many slowly upward win To one who grasps the whole. In his wide brain the feeling deep That struggled on the many's tongue 55Swells to a tide of thought, whose surges leap O'er the weak thrones of wrong. All thought begins in feeling,—wide In the great mass its base is hid, And, narrowing up to thought, stands glorified, 60A moveless pyramid. Nor is he far astray, who deems That every hope, which rises and grows broad From the great heart of God. 65God wills, man hopes; in common souls Hope is but vague and undefined, Till from the poet's tongue the message rolls A blessing to his kind. Never did Poesy appear 70So full of heaven to me, as when I saw how it would pierce through pride and fear, To the lives of coarsest men. It may be glorious to write Thoughts that shall glad the two or three 75High souls, like those far stars that come in sight Once in a century;— But better far it is to speak One simple word, which now and then Shall waken their free nature in the weak 80And friendless sons of men; To write some earnest verse or line Which, seeking not the praise of art. Shall make a clearer faith and manhood shine In the untutored heart. 85He who doth this, in verse or prose, May be forgotten in his day, But surely shall be crowned at last with those Who live and speak for aye. |
|
