HYMN. WRITTEN FOR THE LATE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION OF THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS, AT NEW-HAVEN, CONNECTICUT.' HERE then, beneath the green-wood shade, His altar first the pilgrim inade; "T was here, amid the mingled throng, The same low sounds are in our ears, The sun which lends its gladness now, How peaceful smiled that Sabbath sun! Hush'd was the stormy forest's roar, The billow murmur'd where it died. The young bird, cradled by its nest, The red man, as the blue wave broke Look now upon the same still scene! The wood and wild have pass'd away; And lo! our goodly heritage, A busy scene, a prosperous age; Here Commerce spreads her snowy wings, Far as the spreading gaze is given, And here, where hearth nor home might bless, Like spring, young Love now decks the year, * Supposed to be sung on the spot where the pilgrims landed, and held their first public Sabbath worship. Ir has lately been well and truly said, 'There are two kinds of wisdom in the one, every age in which science flourishes surpasses, or ought to surpass, its predecessor; of the other, there is nearly an equal amount in all ages. The first is the wisdom which depends upon long chains of reasonings, a comprehensive survey of the whole of a great subject at once, or complicated and subtle processes of metaphysical analysis: this is properly philosophy; the other is that acquired by experience of life, and a good use of the opportunities possessed by all who have mingled much with the world, or who have a large share of human nature in their bosoms. This unsystematic wisdom, drawn from personal experience is termed properly the wisdom of ages.'* The writer from whom we quote, goes on to state, that this notion furnishes a solution of the wisdom of the Proverbs of Solomon, which are, on this account, equally applicable to all periods. Indeed it is the writing from these real sources of knowledge, action and observation, that makes the popularity of Æsop, the excellence of Bacon, and the immortality of Shakspeare. But forms and customs, the science of getting on in the world, change. * London and Westminster Rev., Jan. 1837. The 'justice' of our historian is not the justice of one day universally. The character he has hit upon to embody the fifth age' is not, perhaps, as applicable now as it was then. But Shakspeare himself was a 'justice,' when he wrote the ages, not though as he painted him. It is his own age that, in our view, he fails to describe with perfect truth. But it has almost passed into an axiom that no man can write the history of his own times or of his own life. Then how can a justice describe a justice? No American could at this time write the history of the administration of Andrew Jackson with impartiality; and it is satisfactory to think, that the life of John Quincy Adams will be written by some one in the next generation. The man looks with truth upon his boyhood, his loves, and his battles, but he does not know himself. The 'justice' is the age of wisdom, but not the wisdom of its own nature and time, but of the past. A man may be a fool at thirty, and yet die a sage. Let him who has gleaned no knowledge at forty, who is a dupe, a bigot, and a sneak at this age, keep as much out of sight as possible. His case is hopeless. It is told as a great wonder in the history of mind, that Sheridan was a dull boy. Now he is called a dull boy who does not get his lessons at school, who hates books; and it is precisely those minds that are not easily trammelled and harnessed by false systems of education, that are most likely to turn out well. Why expect the fruit before the harvest? Why look for wisdom in the ages of experience? Byron's early poetry was perhaps justly ridiculed. He who is a wonder as a boy, is rarely distinguished as a man. The boyhood of a distinguished man may be made to become a wonder, when read by the light of his manly deeds; when we have the key of his character at hand to decipher the riddle of his waywardness or dullness in his youth. The fruits that are early ripe are often wormeaten and unsound, and the minds that are precocious and forward, never arrive at perfect strength. Let him who is cosseted in his early years as a genius, content to stand upon the sandy foundation of a pretty thought, or a flowery college exercise, beware of neglecting the common; beware of neglecting those paths to wisdom which lie open to be trod in the market places of mankind. The steps to the 'justice' or age of wisdom, are regularly progressive. A man may not jump the 'lover' or the 'soldier' with impunity. This is the reason why some are never wise, because they are never boys, lovers, and soldiers, in a natural way; they are hurried, by ambitious and impatient parents, who always look at their children through magnifying glasses, over the early disciplinary 'ages.' A boy is a lover when he should be playing ball; he passes into action when he should be 'sighing like furnace,' and he becomes a long, lean, lank 'justice,' with no portliness nor 'wise saws' in which to play his part. Many poets who have been worshipped, were not men in independence, self-reliance, and resolution. Like the wandering harpers, the minstrels of old, they have been welcome in castle hall, in lady's bower. They have had the freedom of the world granted to them; and by common consent have been supposed to be free from the rules and obligations which bind working, every-day men. Their excesses have been pardoned as venial eccentricities, and all their strangeness viewed as the peculiarities of genius. Persons very wise in their own estimation, fall into the palpable inconsistency of ridiculing those who would elevate common life into its real importance, and who would consecrate in poetry, not the wild, the supernatural, the exaggerated, but simple action, way-side truth, the humble, the pure, the lowly; the cottage, not the palace'; the cottager, not the king. Those very persons who now cry out so louldly against transcendentalism, the vague, the false, as they call it, are the men who, by their patronage and praise, have been the advocates of those who, so they wrote well, they were content should live very badly. They prefer Byron and Goldsmith, the one an exile by his own ill-regulated passions, the other a vagabond and gambler, to Wordsworth, with his worship of nature, and his saint-like life. Goldsmith never was a wise man or 'justice.' He travelled widely, and mixed extensively with mankind. He is wise by fits and starts, just in proportion as he follows his practical knowledge; and he is a fool in his new clothes, and at cards, and with his wine. Poor Goldy! We love thee while we condemn thee. We use thy faults for argument for the benefit of truth; thy virtues need no trumpet. And thou thyself, in thy purified state, free from duns, landladies, and thy superiors in talk, who prevented thee irksomely from realizing at the moment the inward strength thou wert conscious of possessing, now robed in immortal clothing with no base, earthly senses to distract thy spirit, as thou indulgest thy roving propensities in speeding from world to world, in thy pursuits of divine history, if thou art stopping to look over my shoulder as I indite thy name, in the reckless generosity of thy nature, art willing for all sacrifices of thine own! Thou knowest my motive! Thou forgivest the apparent wrong! Come, let me read to thee the 'Deserted Village,' in this richly-bound volume of your works! A poor tribute, this gilding and binding, to thy merit! Know that thou art read in many a carefully worn book, by the light of the kitchen fire; that all know thee and love thee, and all acknowledge that 'e'en thy failings lean to virtue's side!' Man was made to be a father, to have a family altar, to provide for the wants of his children. These acts develope his nature, and make him a 'justice.' How foolish to suppose a house capable of erecting itself, or to suppose a human being can be wise without experience! Those young men who are starting in life with high hopes, and who, in a noble spirit, have counted the cost of their undertaking, and determined upon the sacrifice, should not be discouraged when a young genius arises and shoots by them in their plodding course, seeming to take by intuition what costs them so much work. Let them recollect, that almost all those who lived in the body, years ago, and are not yet dead in the heart of the world, did not produce their lasting fruits until they had become 'justices;' been experienced in life, suffered its pangs, its ineffable miseries, and undergone its labor. Men may have a wonderful aptness in storing in their minds the knowledge of past ages, a retentive memory, a musical ear, fine taste, i. e., a good balance of the senses, the selections of the ear not offend ing the eye, and so through all, and yet be wanting, no matter how showy they may be, in a power to originate a single valuable idea. The makers are few; the sellers, the transporters, the box-fillers, the binders, many. For a young man to feel his faults, to know and lament his deficiencies, is the surest token of inherent soundness. He must not expect to be a 'justice' in a hurry. Let him work, and patiently bide his time. The early successes of the genius make him satisfied with himself, and endanger his mental health. He is apt to stop to contemplate his own elevation; to reap his reward, ere it is ripe for the plucking; while the late reapers gain the full harvest, pressed down and running over. If any one is anxious to test the truth of these remarks, we refer him to the eminent lawyers, profound philosophers, and eloquent and sound preachers of this or any time. Those men who have held the first places in the world's action, its honors and respect, as a general thing, either spent their youth in manual labor or some drudgery or other. After the age of twenty-five, many have begun their book-education, already educated to no common strength, and have sat with boys on a recitation bench, at school and college, and been taught by their juniors. They have had the courage and philosophy to do all this, and more, to support themselves through this iron labor (for books, words, signs, are no trifle to a man who has all his life been used to the real thing itself,) by services, in a menial capacity, so called, to the college; and then have by inches mounted the steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar,' and been rewarded for their chivalry and manliness. These are the 'justices,' and we hope they have their bellies with good capon lined,' or mutton or beef-steak, as they recount the history of their early struggles to their children. Surely it is no disgrace to a man to go well fed, let him be never so intellectual and philanthropic! Wisdom is not always employed for good, and we must needs confess that most of the charlatanry in the world is perpetrated by middle-aged gentlemen or 'justices.' It is rarely the case that youth lends itself to a set piece of imposition. It may be driven to shifts, be led into crime, and plunged in despair, which very state is a proof of a not seared conscience. But a man must be long drilled, tightly cramped, and have seen a great deal of life, (we take the view of Shakspeare,) before he will be willing to put on the garb of wise saws and modern instances,' and play a part. The enthusiasm of youth passed, the hurry and bustle of action being over, many a man, being taught, by conscience and his wisdom, to read the selfishness and wickedness of his own heart, about whose purity and fitness for death he has had no time to consider, does try, at least, to assume the exterior, the reality of which he so much needs, and which his moral nature demands, of virtue and sobriety; and without making any bones' about it, he joins churches; is enrolled in societies for the suppression of every thing, no matter what, so it bears the name of 'reform;' begins to look grave; comb out his curls; keep a little memorandum-book of wise sayings; feed that disposition in the world to look up to the solemn quackery of humbug, and so 'he plays his part.' Such an one, having learned the pleasures of temperance by the pains of excess, the folly of passion by the comforts of a constant equanimity, is prepared to enjoy an inferior kind of happiness in the gratifications of sense. He knows the rules of his stomach. You |