The mortal persevering to the end.

For I too have been something, though too soon

I left the instincts of that happy time!

Fest. What happy time? For God's sake, for man's sake,
What time was happy? All I hope to know
That answer will decide. What happy time?

Par. When, but the time I vowed my help to man
Fest. Great God, thy judgments are inscrutable !
Par. Yes, it was in me; I was born for it-
I, Paracelsus: It was mine by right.

Doubtless a searching and impetuous soul

Might learn from its own motions that some task
Like this awaited it about the world;

Might seek somewhere in this blank life of ours
For fit delights to stay its longings vast;
And, grappling Nature, so prevail on her
To fill the creature full she dared to frame
Hungry for joy; and, bravely tyrannous,
Grow in demand, still craving more and more,
And make each joy conceded prove a pledge
Of other joy to follow-bating nought

Of its desires, still seizing fresh pretence

To turn the knowledge and the rapture wrung
As an extreme, last boon, from Destiny,
Into occasion for new covetings,

New strifes, new triumphs :-doubtless a strong soul
Alone, unaided might attain to this,

So glorious is our nature, so august
Man's inborn uninstructed impulses,

?

His naked spirit so majestical!

But this was born in me; I was made so;
Thus much time saved: the feverish appetites,
The tumult of unproved desire, the unaimed
Uncertain yearnings, aspirations blind,
Distrust, mistake, and all that ends in tears
Were saved me; thus I entered on my course!
You may be sure I was not all exempt
From human trouble; just so much of doubt
As bade me plant a surer foot upon

The sun-road-kept my eye unruined mid
The fierce and flashing splendour-set my heart
Trembling so much as warned me I stood there
On sufferance-not to idly gaze, but cast
Light on a darkling race; save for that doubt,
I stood at first where all aspire at last
To stand the secret of the world was mine.
I knew, I felt, (perception unexpressed,
Uncomprehended by our narrow thought,
But somehow felt and known in every shift
And change in the spirit,—nay, in every pore
Of the body, even,)—what God is, what we are,
What life is how God tastes an infinite joy
In infinite ways-one everlasting bliss,
From whom all being emanates, all power
Proceeds; in whom is life for evermore,
Yet whom existence in its lowest form
Includes; where dwells enjoyment there is He!
With still a flying point of bliss remote,

A happiness in store afar, a sphere
Of distant glory in full view; thus climbs
Pleasure its heights forever and forever!
The centre-fire heaves underneath the earth,
And the earth changes like a human face;
The molten ore bursts up among the rocks,
Winds into the stone's heart, outbranches bright
In hidden mines, spots barren river-beds,
Crumbles into fine sand where sunbeams bask―
God joys therein! The wroth sea's waves are edged
With foam, white as the bitten lip of Hate,
When, in the solitary waste, strange groups
Of young volcanoes come up, cyclops-like,
Staring together with their eyes on flame ;-
God tastes a pleasure in their uncouth pride!
Then all is still earth is a wintry clod;
But spring-wind, like a dancing psaltress, passes
Over its breast to waken it; rare verdure
Buds tenderly upon rough banks, between

The withered tree-roots and the cracks of frost,
Like a smile striving with a wrinkled face;

The grass grows bright, the boughs are swoln with blooms,
Like chrysalids impatient for the air;

The shining dorrs are busy; beetles run
Along the furrows, ants make their ado;
Above, birds fly in merry flocks—the lark
Soars up and up, shivering for very joy;
Afar the ocean sleeps; white fishing-gulls
Flit where the strand is purple with its tribe

Of nested limpets; savage creatures seek

Their loves in wood and plain; and God renews
His ancient rapture! Thus he dwells in all,
From life's minute beginnings, up at last
To man-the consummation of this scheme
Of being, the completion of this sphere

Of life whose attributes had here and there
Been scattered o'er the visible world before,
Asking to be combined-dim fragments meant
To be united in some wondrous whole-
Imperfect qualities throughout creation,
Suggesting some one creature yet to make—

Some point where all those scattered rays should meet
Convergent in the faculties of man.

Power; neither put forth blindly, nor controlled

Calmly by perfect knowledge; to be used

At risk, inspired or checked by hope and fear ·
Knowledge; not intuition, but the slow
Uncertain fruit of an enhancing toil,

Strengthened by love: love; not serenely pure,
But strong from weakness, like a chance-sown plant
Which, cast on stubborn soil, puts forth changed buds,
And softer stains, unknown in happier climes;
Love which endures, and doubts, and is oppressed,
And cherished, suffering much, and much sustained,
A blind, oft-failing, yet believing love,

A half-enlightened, often-checkered trust :-
Hints and previsions of which faculties,
Are strewn confusedly everywhere about

The inferior natures; and all lead up higher,
All shape out dimly the superior race,

The heir of hopes too fair to turn out false,
And Man appears at last: so far the seal
Is put on life; one stage of being complete,
One scheme wound up; and from the grand result
A supplementary reflux of light,

Illustrates all the inferior grades, explains
Each back step in the circle. Not alone
For their possessor dawn those qualities,
But the new glory mixes with the heaven
And earth: Man, once descried, imprints forever
His presence on all lifeless things; the winds
Are henceforth voices, in a wail or shout,
A querulous mutter, or a quick gay laugh—
Never a senseless gust now man is born!

The herded pines commune, and have deep thoughts,
A secret they assemble to discuss,

When the sun drops behind their trunks which glare

Like grates of hell: the peerless cup afloat

Of the lake-lily is an urn, some nymph
Swims bearing high above her head: no bird
Whistles unseen, but through the gaps above
That let light in upon the gloomy woods,
A shape peeps from the breezy forest-top,
Arch with small puckered mouth and mocking eye:
The morn has enterprise,-deep quiet droops
With evening; triumph takes the sunset hour,
Voluptuous transport ripens with the corn
Beneath a warm moon like a happy face: