The effect of watching, study, weariness. Were there a spark of truth in the confusion
Of these wild words, you would not outrage thus Your youth's companion. I shall ne'er regard
These wanderings, bred of faintness and much study. You would not trust a trouble thus to me,
I have said it, dearest Festus !
The manner is ungracious, probably;
More may be told in broken sobs, one day,
And scalding tears, ere long: but I thought best To keep that off as long as possible.
That one whose labour perfects any work, Shall rise from it with eye so worn, that he Of all men least can measure the extent Of what he has accomplished. He alone, Who, nothing tasked, is nothing weary too, Can clearly scan the little he effects: But we, the bystanders, untouched by toil, Estimate each aright.
This worthy Festus 'Tis so with all!
First, they set down all progress as a dream, And next, when he, whose quick discomfiture Was counted on, accomplishes some few And doubtful steps in his career,-behold,
They look for every inch of ground to vanish Beneath his tread, so sure they judge success!
Fest. Few doubtful steps? when death retires before Your presence-when the noblest of mankind, Broken in body, or subdued in mind,
May through your skill renew their vigour, raise The shattered frame to pristine stateliness?
When men in racking pain may purchase dreams Of what delights them most-swooning at once Into a sea of bliss, or rapt along
As in a flying sphere of turbulent light? When we may look to you as one ordained To free the flesh from fell disease, as frees Our Luther's burning tongue the fettered soul? When...
Rather, when and where, friend, did you get
Even from the common voice;
From those whose envy, daring not dispute The wonders it decries, attributes them
To magic and such folly.
To magic, pray? You find a comfort doubtless In holding, God ne'er troubles him about Us or our doings: once we were judged worth The devil's tempting... I offend: forgive me, And rest content. Your prophecy on the whole Was fair enough as prophesyings go;
At fault a little in detail, but quite
Precise enough in the main; accordingly
I pay due homage: you guessed long ago
(The prophet!) I should fail-and I have failed.
Fest. You mean to tell me, then, the hopes which fed Your youth have not been realized as yet?
Some obstacle has barred them hitherto ?
Or that their innate ...
You have a very decent prophet's fame,
So you but shun details here. Little matters Whether those hopes were mad, the aims they sought, Safe and secure from all ambitious fools;
Or whether my weak wits are overcome
By what a better spirit would scorn: I fail.
And now methinks 'twere best to change a theme, I am a sad fool to have stumbled on.
I say confusedly what comes uppermost; But there are times when patience proves at fault, As now this morning's strange encounter-you Beside me once again! you, whom I guessed Alive, since hitherto (with Luther's leave) No friend have I among the saints at rest, To judge by any good their prayers effect-
I knew you would have helped me !—So would He, My strange competitor in enterprise,
Bound for the same end by another path,
Arrived, or ill or well, before the time,
At our disastrous journey's doubtful close- How goes it with Aprile? Ah, your heaven
Receives not into its beatitudes
Mere martyrs for the world's sake; heaven shuts fast: The poor mad poet is howling by this time!
Since you are my sole friend then, here or there,
I could not quite repress the varied feelings This meeting wakens; they have had their vent, And now forget them. Do the rear-mice still Hang like a fret-work on the gate (or what In my time was a gate) fronting the road From Einsiedeln to Lachen?
Answer me for my sake alone. You smiled Just now, when I supposed some deed, unworthy Yourself might blot the else so bright result; Yet if your motives have continued pure, Your earnest will unfaltering, if you still Remain unchanged, and if, in spite of this, You have experienced a defeat that proves Your aims forever unattainable-
I say not, you would cheerfully resign
The contest-mortal hearts are not so fashioned- But sure you would resign it, ne'ertheless. You sought not fame, nor gain, nor even love; No end distinct from knowledge,—I repeat Your very words once satisfied that knowledge Is a mere dream, you would announce as much, Yourself the first. But how is the event? You are defeated-and I find you here!
Par. As though "here" did not signify defeat!
I spoke not of my little labours here— But of the break-down of my general aims: That you, aware of their extent and scope, Should look on these sage lecturings, approved By beardless boys, and bearded dotards,—these As a fit consummation of such aims, Is worthy notice! A professorship At Basil! Since you see so much in it, And think my life was reasonably drained Of life's delights to render me a match For duties arduous as such post demands,— Far be it from me to deny my power To fill the petty circle lotted out From infinite space, or justify the host Of honours thence accruing: so, take notice, This jewel dangling from my neck preserves The features of a prince, my skill restored
To plague his people some few years to come :
And all through a pure whim. He had eased the earth For me, but that the droll despair which seized The vermin of his household, tickled me.
I came to see: here, drivelled the physician, Whose most infallible nostrum was at fault; There quaked the astrologer, whose horoscope Had promised him interminable years;
Here a monk fumbled at the sick man's mouth With some undoubted relic-a sudary Of the Virgin; while some other dozen knaves Of the same brotherhood (he loved them ever)
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