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And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait
For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state;
Whom they must follow ; on whose head must fall,
Like showers of manna, if they come at all :
Whose
powers

shed round him in the common strife,
Or mild concerns of ordinary life,
A constant influence, a peculiar grace;
But who, if he be called upon to face
Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined
Great issues, good or bad for human kind,
Is happy as a Lover; and attired
With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired ;
And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law
In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw ;
Or if an unexpected call succeed,
Come when it will, is equal to the need :
- He who though thus endued as with a sense
And faculty for storm and turbulence,
Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans
To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes ;
Sweet images ! which, wheresoe'er he be,
Are at his heart; and such fidelity
It is his darling passion to approve;
More brave for this, that he hath much to love :-

'Tis, finally, the Man, who, lifted high
Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye,
Or left unthought-of in obscurity, -
Who, with a toward or untoward lot,
Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not,
Plays, in the many games of life, that one
Where what he most doth value must be won:
Whom neither shape of danger can dismay,
Nor thought of tender happiness betray;
Who, not content that former worth stand fast,
Looks forward, persevering to the last,
From well to better, daily self-surpast:
Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth
For ever, and to noble deeds give birth,
Or He must go to dust without his fame,
And leave a dead unprofitable name,
Finds comfort in himself and in his cause;
And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws
His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause :
This is the happy Warrior ; this is He
Whom
every

Man in arms should wish to be.

VI.

A POET'S EPITAPH.

ART thou a Statesman, in the van
Of public business trained and bred ?

- First learn to love one living man; Then may'st thou think upon the dead.

A Lawyer art thou? — draw not nigh;
Go, carry to some fitter place
The keenness of that practised eye,
The hardness of that sallow face.

Art thou a Man of purple cheer?
A rosy Man, right plump to see?
Approach; yet, Doctor, not too near :
This grave no cushion is for thee.

Or art thou One of gallant pride,
A Soldier, and no'man of chaff?
Welcome ! but lay thy sword aside,

Peasant's staff.

And lean upon

Physician art thou ? One, all eyes,
Philosopher! a fingering slave,
One that would peep

and botanize Upon his mother's grave?

Wrapt closely in thy sensual fleece,
O turn aside, - and take, I pray,
That he below

may

rest in peace, That abject thing, thy soul, away!

- A Moralist perchance appears; Led, Heaven knows how ! to this

poor

sod: And He has neither eyes nor ears; Himself his world, and his own God;

One to whose smooth-rubbed soul can cling
Nor form, nor feeling, great nor small;
A reasoning, self-sufficing thing,
An intellectual All in All !

Shut close the door; press down the latch ;
Sleep in thy intellectual crust;
Nor lose ten tickings of thy watch
Near this unprofitable dust.

But who is He, with modest looks,
And clad in homely russet brown?
He murmurs near the running brooks
A music sweeter than their own.

He is retired as noontide dew,
Or fountain in a noon-day grove ;
And
you

must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.

The outward shows of sky and earth,
Of hill and valley, he has viewed;
And impulses of deeper birth
Have come to him in solitude.

In common things that round us lie
Some random truths he can impart,
- The harvest of a quiet eye
That broods and sleeps on his own heart.

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