Good out of good--_that_ art is known to all-- But Genius from the bad the good can call-- Thou, mimic, not from leading strings escaped, Work'st but the matter that's already shaped! The already shaped a nobler hand awaits-- All matter asks a spirit that creates. * * * * * THE MASTER. The herd of Scribes by what they tell us Show all in which their wits excel us; But the true Master we behold In what his art leaves--just untold! * * * * * TO THE MYSTIC. That is the real mystery which around All life, is found;-- Which still before all eyes for aye has been, Nor eye hath seen! * * * * * ASTRONOMICAL WORKS. All measureless, all infinite in awe, Heaven to great souls is given-- And yet the sprite of littleness can draw Down to its inch--the Heaven! * * * * * THE DIVISION OF RANKS. Yes, there's a patent of nobility Above the meanness of our common state; With what they _do_ the vulgar natures buy Its titles--and with what they _are_, the great! * * * * * THEOPHANY. When draw the Prosperous near me, I forget The gods of heaven; but where Sorrow and suffering in my sight are set, The gods, I feel, are there! * * * * * THE CHIEF END OF MAN. What the chief end of Man?--Behold yon tree, And let it teach thee, Friend! _Will_ what that will-less yearns for;--and for thee Is compass'd Man's chief end! * * * * * ULYSSES. To gain his home all oceans he explored-- Here Scylla frown'd--and there Charybdis roar'd; Horror on sea--and horror on the land-- In hell's dark boat he sought the spectre land, Till borne--a slumberer--to his native spot He woke--and sorrowing, knew his country not! * * * * * JOVE TO HERCULES. 'Twas not my nectar made thy strength divine, But 'twas thy strength which made my nectar thine! * * * * * THE SOWER. See, full of hope, thou trustest to the earth The golden seed, and waitest till the spring Summons the buried to a happier birth; But in Time's furrow duly scattering, Think'st thou, how deeds by wisdom sown may be, Silently ripen'd for Eternity? * * * * * THE MERCHANT. Where sails the ship?--It leads the Tyrian forth For the rich amber of the liberal North. Be kind ye seas--winds lend your gentlest wing, May in each creek, sweet wells restoring spring!-- To you, ye gods, belong the Merchant!--o'er The waves, his sails the wide world's goods explore; And, all the while, wherever waft the gales, The wide world's good sails with him as he sails!