ARAM. If the witch Hope forbids us to be wise, Yet when I turn to these--Woe's only friends, And with their weird and eloquent voices calm The stir and Babel of the world within, I can but dream that my vex'd years at last Shall find the quiet of a hermit's cell:-- And, neighbouring not this hacked and jaded world, Beneath the lambent eyes of the loved stars, And, with the hollow rocks and sparry caves, The tides, and all the many-music'd winds My oracles and co-mates;--watch my life Glide down the Stream of Knowledge, and behold Its waters with a musing stillness glass The thousand hues of Nature and of Heaven. --From Eugene Aram, a MS. Tragedy. The Earl continued with the party he had joined; and when their occupation was concluded and they turned homeward, he accepted the Squire's frank invitation to partake of some refreshment at the Manor- house. It so chanced, or perhaps the Earl so contrived it, that Aram and himself, in their way to the village lingered a little behind the rest, and that their conversation was thus, for a few minutes, not altogether general. "Is it I, Mr. Aram?" said the Earl smiling, "or is it Fate that has made you a convert? The last time we sagely and quietly conferred together, you contended that the more the circle of existence was contracted, the more we clung to a state of pure and all self-dependent intellect, the greater our chance of happiness. Thus you denied that we were rendered happier by our luxuries, by our ambition, or by our affections. Love and its ties were banished from your solitary Utopia. And you asserted that the true wisdom of life lay solely in the cultivation--not of our feelings, but our faculties. You know, I held a different doctrine: and it is with the natural triumph of a hostile partizan, that I hear you are about to relinquish the practice of one of your dogmas;--in consequence, may I hope, of having forsworn the theory?" "Not so, my Lord," answered Aram, colouring slightly; "my weakness only proves that my theory is difficult,--not that it is wrong. I still venture to think it true. More pain than pleasure is occasioned us by others--banish others, and you are necessarily the gainer. Mental activity and moral quietude are the two states which, were they perfected and united, would constitute perfect happiness. It is such a union which constitutes all we imagine of Heaven, or conceive of the majestic felicity of a God." "Yet, while you are on earth you will be (believe me) happier in the state you are about to choose," said the Earl. "Who could look at that enchanting face (the speaker directed his eyes towards Madeline) and not feel that it gave a pledge of happiness that could not be broken?"