Commonly we degrade Love and Friendship by presenting them under the aspect of a trivial dualism. * * * * * What matter a few words more or less with my friend,—with all mankind;—they will still be my friends in spite of themselves. Let them stand aloof if they can! As though the most formidable distance could rob me of any real sympathy or advantage! No, when such interests are at stake, time, and distance, and difference fall into their own places. * * * * * But alas! to be actually separated from that parcel of heaven we call our friend, with the suspicion that we shall no more meet in nature, is source enough for all the elegies that ever were written. But the true remedy will be to recover our friend again piecemeal, wherever we can find a feature, as Æetes gathered up the members of his son, which Medea had strewn in her path. * * * * * The more complete our sympathy, the more our senses are struck dumb, and we are repressed by a delicate respect, so that to indifferent eyes we are least his friend, because no vulgar symbols pass between us. On after thought, perhaps, we come to fear that we have been the losers by such seeming indifference, but in truth that which withholds us is the bond between us. * * * * * My friend will be as much better than myself as my aspiration is above my performance. * * * * * This is most serene autumn weather. The chirp of crickets may be heard at noon over all the land. As in summer they are heard only at nightfall, so now by their incessant chirp they usher in the evening of the year.[102] The lively decay of autumn promises as infinite duration and freshness as the green leaves of spring. IV 1840 (ÆT. 22-23) THE FISHER'S SON[103] _Jan. 10._ I know the world where land and water meet, By yonder hill abutting on the main; One while I hear the waves incessant beat, Then, turning round, survey the land again. Within a humble cot that looks to sea, Daily I breathe this curious warm life; Beneath a friendly haven's sheltering lee My noiseless day with myst'ry still is rife. 'Tis here, they say, my simple life began; And easy credit to the tale I lend, For well I know 'tis here I am a man. But who will simply tell me of the end? These eyes, fresh opened, spied the far-off Sea, Which like a silent godfather did stand, Nor uttered one explaining word to me, But introduced straight Godmother Land. And yonder still stretches that silent main, With many glancing ships besprinkled o'er; And earnest still I gaze and gaze again Upon the selfsame waves and friendly shore,