“Is this, then,” thought the youth, “is this the way “To free man’s spirit from the dead’ning sway “Of worldly sloth,—to teach him while he lives, “To know no bliss but that which virtue gives, “And when he dies, to leave his lofty name “A light, a landmark on the cliffs of fame? “It was not so, Land of the generous thought “And daring deed, thy godlike sages taught; “It was not thus, in bowers of wanton ease, “Thy Freedom nurs’d her sacred energies; “Oh! not beneath the’ enfeebling, withering glow “Of such dull luxury did those myrtles grow, “With which she wreath’d her sword, when she would dare “Immortal deeds; but in the bracing air “Of toil,—of temperance,—of that high, rare, “Ethereal virtue, which alone can breathe “Life, health, and lustre into Freedom’s wreath. “Who, that surveys this span of earth we press,— “This speck of life in time’s great wilderness, “This narrow isthmus ’twixt two boundless seas, “The past, the future, two eternities!— “Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare, “When he might build him a proud temple there, “A name, that long shall hallow all its space, “And be each purer soul’s high resting-place? “But no—it cannot be, that one, whom God “Hath sent to break the wizard Falsehood’s rod,— “A Prophet of the Truth, whose mission draws “Its rights from Heaven, should thus profane its cause “With the world’s vulgar pomps;—no, no,—I see— “He thinks me weak—this glare of luxury “Is but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze “Of my young soul—shine on, ’twill stand the blaze!” So thought the youth;—but, ev’n while he defied This witching scene, he felt its witchery glide Through ev’ry sense. The perfume breathing round, Like a pervading spirit;—the still sound Of falling waters, lulling as the song Of Indian bees at sunset, when they throng Around the fragrant NILICA, and deep In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep;[77] And music, too—dear music! that can touch Beyond all else the soul that loves it much— Now heard far off, so far as but to seem Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream; All was too much for him, too full of bliss, The heart could nothing feel, that felt not this; Soften’d he sunk upon a couch, and gave His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave on wave Succeeding to smooth seas, when storms are laid; He thought of ZELICA, his own dear maid, And of the time, when, full of blissful sighs, They sat and look’d into each other’s eyes, Silent and happy—as if God had given Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven.