Only, being burdened with the body, spiritual appetite is warped, And sensual man, with taste corrupted, drinketh of pollutions: Impulse is left, but indiscriminate; his hunger feasteth upon carrion; His natural love of beauty doateth over beauty in decay. He still thirsteth for the beautiful; but his delicate ideal hath grown gross, And the very sense of thirst hath been fevered from affection into passion. He remembereth the blessedness of light, but it is with an old man's memory, A blind old man from infancy, that once hath seen the sun, Whom long experience of night hath darkened in his cradle recollections, Until his brightest thought of noon is but a shade of black. This then is thy charm, O beauty all pervading; And this thy wondrous strength, O beauty, conqueror of all: The outline of our shadowy best, the pure and comely creature, That winneth on the conscience with a saddening admiration: And some untutored thirst for God, the root of every pleasure, Native to creatures, yea in ruin, and dating from the birthday of the soul. For God sealeth up the sum, confirmed exemplar of proportions, Rich in love, full of wisdom, and perfect in the plenitude of Beauty. [Illustration: Of Fame.] OF FAME. [Illustration: "B"] Blow the trumpet, spread the wing, fling thy scroll upon the sky, Rouse the slumbering world, O Fame, and fill the sphere with echo! --Beneath thy blast they wake, and murmurs come hoarsely on the wind, And flashing eyes and bristling hands proclaim they hear thy message: Rolling and surging as a sea, that upturned flood of faces Hasteneth with its million tongues to spread the wondrous tale; The hum of added voices groweth to the roaring of a cataract, And rapidly from wave to wave is tossed that exaggerated story, Until those stunning clamours, gradually diluted in the distance, Sink ashamed, and shrink afraid of noise, and die away. Then brooding Silence, forth from his hollow caverns, Cloaked and cowled, and gliding along, a cold and stealthy shadow, Once more is mingled with the multitude, whispering as he walketh, And hushing all their eager ears, to hear some newer Fame. So all is still again; but nothing of the past hath been forgotten; A stirring recollection of the trumpet ringeth in the hearts of men: And each one, either envious or admiring, hath wished the chance were his To fill as thus the startled world with fame, or fear, or wonder. This lit thy torch of sacrilege, Ephesian Eratostratus; This dug thy living grave, Pythagoras, the traveller from Hadës; For this, dived Empedocles into Etna's fiery whirlpool; For this, conquerors, regicides, and rebels, have dared their perilous crimes. In all men, from the monarch to the menial, lurketh lust of fame: The savage and the sage alike regard their labours proudly: Yea, in death, the glazing eye is illumined by the hope of reputation,