Be aware of the smiling enemy, that openly sheatheth his weapon, But mingleth poison in secret with the sacred salt of hospitality: For Pride will lie dormant in thy heart, to snatch his secret opportunity, Watching, as a lion-ant, in the bottom of his toils. Stay not to parley with thy foe, for his tongue is more potent than his arm; But be wiser, fighting against Pride in the simple panoply of prayer. As one also of the poets hath said, let not the Proteus escape thee; For he will blaze forth as fire, and quench himself in likeness of water; He will fright thee as a roaring beast, or charm thee as a subtle reptile. Mark, amid all his transformations, the complicate deceitfulness of Pride, And the more he striveth to elude thee, bind him the closer in thy toils. Prayer is the net that snareth him; prayer is the fetter that holdeth him: Thou canst not nourish Pride, while waiting as an almsman on thy God,-- Waiting in sincerity and trust, or Pride shall meet thee even there; Yea, from the palaces of Heaven, hath Pride cast down his millions. Root up the mandrake from thy heart, though it cost thee blood and groans, Or the cherished garden of thy graces will fade and perish utterly. [Illustration] [Illustration: Of Experience] OF EXPERIENCE. I knew that age was enriched with the hard-earned wages of knowledge, And I saw that hoary wisdom was bred in the school of disappointment: I noted that the wisest of youth, though provident and cautious of evil, Yet sailed along unsteadily, as lacking some ballast of the mind: And the cause seemed to lie in this, that while they considered around them, And warded off all dangers from without, they forgat their own weakness within. So steer they in self-confidence, until, from the multitude of perils, They begin to be wary of themselves, and learn the first lesson of Experience. I knew that in the morning of life, before its wearisome journey, The youthful soul doth expand, in the simple luxury of being; It hath not contracted its wishes, nor set a limit to its hopes; The wing of fancy is unclipt, and sin hath not seared the feelings: Each feature is stamped with immortality, for all its desires are infinite, And it seeketh an ocean of happiness, to fill the deep hollow within. But the old and the grave look on, pitying that generous youth, For they also have tasted long ago the bitterness of hope destroyed: They pity him, and are sad, remembering the days that are past, But they know he must taste for himself, or he will not give ear to their wisdom. For Experience hath another lesson, which a man will do well if he learn, By checking the flight of expectation, to cheat disappointment of its pain.