Need but of light philosophy to dare the world's dread laugh; For a little mind courteth notoriety, to illustrate its puny self: But the sneer of a man's own comrades trieth the muscles of courage, And to be derided in his home is as a viper in the nest: The laugh of a hooting world hath in it a notion of sublimity, But the tittering private circle stingeth as a hive of wasps. Some have commended ridicule, counting it the test of truth, But neither wittily nor wisely; for truth must prove ridicule: Otherwise a blunt bulrush is to pierce the proof armour of argument, Because the stolidity of ignorance took it for a barbed shaft. Softer is the hide of the rhinoceros, than the heart of deriding unbelief, And truth is idler there, than the Bushman's feathered reed: A droll conceit parrieth a thrust, that should have hit the conscience, And the leering looks of humour tickle the childish mind; For that the matter of a man is mingled most with folly, Neither can he long endure the searching gaze of wisdom. It is pleasanter to see a laughing cheek than a serious forehead, And there liveth not one among a thousand whose idol is not pleasure. Ridicule is a weak weapon, when levelled at a strong mind: But common men are cowards, and dread an empty laugh. Fear a nettle, and touch it tenderly, its poison shall burn thee to the shoulder; But grasp it with a bold hand,--is it not a bundle of myrrh? Betray mean terror of ridicule, thou shalt find fools enough to mock thee; But answer thou their laughter with contempt, and the scoffers will lick thy feet. OF COMMENDATION. [Illustration: "T"] The praise of holy men is a promise of praise from their Master; A fore-running earnest of thy welcome,--Well done, faithful servant; A rich preludious note, that droppeth softly on thine ear, To tell thee the chords of thy heart are in tune with the choirs of heaven. Yet is it a dangerous hearing, for the sweetness may lull thee into slumber, And the cordial quaffed with thirst may generate the fumes of presumption. So seek it not for itself, but taste, and go gladly on thy way, For the mariner slacketh not his sail, though the sandal-groves of Araby allure him; And the fragrance of that incense would harm thee, as when, on a summer evening, The honied yellow flowers of the gorse oppress thy charmed sense: And a man hath too much of praise, for he praiseth himself continually; Neither lacketh he at any time self-commendation or excuse.