Recreations of Christopher North, Volume 1Wilson, John
General
Recreations of Christopher North, Volume 1
Wilson, John
Essays
To young Genius to die is often a great gain. The green leaf was almost
hidden in blossoms, and the tree put forth beautiful promise. Cold winds
blew, and clouds intercepted the sunshine; but it felt the dews of
heaven, and kept flourishing fair even in the moonlight, deriving sweet
sustenance from the stars. But would all those blossoms have been fruit?
Many would have formed, but more perhaps dropt in unperceived decay, and
the tree which "all eyes that looked on loved," might not have been the
pride of the garden. Death could not permit the chance of such
disappointment, stepped kindly in, and left the spring-dream "sweet but
mournful to the soul," among its half-fancied memories. Such was the
fate, perhaps, of Henry Kirke White. His fine moral and intellectual
being was not left to pine away neglected; and if, in gratitude and
ambition, twin-births in that noble heart, he laid down his life for
sake of the lore he loved, let us lament the dead with no passionate
ejaculations over injustice by none committed, console ourselves with
the thought, in noways unkind to his merits, that he died in a mild
bright spring that might have been succeeded by no very glorious summer;
and that, fading away as he did among the tears of the good and great,
his memory has been embalmed, not only in his own gentle inspirations,
but in the immortal eulogy of Southey. But, alas! many thus endowed by
nature "have waged with fortune an unequal war;" and pining away in
poverty and disappointment, have died broken-hearted--and been
buried--some in unhonoured, some even in unwept graves! And how many
have had a far more dismal lot, because their life was not so innocent!
The children of misfortune, but of error too--of frailty, vice, and sin.
Once gone astray, with much to tempt them on, and no voice, no hand, to
draw them back, theirs has been at first a flowery descent to death, but
soon sorely beset with thorns, lacerating the friendless wretches, till,
with shame and remorse their sole attendants, they have tottered into
uncoffined holes and found peace.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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