LINES ON THE PURSUITS OF GENIUS AND LEARNING, ADDRESSED TO THE LITERATI IN ALL COUNTRIES. “‘I can make lords of you every day, but I cannot create a Titian,’ said the Emperor Charles V. to his courtiers, who had become jealous of the hours and the half hours which the monarch stole from them, that he might converse with the man of genius at his work.”--_D’Israeli’s Literary Characters._ Ye wakeful spirits, o’er the midnight oil, Who ply your task, in one unceasing toil; Your books, the sweet companions of the hour, That have a silent and all-winning power, The world scarce knows of, in your brooding cell, Whose mental alchemy hath powerful spell, The crucible that brings forth purest gold, Is yours, ye sons obscure, of genius mould; Yet little heeded, in your great employ, Who labour still with soul-ennobling joy; The same divine, immortal spirit reigns, As moved Apelles, or a Titian’s pains; As drew the spark that flash’d from Milton’s breast, Or fired a Pindar, and was Goethe’s guest; That bade our own immortal Shakspere soar On roaming Fancy’s wing, new worlds explore. Sons of seclusion, why should ye repine? Your toil is noble, and the work divine: A true nobility awaits his name, Who presses on th’ ascent that leads to fame; And tireless tracks the eagle flights of mind-- Arts, science, teach, a blessing to mankind. How poor the heraldry of noble birth, Compared with yours, ye great ones of the earth; Undying honours, that ennoble man-- A regal splendour, that makes theirs but wan; Mind is the gem, that hath the truest worth, This the rich diamond--theirs the dross of earth. What ardour kindles in the studious soul, Borne, on the car of knowledge, to the goal, In emulation, ’midst the gifted throng, Is soul-rapt poesy, divine in song; Music, all-thrilling, as the airs of heav’n; Painting and sculpture, like to Phidias giv’n; And there deep sage, Philosophy, in sight, With bright Urania soars the stars of night, Castalia’s nymphs, a fair celestial band, That in the mazy dance join hand in hand, Yours gifted race, the Athenian’s sacred hours, The fount whence flows the stream from Learning’s bowers; Nurtured in climes, though wide as zone from zone, Congenial spirits vibrate to one tone; As mountain’s spring flows murm’ring under ground, Its goal, vast ocean, in its depths profound, So ye, your sinuous course, unruffled sped, And pour your tribute’s store, by Science led. CORN FIELDS. “Thou crownest the year with Thy goodness, and Thy paths drop fatness.”