the poet at the breakfast table-第49部分

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He　knowing　I　shall　use　them　to　my　harm；
And　find　a　tenfold　misery　in　the　sense
That　in　my　childlike　folly　I　have　sprung
The　trap　upon　myself　as　vermin　use
Drawn　by　the　cunning　bait　to　certain　doom。
Who　wrought　the　wondrous　charm　that　leads　us　on
To　sweet　perdition；　but　the　self…same　power
That　set　the　fearful　engine　to　destroy
His　wretched　offspring　（as　the　Rabbis　tell）；
And　hid　its　yawning　jaws　and　treacherous　springs
In　such　a　show　of　innocent　sweet　flowers
It　lured　the　sinless　angels　and　they　fell？

Ah！　　He　who　prayed　the　prayer　of　all　mankind
Summed　in　those　few　brief　words　the　mightiest　plea
For　erring　souls　before　the　courts　of　heaven；
Save　us　from　being　tempted；lest　we　fall！
If　we　are　only　as　the　potter's　clay
Made　to　be　fashioned　as　the　artist　wills；
And　broken　into　shards　if　we　offend
The　eye　of　Him　who　made　us；　it　is　well；
Such　love　as　the　insensate　lump　of　clay
That　spins　upon　the　swift…revolving　wheel
Bears　to　the　hand　that　shapes　its　growing　form；
Such　love；　no　more；　will　be　our　hearts'　return
To　the　great　Master…workman　for　his　care；
Or　would　be；　save　that　this；　our　breathing　clay；
Is　intertwined　with　fine　innumerous　threads
That　make　it　conscious　in　its　framer's　hand；
And　this　He　must　remember　who　has　filled
These　vessels　with　the　deadly　draught　of　life；
Life；　that　means　death　to　all　it　claims。　　Our　love
Must　kindle　in　the　ray　that　streams　from　heaven；
A　faint　reflection　of　the　light　divine；
The　sun　must　warm　the　earth　before　the　rose
Can　show　her　inmost　heart…leaves　to　the　sun。

He　yields　some　fraction　of　the　Maker's　right
Who　gives　the　quivering　nerve　its　sense　of　pain；
Is　there　not　something　in　the　pleading　eye
Of　the　poor　brute　that　suffers；　which　arraigns
The　law　that　bids　it　suffer？　　Has　it　not
A　claim　for　some　remembrance　in　the　book
That　fills　its　pages　with　the　idle　words
Spoken　of　men？　　Or　is　it　only　clay；
Bleeding　and　aching　in　the　potter's　hand；
Yet　all　his　own　to　treat　it　as　he　will
And　when　he　will　to　cast　it　at　his　feet；
Shattered；　dishonored；　lost　forevermore？
My　dog　loves　me；　but　could　he　look　beyond
His　earthly　master；　would　his　love　extend
To　Him　whoHush！　　I　will　not　doubt　that　He
Is　better　than　our　fears；　and　will　not　wrong
The　least；　the　meanest　of　created　things！

He　would　not　trust　me　with　the　smallest　orb
That　circles　through　the　sky；　he　would　not　give
A　meteor　to　my　guidance；　would　not　leave
The　coloring　of　a　cloudlet　to　my　hand；
He　locks　my　beating　heart　beneath　its　bars
And　keeps　the　key　himself；　he　measures　out
The　draughts　of　vital　breath　that　warm　my　blood；
Winds　up　the　springs　of　instinct　which　uncoil；
Each　in　its　season；　ties　me　to　my　home；
My　race；　my　time；　my　nation；　and　my　creed
So　closely　that　if　I　but　slip　my　wrist
Out　of　the　band　that　cuts　it　to　the　bone；
Men　say；　〃He　hath　a　devil〃；　he　has　lent
All　that　I　hold　in　trust；　as　unto　one
By　reason　of　his　weakness　and　his　years
Not　fit　to　hold　the　smallest　shred　in　fee
Of　those　most　common　things　he　calls　his　own
And　yetmy　Rabbi　tells　mehe　has　left
The　care　of　that　to　which　a　million　worlds。
Filled　with　unconscious　life　were　less　than　naught；
Has　left　that　mighty　universe；　the　Soul；
To　the　weak　guidance　of　our　baby　hands；
Turned　us　adrift　with　our　immortal　charge；
Let　the　foul　fiends　have　access　at　their　will；
Taking　the　shape　of　angels；　to　our　hearts；
Our　hearts　already　poisoned　through　and　through
With　the　fierce　virus　of　ancestral　sin。
If　what　my　Rabbi　tells　me　is　the　truth；
Why　did　the　choir　of　angels　sing　for　joy？
Heaven　must　be　compassed　in　a　narrow　space；
And　offer　more　than　room　enough　for　all
That　pass　its　portals；　but　the　underworld；
The　godless　realm；　the　place　where　demons　forge
Their　fiery　darts　and　adamantine　chains；
Must　swarm　with　ghosts　that　for　a　little　while
Had　worn　the　garb　of　flesh；　and　being　heirs
Of　all　the　dulness　of　their　stolid　sires；
And　all　the　erring　instincts　of　their　tribe；
Nature's　own　teaching；　rudiments　of　〃sin；〃
Fell　headlong　in　the　snare　that　could　not　fail
To　trap　the　wretched　creatures　shaped　of　clay
And　cursed　with　sense　enough　to　lose　their　souls！

Brother；　thy　heart　is　troubled　at　my　word；
Sister；　I　see　the　cloud　is　on　thy　brow。
He　will　not　blame　me；　He　who　sends　not　peace；
But　sends　a　sword；　and　bids　us　strike　amain
At　Error's　gilded　crest；　where　in　the　van
Of　earth's　great　army；　mingling　with　the　best
And　bravest　of　its　leaders；　shouting　loud
The　battle…cries　that　yesterday　have　led
The　host　of　Truth　to　victory；　but　to…day
Are　watchwords　of　the　laggard　and　the　slave；
He　leads　his　dazzled　cohorts。　　God　has　made
This　world　a　strife　of　atoms　and　of　spheres；
With　every　breath　I　sigh　myself　away
And　take　my　tribute　from　the　wandering　wind
To　fan　the　flame　of　life's　consuming　fire；
So；　while　my　thought　has　life；　it　needs　must　burn；
And　burning；　set　the　stubble…fields　ablaze；
Where　all　the　harvest　long　ago　was　reaped
And　safely　garnered　in　the　ancient　barns；
But　still　the　gleaners；　groping　for　their　food；
Go　blindly　feeling　through　the　close…shorn　straw；
While　the　young　reapers　flash　their　glittering　steel
Where　later　suns　have　ripened　nobler　grain！


We　listened　to　these　lines　in　silence。　　They　were　evidently　written
honestly；　and　with　feeling；　and　no　doubt　meant　to　be　reverential。　　I
thought；　however；　the　Lady　looked　rather　serious　as　he　finished
reading。　　The　Young　Girl's　cheeks　were　flushed；　but　she　was　not　in
the　mood　for　criticism。

As　we　came　away　the　Master　said　to　meThe　stubble…fields　are　mighty
slow　to　take　fire。　　These　young　fellows　catch　up　with　the　world's
ideas　one　after　another；they　have　been　tamed　a　long　while；　but　they
find　them　running　loose　in　their　minds；　and　think　they　are　ferae
naturae。　　They　remind　me　of　young　sportsmen　who　fire　at　the　first
feathers　they　see；　and　bring　down　a　barnyard　fowl。　　But　the　chicken
may　be　worth　bagging　for　all　that；　he　said；　good…humoredly。




X

Caveat　Lector。　　Let　the　reader　look　out　for　himself。　　The　old　Master；
whose　words　I　have　so　frequently　quoted　and　shall　quote　more　of；　is　a
dogmatist　who　lays　down　the　law；　ex　cathedra；　from　the　chair　of　his
own　personality。　　I　do　not　deny　that　he　has　the　ambition　of　knowing
something　about　a　greater　number　of　subjects　than　any　one　man　ought
to　meddle　with；　except　in　a　very　humble　and　modest　way。　　And　that　is
not　his　way。　　There　was　no　doubt　something　of；　humorous　bravado　in
his　saying　that　the　actual　〃order　of　things〃　did　not　offer　a　field
sufficiently　ample　for　his　intelligence。　　But　if　I　found　fault　with
him；　which　would　be　easy　enough；　I　should　say　that　he　holds　and
expresses　definite　opinions　about　matters　that　he　could　afford　to
leave　open　questions；　or　ask　the　judgment　of　others　about。　　But　I　do
not　want　to　find　fault　with　him。　　If　he　does　not　settle　all　the
points　he　speaks　of　so　authoritatively；　he　sets　me　thinking　about
them；　and　I　like　a　man　as　a　companion　who　is　not　afraid　of　a　half…
truth。　　I　know　he　says　some　things　peremptorily　that　he　may　inwardly
debate　with　himself。　　There　are　two　ways　of　dealing　with　assertions
of　this　kind。　　One　may　attack　them　on　the　false　side　and　perhaps　gain
a　conversational　victory。　　But　I　like　better　to　take　them　up　on　the
true　side　and　see　how　much　can　be　made　of　that　aspect　of　the　dogmatic
assertion。　　It　is　the　only　comfortable　way　of　dealing　with　persons
like　the　old　Master。

There　have　been　three　famous　talkers　in　Great　Britain；　either　of　whom
would　illustrate　what　I　say　about　dogmatists　well　enough　for　my
purpose。　　You　cannot　doubt　to　what　three　I　refer：　Samuel　the　First；
Samuel　the　Second；　and　Thomas；　last　of　the　Dynasty。　　（I　mean　the
living　Thomas　and　not　Thomas　B。）

I　say　the　last　of　the　Dynasty；　for　the　conversational　dogmatist　on
the　imperial　scale　becomes　every　year　more　and　more　an　impossibility。
If　he　is　in　intelligent　company　he　will　be　almost　sure　to　find　some
one　who　knows　more　about　some　of　the　subjects　he　generalizes　upon
than　any　wholesale　thinker　who　handles　knowledge　by　the　cargo　is　like
to　know。　　I　find　myself；　at　certain　intervals；　in　the　society　of　a
number　of　experts　in　science；　literature；　and　art；　who　cover　a　pretty
wide　range；　taking　them　all　together；　of　human　knowledge。　　I　have　not
the　least　doubt　that　if　the　great　Dr。　Samuel　Johnson　should　come　in
and　sit　with　this　company　at　one　of　their　Saturday　dinners；　he　would
be　listened　to；　as　he　always　was；　with　respect　and　attention。　　But
there　are　subjects　upon　which　the　great　talker　could　speak
magisterially　in　his　time　and　at　his　club；　upon　which　so　wise　a　man
would　express　himself　guardedly　at　the　meeting　where　I　have　supposed
him　a　guest。　　We　have　a　scientific　man　or　two　among　us；　for　instance；
who　would　be　entitled　to　smile　at　the　good　Doctor's　estimate　of　their
labors；　as　I　give　it　here：

〃Of　those　that　spin　out　life　in　trifles　and　die　without　a　memorial；
many　flatter　themselves　with　high　opinion　of　their　own　importance　and
imagine　that　they　are　every　day　adding　some　improvement　to　human
life。〃〃Some　turn　the　wheel　of　electricity；　some　suspend　rings　to　a
loadstone；　and　find　that　what　they　did　yesterday　they　can　do　again
to…day。　　Some　register　the　changes　of　the　wind；　and　die　fully
convinced　that　the　win