CXIII. I have not loved the world, nor the world me; Nor coin'd my cheek to smiles, nor cried aloud They could not deem me one of such; I stood Among them, but not of them ; in a shroud [could, Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still Had I not filed (1) my mind, which thus itself subdued. CXIV. I have not loved the world, nor the world me,— But let us part fair foes; I do believe, be Though I have found them not, that there may Words which are things, — hopes which will not deceive, And virtues which are merciful, nor weave Snares for the failing: I would also deem O'er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve; (2) That two, or one, are almost what they seem,That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream. (3) For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind."- MACBETH. (2) It is said by Rochefoucault, that "there is always something in the misfortunes of men's best friends not displeasing to them." (3) [It is not the temper and talents of the poet, but the use to which he puts them, on which his happiness or misery is grounded. A powerful and unbridled imagination is, the author and architect of its own disappointments. Its fascinations, its exaggerated pictures of good and evil, and the mental distress to which they give rise, are the natural and necessary evils attending on that quick susceptibility of feeling and fancy incident to the poetical temperament. But the Giver of all talents, while he has qualified them each with its separate and peculiar alloy, ha endowed the owner with the power of purifying and refining them. CXV. My daughter! with thy name this song begunMy daughter! with thy name thus much shall endI see thee not, I hear thee not, but none Can be so wrapt in thee; thou art the friend years extend: Albeit my brow thou never should'st behold, My voice shall with thy future visions blend, And reach into thy heart, when mine is cold,— A token and a tone, even from thy father's mould. But, as if to moderate the arrogance of genius, it is justly and wisely made requisite, that he must regulate and tame the fire of his fancy, and descend from the heights to which she exalts him, in order to obtain ease of mind and tranquillity. The materials of happiness, that is, of such degree of hap piness as is consistent with our present state, lie around us in profusion. But the man of talents must stoop to gather them, otherwise they would be beyond the reach of the mass of society, for whose benefit, as well as for his, Providence has created them. There is no royal and no poetical path to contentment and heart's-ease: that by which they are attained is open to all classes of mankind, and lies within the most limited range of intellect To narrow our wishes and desires within the scope of our powers of attainment; to consider our misfortunes, however peculiar in their character, as our inevitable share in the patrimony of Adam; to bridle those irritable feelings, which ungoverned are sure to become governors; to shun that intensity of galling and self-wounding reflection which our poet has so forcibly described in his own burning language: "I have thought Too long and darkly, till my brain became, A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame'. -to stoop, in short, to the realities of life; repent if we have offended, and pardon if we have been trespassed against; to look on the world less as our foe than as a doubtful and capricious friend, whose applause we ought as far as possible to deserve, but neither to court nor contemn-such seem the most obvious and certain means of keeping or regaining mental tranquillity. 'Semita certe Tranquillæ per virtutem patet unica vitæ.'” — STR WALTER SCOTT.] Almost thy very growth, - to view thee catch Knowledge of objects, wonders yet to thee! To hold thee lightly on a gentle knee, And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss, This, it should seem, was not reserved for me; Yet this was in my nature: as it is, I know not what is there, yet something like to this. CXVII. Yet, though dull Hate as duty should be taught, I know that thou wilt love me; though my name Should be shut from thee, as a spell still fraught With desolation, and a broken claim: [same, Though the grave closed between us, -'twere the I know that thou wilt love me; though to drain My blood from out thy being were an aim, And an attainment, — all would be in vain, — Still thou would'st love me, still that more than life retain. And nurtured in convulsion. Of thy sire These were the elements, - and thine no less. As yet such are around thee, - but thy fire Shall be more temper'd, and thy hope far higher. Sweet be thy cradled slumbers! O'er the sea, And from the mountains where I now respire, Fain would I waft such blessing upon thee, [me! As, with a sigh, I deem thou might'st have been to |