by Coventry Patmore.
Originally published in Douglas Jerrold's Shilling Magazine (Punch) vol.2 #8 (Aug 1845).
No. II.—Young and Old England.
An old man and a young man
Through the meadows one day walked;
All nature seem’d the blither
For the words the young man talked;
All nature seem'd the sadder
When the aged man replied.
Let us hear what said the young man;
Let us hear what said his guide.
First the youth, with eager forehead,
Flashing eyes, and flowing hair:
"Lo, the perfect form of goodness
Is appearing everywhere!"
Then the other ('twas his father),
Shaking silver locks, Hope's pall:
"What avails the form of goodness,
When there in no life at all!"
Cried the youth, "There was a sculptor,
And an image fair he made,
Because the times lack'd beauty;
And, as soon as he had pray'd,
He saw it move sweet motion,
Felt it waxing heavenly warm:—
God gives the spirit, father,
If men will make the form."
"A fable shrewdly morall'd!
But (admit that moral just)
Alas! I look round vainly
For the form in which you trust.
When governments grow formless,
Which form the time's events"—
"Nay, look higher," said the young man;
"Look what governs governments!
"Religion is in fashion;
Those who practise not, profess;
Around her sovereign centre,
Lo, all Arts and Learnings press!"
"I hate their lax lip-worship!"
"So do I," replied the youth;
"I say that we are tending
Through the form of truth to truth.
"Philosophy, though weakly;
Walks erect, and loves the light;
Has converse with the people;
Shows them reasons fer the Right;
Makes trust in matters holy
Not implicit, as of yore,
So makes it sure; and never
To be shaken any more.
"We learn to thank the Muses
No divinities; and divine
Then only while their glory
Is a simple reflex shine,
A high and tender moonlight,
Lasting merely while they run
With humble faces, looking
To the veritable Sun.
"Behold!" his eye-lids lifted
With light hope, the young man saith,
"Behold! they fill their places
As the pioneers to faith,
Clearing paths for higher powers,
When they give the fleshly clod
An upward gaze, through beauty,
Unto goodness, which is God.
"Like purpose quickens science:
Learnings, hitherto a proud,
Loquacious, shallow, heartless,
Sightless; deaf, and grovelling crowd,
Approaching now their Maker,
Hand in hand, like humble friends,
Confess that only knowledge
Which in active wisdom ends."
"Young man, this is brave talking,
But too fast somewhat for me.
True doctors and true poets
Live, I grant, but where lives be,
The gentle, loving shepherd
Of the ancient, mode, who taught
The people by example;
Preaching simply what he wrought?"
Alas! my father, seldom
May we meet him now. But where
A double choice seems offer'd--
Hope extreme, extreme despair—
Choose hope. Ah! let us therefore
Think a day shall drown this night,
When each may find his pastor,
In a conscience, strong with light.
"For hoping, or despairing
We have huge and equal scope,
Huge ill or good must follow,
Just as we despair, or hope.
Hope, therefore, without limit!
To hope less were to blaspheme,
Hark! I will dare to utter
That which I have dared to dream.
"Think, father! may not heaven
Be this common earth, full-grown?
Think! are not signals given
Of its nonage well-nigh flown?
What is heaven? Trust not any,
If they call it mystery;
Its features are not many,
And have strange simplicity:—
God, present to us ever;
Sweet accord of loving hearts;
Fair nature; true sight, never
Waxing dim—are all its parts.
For such what need of fleeing
From this world, so full of flow'rs?
'Twill be our own decreeing,
If on earth they are not ours!"
"That is true," exclaimed the old man,
"But it has been always so:
Why, therefore, think the blessing
Nearer now than long ago?"
"Nay, nay!" replied the young man,
"It has not been always so!"
High fervours flush his forehead,
And his eager fancies flow:
"Rest from evil, too soon given
Unto man, had found his mind
Incapable of heaven.
Evil hath good use assign'd;
It makes him question nature
For relief; which though he miss,
He gains, by knowledge, stature
To lay held on highest bliss:
"For not until perfection
Shall be his; in Nature's lore,
Can he feel heav'n's full direction,
Can he perfectly adore.
His maturity approaches:
Daily fleeter in advance,
The rule of light encroaches
On chaotic Ignorance;
"Fast fade the separations
(Fine and false, wherewith we mar
Our noblest speculations,)
Of 'divine' and 'secular;'
And 'Sciences,'—first science
Now they own themselves for one,--
Grow golden from rehance,
For true light, on the true Sun.
"In trust, pure, strong, and steady,
T'wards the full light let us fare!
See! Learning's bound already
Shows its faint edge here and there.
Perfect knowledge perfects power!
Man shall sit at ease all day,
In thought, as in a tower,
While all lower things obey,
"No more the slave of chances,
Or of lies, om partial truth"—
"What tissues of mad fancies
Art thou weaving, silly youth!"
"He, with sight unwarp'd by factions,
Truly seeing what he sees,
Shall do all righteous actions
With a grand, almighty ease;
"Shall call the world his neighbour;
Shall perceive its vast love burn
On him; and, without labour,
Shall a like vast love return;
Shall fill the lofty station,
To fill which he left the sod—
The mouth-piece of creation
For the praises of its God.
"0, what a blessed junction
Of all joys will happen then!
Beyond thought's deepest function!
That was little to it, when
Great Kepler's spirit, steering
Past the stars, untouch'd by fears,
Within our mortal hearing
Brought the music of the spheres!"
"Alas, poor youth! what ails thee?
Calmly listen. Say, how chimes,
With thy harmonious vision,
The vast discord of the times?"
"O, harshly and appalling,
If we dare not with them cope;
But, if we act our calling,
Love, believe, and work in hope,
"O, sweetly and completely!
Even as should be the din
Of instruments tuned meetly,
Ere the harmony begin:
At times all seems confusion;
Still not such that it confounds,
For all hath strange-allusion
To the advent of sweet sounds;
"At times, you hear, in snatches,
(Calmly listen !) softest strains,
Divine, prophetic catches,
Fall of rest to human pains;
At times, low voices, humming—
'Sin and death to hell are hurl'd!
It is the second coming
Of the Saviour of the world!'"
He ended. Small birds whistled,
Green boughs waved, the world was glad;
And for all the old man's doubtings,
And for all his sighings sad,
Boughs and birds still waved and whistled;
And, for all that he could say,
Touch'd with the young men's music,
Ever waved and whistled they.