Oft shall war end, and peace return, Ere one man my hill shall climb, Who can turn the golden rhyme; Seek the living among the dead: If fate unlock his bosom's door. So that what his eye hath seen His tongue can paint, as bright, as keen, And what his tender heart hath felt, With equal fire thy heart shall melt. For, whom the muses shine upon, And touch with soft persuasion, His words like a storm-wind can bring Terror and beauty on their wing; In his every syllable Lurketh nature veritable; And though he speak in midnight dark, In heaven, no star; on earth, no spark; Yet before the listener's eye Swims the world in ecstasy, The forest waves, the morning breaks, The pastures sleep, ripple the lakes, Leaves twinkle, flowers like persons be, Saadi! so far thy words shall reach ; Suns rise and set in Saadi's speech. And thus to Saadi said the muse; Eat thou the bread which men refuse; Flee from the goods which from thee flee; Seek nothing; Fortune seeketh thee. Nor mount, nor dive; all good things keep The midway of the eternal deep; Toil whistles as he drives his cart. A poet or a friend to find; Behold, he watches at the door, Behold his shadow on the floor. Open innumerable doors, The heaven where unveiled Allah pours The flood of truth, the flood of good, The seraph's and the cherub's food; Those doors are men; the pariah kind Redeemer that can yield thee all. HOLIDAYS. FROM fall to spring the russet acorn, Fruit beloved of maid and boy, Lent itself beneath the forest To be the children's toy. Pluck it now; in vain: thou canst not, Its root has pierced yon shady mound, Toy no longer, it has duties; It is anchored in the ground. Year by year the rose-lipped maiden, Was frolic sunshine, dear to all men, Whither went the lovely hoyden?— Servant to a wooden cradle, Living in a baby's life. Still thou playest ;-short vacation Now must thou be man and artist; 'Tis the turning of the tide. PAINTING AND SCULPTURE. THE sinful painter drapes his goddess warm, Beauty, which bones and flesh enough invest. |