Yet am I not one insensible to the magic
of my memorable abode, and I could pour my passion o'er the land; but I
repress my thoughts, and beat their tide back to their hollow caves!
The ocean of my mind is calm, but dim, and ominous of storms that may
arise. A cloud hangs heavy o'er the horizon's verge, and veils the
future. Even now a star appears, steals into light, and now again
'tis gone! I hear the proud swell of the growing waters; I hear the
whispering of the wakening winds; but reason lays her trident on the
cresting waves, and all again is hushed.
For I am one, though young, yet old enough to know ambition is a demon;
and I fly from what I fear. And fame has eagle wings, and yet she mounts
not so high as man's desires. When all is gained, how little then is
won! And yet to gain that little how much is lost! Let us once aspire
and madness follows. Could we but drag the purple from the hero's heart;
could we but tear the laurel from the poet's throbbing brain, and read
their doubts, their dangers, their despair, we might learn a greater
lesson than we shall ever acquire by musing over their exploits or
their inspiration.
Pages:
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145