The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 01, No. 06, April, 1858. Various

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        Juxtaposition is great,—but, you tell me, affinity greater.

        Ah, my friend, there are many affinities, greater and lesser,

        Stronger and weaker; and each, by the favor of juxtaposition,

        Potent, efficient, in force,—for a time; but none, let me tell you,

        Save by the law of the land and the ruinous force of the will, ah,

        None, I fear me, at last quite sure to be final and perfect.

          Lo, as I pace in the street, from the peasant-girl to the princess,

        Homo sum, nihil humani a me alienum puto,—

        Vir sum, nihil faeminei,—and e'en to the uttermost circle,

        All that is Nature's is I, and I all things that are Nature's.

        Yes, as I walk, I behold, in a luminous, large intuition,

        That I can be and become anything that I meet with or look at:

        I am the ox in the dray, the ass with the garden-stuff panniers;

        I am the dog in the doorway, the kitten that plays in the window,

        Here on the stones of the ruin the furtive and fugitive lizard,

        Swallow above me that twitters, and fly that is buzzing about me;

        Yea, and detect, as I go, by a faint, but a faithful assurance,

        E'en from the stones of the street, as from rocks or trees of the

             forest,

        Something of kindred, a common, though latent vitality, greet me,

        And, to escape from our strivings, mistakings, misgrowths, and

             perversions,

        Fain could demand to return to that perfect and primitive silence,

        Fain be enfolded and fixed, as of old, in their rigid embraces.

        And as I walk on my way, I behold them consorting and coupling;

        Faithful it seemeth, and fond, very fond, very probably faithful;

        And I proceed on my way with a pleasure sincere and unmingled.

          Life is beautiful, Eustace, entrancing, enchanting to look at;

        As are the streets of a city we pace while the carriage is changing,

        As is a chamber filled-in with harmonious, exquisite pictures,

        Even so beautiful Earth; and could we eliminate only

        This vile hungering impulse, this demon within us of craving,

        Life were beatitude, living a perfect divine satisfaction.

        Mild monastic faces in quiet collegiate cloisters:

        So let me offer a single and celibatarian phrase a

        Tribute to those whom perhaps you do not believe I can honor.

        But, from the tumult escaping, 'tis pleasant, of drumming and

             shouting,

        Hither, oblivious awhile, to withdraw, of the fact or the falsehood,

        And amid placid regards and mildly courteous greetings

        Yield to the calm and composure and gentle abstraction that reign o'er

        Mild monastic faces in quiet collegiate cloisters.

          Terrible word, Obligation! You should not, Eustace, you should not,

        No, you should not have used it. But, O great Heavens, I repel it!

        Oh, I cancel, reject, disavow, and repudiate wholly

        Every debt in this kind, disclaim every claim, and dishonor,

        Yea, my own heart's own writing, my soul's own signature! Ah, no!

        I will be free in this; you shall not, none shall, bind me.

        No, my friend, if you wish to be told, it was this above all things,

        This that charmed me, ah, yes, even this, that she held me to nothing.

        No, I could talk as I pleased; come close; fasten ties, as I fancied;

        Bind and engage myself deep;—and lo, on the following morning

        It was all e'en as before, like losings in games played for nothing.

        Yes, СКАЧАТЬ