Talkers Part 27

Friends.h.i.+p's balmy words may pain, Love's are e'en more false than they-- Oh! 'tis only music's strain Can sweetly soothe and not betray."

"Those are very beautiful lines, Mr. Smythe," I observed; "can you tell me whose they are?"

Placing his hand to his head, he answered, "Really, Mr. Bond, I do not now remember."

"They are Moore's," I replied.

"Oh yes, yes, so they are. I could give you numberless other pieces, Mr.

Bond, equally fine and touching."

"Thank you, that will do for the present, Mr. Smythe."

We began to talk about travelling in Scotland, Switzerland, and other parts, when I gave a little of my experience in plain words, as to the effect of the scenery upon my mind and health, when he suddenly interrupted me and said, "Let me see, what is it the poet says upon that? If I can call it up, I will give it you, Mr. Bond,--

'Go abroad, Upon the paths of Nature, and, when all Its voices whisper, and its silent things Are breathing the deep beauty of the world, Kneel at its simple altar.'"

I spoke of neglected genius both in Church and State, when he exclaimed with much emphasis, as though the lines had fallen on my ears for the first time,--

"Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air."

A voyage to America, with a few incidents about the sea, were spoken of.

"Ah, ah, Mr. Bond," he said, "I have seen some fine lines by J. G.

Percival on that subject,--

'I, too, have been upon thy rolling breast, Wildest of waters! I have seen thee lie Calm as an infant pillowed in its rest On a fond mother's bosom, when the sky, Not smoother, gave the deep its azure dye, Till a new heaven was arched and gla.s.sed below.'

"And then, Mr. Bond, you are familiar with--

'The sea! the sea! the open sea!

The blue, the fresh, the ever free!

Without a mark, without a bound, It runneth the earth's wide region round; It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies; Or like a cradled creature lies.'"

I spoke of progress in the age in which we live, when he instantly said, "Ah, that reminds me now of what Tennyson says,--

'Not in vain the distant beacons. Forward, forward, let us range, Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.

Through the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day; Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.'"

The worth of a good name was spoken of, and the words of Solomon quoted in support of what was said. But Solomon was not enough. The poetic spirit of our student was astir instantly within him, and broke forth in the well-known lines of Shakespeare, already quoted in this volume,--

"Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing, 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands; But he who filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed."

Marriage and love were incidentally brought up, when, lo and behold, I found he was so brimful on these, that I was obliged to ask him to forbear, after a few specimens. Having had so long an experience in those happy climes, I found he could not say anything that half came up to the reality. Nevertheless, I am free to say, he did quote some sentiments which on him and the young ladies present seemed to have a most charming effect, especially one from Tupper, who used in those times to be a pet poet with the fair s.e.x and such as our student,--

"Love! what a volume in a word! an ocean in a tear!

A seventh heaven in a glance! a whirlwind in a sigh!

The lightning in a touch--a millennium in a moment!

What concentrated joy, or woe, is blessed or blighted love!"

"Blighted love! Ah," said Mr. Smythe, "that reminds me of Tennyson's words," which he appeared to render with deep feeling,--

"I hold it true, whate'er befall-- I feel it when I sorrow most-- 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all."

"These lines remind me," he observed, "and it is astonis.h.i.+ng the poetic a.s.sociations of my mind, Mr. Bond. These kind of pieces seem so linked together in my mind, that when I begin I can scarcely stop myself. Well, I was going to give Shakespeare's words,--

'Ah me! for aught that ever I could read, Could ever hear of tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth.'"

"But have you not a few lines, Mr. Smythe, on marriage, although you have not as yet entered into that happy state?" said Mr. Bond.

"O dear yes! I have pieces without number. For instance, here is one from Middleton,--

'What a delicious breath marriage sends forth-- The violet's bed not sweeter! Honest wedlock Is like a banqueting-house built in a garden, On which the spring flowers take delight To cast their modest odours.'

"Here are some more," he remarked, "from Cotton,--

'Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers, We who improve his golden hours, By sweet experience know That marriage rightly understood Gives to the tender and the good A Paradise below.'"

Still going on, he said, "Here are some charming lines, Mr. Bond, from Moore,--

'There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told, When two that are linked in one heavenly tie, With heart never changing and brow never cold, Love on through all ills, and love on till they die.

One hour of a pa.s.sion so sacred is worth Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss; And oh! if there be an Elysium on earth, It is this--it is this.'"

At the close of these lines something occurred to stop Mr. Smythe going any further.

Poetic quotations in conversation are all very well, when given aptly and wisely; but coming, as they often do, as the fruits of affectation and pedantry, they are repulsive. One wishes in these circ.u.mstances that the talker had a few thoughts of his own in prose besides those of the poets which he so lavishly pours into one's jaded ears.

x.x.x.

_"YES" AND "NO."_

"Let your communication be, Yea, yea; Nay, nay: for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil."--JESUS CHRIST.

Although in length "yes" and "no" are among the smallest and shortest words of the English language, yet they often involve an importance far beyond "the most centipedal polysyllables that crawl over the pages of Johnson's dictionary." Did persons stop to reflect upon the full import of these monosyllables, so easily uttered, they would undoubtedly use them with less frequency and more caution.