Martin Farquhar Tupper (1810 – 1880)
English writer, and poet, and the author of Proverbial Philosophy.
Hush,—for the halo of calmness is spreading
Over my spirit as mild as a dove;
Hush,—for the angel of comfort is shedding
Over my body his vial of love;
Hush,—for new slumbers are over me stealing,
Thus would I court them again and again,
Hush,—for my heart is intoxicate,—reeling
In the swift waltz of my beautiful brain!
Who shall guess what I may be?
Who can tell my fortune to me?
For, bravest and brightest that ever was sung
May be — and shall be — the lot of the young!
A dream, a dream, — it is all a dream,
A strange, sad dream, good sooth;
For old as I am, and old as I seem,
My heart is full of youth.
God, from a beautiful necessity, is Love in all he doeth,
Love, a brilliant fire, to gladden or consume:
The wicked work their woe by looking upon love, and hating it:
The righteous find their joys in yearning on its loveliness for ever.
O fair, false city, thou gay and gilded harlot!
Wo for thy wanton heart, wo for thy wicked hardness!
Wo unto thee, that the lightsomeness of life, beneath Italian suns,
Should meet the solemnity of death, in a sepulchre so foul and fearful!
A good book is the best of friends, the same today and forever.
How gladly would I wander through some strange and savage land,
The lasso at my saddle-bow, the rifle in my hand,
A leash of gallant mastiffs bounding by my side,
And, for a friend to love, the noble horse on which I ride!
Alone, alone—yet not alone, for God is with me there,
The tender hand of Providence shall guide me everywhere,
While happy thoughts and holy hopes, as spirits calm and mild,
Shall fan with their sweet wings the hermit-hunter of the wild!
Naples sitteth by the sea, keystone of an arch of azure,
Crowned by consenting nations peerless queen of gayety:
She laugheth at the wrath of Ocean, she mocketh the fury of Vesuvius,
She spurneth disease, and misery, and famine, that crowd her sunny streets.
A babe in the house is a well-spring of pleasure, a messenger of peace and love, a resting place for innocence on earth, a link between angels and men.
Well-timed silence hath more eloquence than speech.
Open the casement, and up with the Sun!
His gallant journey is just begun;
Over the hills his chariot is roll'd,
Banner'd with glory, and burnish'd with gold,—
Over the hills he comes sublime,
Bridegroom of Earth, and brother of Time!
I am not old, — I cannot be old,
Though tottering, wrinkled, and gray ;
Though my eyes are dim, and my marrow is cold,
Call me not old to-day.
Who can wrestle against Sleep? — Yet is that giant very gentleness.
Rise! ye gallant youth of Britain,
Gather to your country's call,
On your hearts her name is written,
Rise to help her, one and all!
Wait, thou child of hope, for Time shall teach thee all things.
There is a limit to enjoyment, though the sources of wealth be boundless
And the choicest pleasures of life lie within the ring of moderation.
Clamorous pauperism feasteth
While honest Labor, pining, hideth his sharp ribs.
Error is a hardy plant; it flourisheth in every soil;
In the heart of the wise and good, alike with the wicked and foolish;
For there is no error so crooked, but it hath in it some lines of truth;
Nor is any poison so deadly, that it serveth not some wholesome use.
For life, good youth, hath never an ill
Which hope cannot scatter, and faith cannot kill;
And stubborn realities never shall bind
The free-spreading wings of a cheerful mind.
His fashion is passion, sincere and intense, —
His impulse is simple and true;
Yet temper'd by judgment, and taught by good sense,
And cordial with me and with you.