Proverbial Philosophy / The First and Second Series

by Unknown

OF SOLITUDE.

Who hath known his brother,—or found him in his freedom unrestrained?

Even he, whose hidden glance hath watched his deepest Solitude.

For we walk the world in domino, putting on characters and habits,

And wear a social Janus mask, while others stand around:

I speak not of the hypocrite, nor dream of meant deceptions,

But of that quick unconscious change, whereof the best know most.

For mind hath its influence on mind; and no man is free but when alone;

Yea, let a dog be watching thee, its eye will tend to thy restraint:

Self-possession cannot be so perfect, with another intellect beside thee,

It is not as a natural result, but rather the educated produce:

The presence of a second spirit must control thine own,

And throw it off its equipoise of peace, to balance by an effort.

The common minds of common men know of this but little;

What then? they know nothing of themselves: I speak to those who know.

The consciousness that some are hearing, cometh as a care,

The sense that some are watching near, bindeth thee to caution;

And the tree of tender nerves shrinketh as a touched mimosa,

Drooping like a plant in drought, with half its strength decayed.

There are antipathies warning from the many, and sympathies drawing to the few,

But merchant-minds have crushed the first, and cannot feel the latter:

Whereas to the quickened apprehension of a keen and spiritual intellect,

Antipathies are galling, and sympathies oppress, and solitude is quiet.

He that dwelleth mainly by himself, heedeth most of others,

But they that live in crowds, think chiefly of themselves.

There is indeed a selfish seeming, where the anchorite liveth alone,

But probe his thoughts,—they travel far, dreaming for ever of the world:

And there is an apparent generosity, when a man mixeth freely with his fellows;

But prove his mind, by day and night, his thoughts are all of self:

The world, inciting him to pleasures, or relentlessly provoking him to toil,

Is full of anxious rivals, each with a difference of interest;

So must he plan and practise for himself, even as his own best friend;

And the gay soul of dissipation never had a thought unselfish.

The hermit standeth out of strife, abiding in a contemplative calmness;

What shall he contemplate,—himself? a meagre theme for musing:

He hath cast off follies, and kept aloof from cares; a man of simple wants;

God and the soul, these are his excuse, a just excuse, for solitude:

But he carried with him to his cell the half-dead feelings of humanity;

There were they rested and refreshed; and he yearned once more on men.

Where is the wise, or the learned, or the good, that sought not solitude for thinking,

And from seclusion's secret vale brought forth his precious fruits?

Forests of Aricia, your deep shade mellowed Numa's wisdom,

Peaceful gardens of Vaucluse, ye nourished Petrarch's love;

Solitude made a Cincinnatus, ripening the hero and the patriot,

And taught De Staël self-knowledge, even in the damp Bastile;

It fostered the piety of Jerome, matured the labours of Augustine,

And gave imperial Charles religion for ambition:

That which Scipio praised, that which Alfred practised,

Which fired Demosthenes to eloquence, and fed the mind of Milton,

Which quickened zeal, nurtured genius, found out the secret things of science,

Helped repentance, shamed folly, and comforted the good with peace,—

By all men just and wise, by all things pure and perfect,

How truly, Solitude, art thou the fostering nurse of greatness!

Enough;—the theme is vast; sear me these necks of Hydra:

What shall drive away the thoughts flocking to this carcase?

Yea,—that all which man may think, hath long been said of Solitude:

For many wise have proved and preached its evils and its good.

I cannot add,—I will not steal; enough, for all is spoken:

Yet heed thou these for practice, and discernment among men.

There are pompous talkers, solemn, oracular, and dull:

Track them from society to solitude; and there ye find them fools.

There are light-hearted jesters, taking up with company for pastime;

How speed they when alone?—serious, wise, and thoughtful.

And wherefore? both are actors, saving when in solitude,

There they live their truest life, and all things show sincere:

But the fool by pomposity of speech striveth to be counted wise,

And the wise, for holiday and pleasance, playeth with the fool's best bauble.

The solemn seemer, as a rule, will be found more ignorant and shallow

Than those who laugh both loud and long, content to hide their knowledge.

For thee; seek thou Solitude, but neither in excess, nor morosely;

Seek her for her precious things, and not of thine own pride.

For there, separate from a crowd, the still small voice will talk with thee,

Truth's whisper, heard and echoed by responding conscience;

There, shalt thou gather up the ravelled skeins of feeling,

And mend the nets of usefulness, and rest awhile for duties;

There, thou shalt hive thy lore, and eat the fruits of study,

For Solitude delighteth well to feed on many thoughts:

There, as thou sittest peaceful, communing with fancy,

The precious poetry of life shall gild its leaden cares:

There, as thou walkest by the sea, beneath the gentle stars,

Many kindling seeds of good will sprout within thy soul;

Thou shalt weep in Solitude,—thou shalt pray in Solitude,

Thou shalt sing for joy of heart, and praise the grace of Solitude.

Pass on, pass on!—for this is the path of wisdom:

God make thee prosper on the way; I leave thee well with Solitude.

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