to him； he went on to say； to be interrupted in his observations by
clouds covering the objects he was examining for a longer or shorter
time。 In these idle moments he had put down many thoughts；
unskilfully he feared； but just as they came into his mind。 His
blank verse he suspected was often faulty。 His thoughts he knew must
be crude； many of them。 It would please him to have me amuse myself
by putting them into shape。 He was kind enough to say that I was an
artist in words； but he held himself as an unskilled apprentice。
I confess I was appalled when I cast my eye upon the title of the
manuscript； 〃Cirri and Nebulae。〃
Oh！ oh！I said；that will never do。 People don't know what
Cirri are； at least not one out of fifty readers。 〃Wind…Clouds and
Star…Drifts〃 will do better than that。
Anything you like；he answered；what difference does it make how
you christen a foundling？ These are not my legitimate scientific
offspring； and you may consider them left on your doorstep。
I will not attempt to say just how much of the diction of these
lines belongs to him； and how much to me。 He said he would never
claim them； after I read them to him in my version。 I； on my part；
do not wish to be held responsible for some of his more daring
thoughts； if I should see fit to reproduce them hereafter。 At this
time I shall give only the first part of the series of poetical
outbreaks for which the young devotee of science must claim his share
of the responsibility。 I may put some more passages into shape by
and by。
WIND…CLOUDS AND STAR…DRIFTS。
I
Another clouded night； the stars are hid；
The orb that waits my search is hid with them。
Patience！ Why grudge an hour； a month； a year；
To plant my ladder and to gain the round
That leads my footsteps to the heaven of fame；
Where waits the wreath my sleepless midnights won？
Not the stained laurel such as heroes wear
That withers when some stronger conqueror's heel
Treads down their shrivelling trophies in the dust；
But the fair garland whose undying green
Not time can change； nor wrath of gods or men！
With quickened heart…beats I shall hear the tongues
That speak my praise； but better far the sense
That in the unshaped ages； buried deep
In the dark mines of unaccomplished time
Yet to be stamped with morning's royal die
And coined in golden days；in those dim years
I shall be reckoned with the undying dead；
My name emblazoned on the fiery arch；
Unfading till the stars themselves shall fade。
Then； as they call the roll of shining worlds；
Sages of race unborn in accents new
Shall count me with the Olympian ones of old；
Whose glories kindle through the midnight sky
Here glows the God of Battles； this recalls
The Lord of Ocean； and yon far…off sphere
The Sire of Him who gave his ancient name
To the dim planet with the wondrous rings；
Here flames the Queen of Beauty's silver lamp；
And there the moon…girt orb of mighty Jove；
But this； unseen through all earth's aeons past；
A youth who watched beneath the western star
Sought in the darkness； found； and showed to men；
Linked with his name thenceforth and evermore！
So shall that name be syllabled anew
In all the tongues of all the tribes of men：
I that have been through immemorial years
Dust in the dust of my forgotten time
Shall live in accents shaped of blood…warm breath；
Yea； rise in mortal semblance； newly born
In shining stone； in undecaying bronze；
And stand on high； and look serenely down
On the new race that calls the earth its own。
Is this a cloud； that； blown athwart my soul；
Wears a false seeming of the pearly stain
Where worlds beyond the world their mingling rays
Blend in soft white；a cloud that； born of earth；
Would cheat the soul that looks for light from heaven？
Must every coral…insect leave his sign
On each poor grain he lent to build the reef；
As Babel's builders stamped their sunburnt clay；
Or deem his patient service all in vain？
What if another sit beneath the shade
Of the broad elm I planted by the way；
What if another heed the beacon light
I set upon the rock that wrecked my keel；
Have I not done my task and served my kind？
Nay； rather act thy part； unnamed； unknown；
And let Fame blow her trumpet through the world
With noisy wind to swell a fool's renown；
Joined with some truth be stumbled blindly o'er；
Or coupled with some single shining deed
That in the great account of all his days
Will stand alone upon the bankrupt sheet
His pitying angel shows the clerk of Heaven。
The noblest service comes from nameless hands；
And the best servant does his work unseen。
Who found the seeds of fire and made them shoot；
Fed by his breath； in buds and flowers of flame？
Who forged in roaring flames the ponderous stone；
And shaped the moulded metal to his need？
Who gave the dragging car its rolling wheel；
And tamed the steed that whirls its circling round？
All these have left their work and not their names；
Why should I murmur at a fate like theirs？
This is the heavenly light； the pearly stain
Was but a wind…cloud drifting oer the stars！
VI
I find I have so many things in common with the old Master of Arts；
that I do not always know whether a thought was originally his or
mine。 That is what always happens where two persons of a similar
cast of mind talk much together。 And both of them often gain by the
interchange。 Many ideas grow better when transplanted into another
mind than in the one where they sprang up。 That which was a weed in
one intelligence becomes a flower in the other。 A flower； on the
other hand； may dwindle down to a mere weed by the same change。
Healthy growths may become poisonous by falling upon the wrong mental
soil； and what seemed a night…shade in one mind unfold as a morning…
glory in the other。
I thank God；the Master said；that a great many people believe a
great deal more than I do。 I think； when it comes to serious
matters； I like those who believe more than I do better than those
who believe less。
Why；said I；you have got hold of one of my own working axioms。
I should like to hear you develop it。
The Member of the Haouse said he should be glad to listen to the
debate。 The gentleman had the floor。 The Scarabee rose from his
chair and departed；I thought his joints creaked as he straightened
himself。
The Young Girl made a slight movement； it was a purely accidental
coincidence； no doubt； but I saw That Boy put his hand in his pocket
and pull out his popgun； and begin loading it。 It cannot be that our
Scheherezade； who looks so quiet and proper at the table； can make
use of That Boy and his catapult to control the course of
conversation and change it to suit herself！ She certainly looks
innocent enough； but what does a blush prove； and what does its
absence prove； on one of these innocent faces？ There is nothing in
all this world that can lie and cheat like the face and the tongue of
a young girl。 Just give her a little touch of hysteria；I don't
mean enough of it to make her friends call the doctor in； but a
slight hint of it in the nervous system；and 〃Machiavel the waiting…
maid〃 might take lessons of her。 But I cannot think our Scheherezade
is one of that kind； and I am ashamed of myself for noting such a
trifling coincidence as that which excited my suspicion。
I say；the Master continued；that I had rather be in the company
of those who believe more than I do； in spiritual matters at least；
than of those who doubt what I accept as a part of my belief。
To tell the truth；said I；I find that difficulty sometimes in
talking with you。 You have not quite so many hesitations as I have
in following out your logical conclusions。 I suppose you would bring
some things out into daylight questioning that I had rather leave in
that twilight of half…belief peopled with shadowsif they are only
shadowsmore sacred to me than many realities。
There is nothing I do not question；said the Master；I not only
begin with the precept of Descartes； but I hold all my opinions
involving any chain of reasoning always open to revision。
I confess that I smiled internally to hear him say that。 The old
Master thinks he is open to conviction on all subjects； but if you
meddle with some of his notions and don't get tossed on his horns as
if a bull had hold of you； I should call you lucky。
You don't mean you doubt everything？I said。
What do you think I question everything for； the Master replied；
if I never get any answers？ You've seen a blind man with a stick；
feeling his way along？ Well； I am a blind man with a stick； and I
find the world pretty full of men just as blind as I am； but without
any stick。 I try the ground to find out whether it is firm or not
before I rest my weight on it； but after it has borne my weight； that
question at least is answered。 It very certainly was strong enough
once； the presumption is that it is strong enough now。 Still the
soil may have been undermined； or I may have grown heavier。 Make as
much of that as you will。 I say I question everything； but if I find
Bunker Hill Monument standing as straight as when I leaned against it
a year or ten years ago； I am not very much afraid that Bunker Hill
will cave in if I trust myself again on the soil of it。
I glanced off； as one often does in talk。
The Monument is an awful place to visit；I said。…The waves of time
are like the waves of the ocean； the only thing they beat against
without destroying it is a rock； and they destroy that at last。 But
it takes a good while。 There is a stone now standing in very good
order that was as old as a monument of Louis XIV。 and Queen Anne's
day is now when Joseph went down into Egypt。 Think of the shaft on
Bunker Hill standing in the sunshine on the morning of January 1st in
the year 5872！
It won't be standing；the Master said。…We are poor bunglers
compared to those old Egyptians。 There are no joints in one of their
obelisks。 They are our masters in more ways than we know of； and in
more ways than some of us are willing to know。 That old Lawgiver
wasn't learned in all the wisdom of the Egyptians for nothing。 It
scared people well a couple of hundred years ago when Sir John
Marsham and Dr。 John S