I but amused myself with thinking of it.
The free-will tempted me, the power to do
Or not to do it.--Was it criminal
To make the fancy minister to hope,
To fill the air with pretty toys of air,
And clutch fantastic sceptres moving t'ward me?
Was not the will kept free? Beheld I not
The road of duty clear beside me--but
One little step and once more I was in it!
Where am I? Whither have I been transported?
No road, no track behind one, but a wall,
Impenetrable, insurmountable,
Rises obedient to the spells I muttered
And meant not--my own doings tower behind me.
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
* * * * *
EASY TO DRIFT.
Easy to drift to the open sea,
The tides are eager and swift and strong,
And whistling and free are the rushing winds,--
But O, to get back is hard and long.
Easy as told in Arabian tale,
To free from his jar the evil sprite
Till he rises like smoke to stupendous size,--
But O, nevermore can we prison him tight.
Easy as told in an English tale,
To fashion a Frankenstein, body and soul,
And breathe in his bosom a breath of life,--
But O, we create what we cannot control.
Easy to drift to the sea of doubt,
Easy to hurt what we cannot heal,
Easy to rouse what we cannot soothe,
Easy to speak what we do not feel,
Easy to show what we ought to conceal,
Easy to think that fancy is fate,--
And O, the wisdom that comes too late!
OLIVER HUCKEL.
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