Nonfiction > E.C. Stedman & E.M. Hutchinson, eds. > A Library of American Literature > 1835–1860
  PREVIOUSNEXT  
CONTENTS · VOLUME CONTENTS · INDEX TO AUTHORS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
Stedman and Hutchinson, comps.  A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes.  1891.
Vols. VI–VIII: Literature of the Republic, Part III., 1835–1860
 
Merlin
By Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)
 
[From Poems. Revised Edition. Edited by J. E. Cabot. 1884.]

THY trivial harp will never please
Or fill my craving ear;
Its chords should ring as blows the breeze,
Free, peremptory, clear.
No jingling serenader’s art,        5
Nor tinkle of piano strings,
Can make the wild blood start
In its mystic springs.
The kingly bard
Must smite the chords rudely and hard        10
As with hammer or with mace;
That they may render back
Artful thunder, which conveys
Secrets of the solar truck,
Sparks of the supersolar blaze.        15
Merlin’s blows are strokes of fate,
Chiming with the forest tone,
When boughs buffet boughs in the wood:
Chiming with the gasp and moan
Of the ice-imprisoned flood;        20
With the pulse of manly hearts;
With the voice of orators;
With the din of city arts;
With the cannonade of wars;
With the marches of the brave;        25
And prayers of might from martyrs’ cave.
 
Great is the art,
Great be the manners, of the bard.
He shall not his brain encumber
With the coil of rhythm and number;        30
But, leaving rule and pale forethought,
He shall aye climb
For his rhyme.
“Pass in, pass in,” the angels say,
“In to the upper doors,        35
Nor count compartments of the floors,
But mount to paradise
By the stairway of surprise.”
 
Blameless master of the games,
King of sport that never shames,        40
He shall daily joy dispense
Hid in song’s sweet influence.
Forms more cheerly live and go,
What time the subtle mind
Sings aloud the tune whereto        45
Their pulses beat,
And march their feet,
And their members are combined.
 
By Sybarites beguiled,
He shall no task decline;        50
Merlin’s mighty line
Extremes of nature reconciled,—
Bereaved a tyrant of his will,
And made the lion mild.
Songs can the tempest still,        55
Scattered on the stormy air,
Mould the year to fair increase,
And bring in poetic peace.
 
He shall not seek to weave,
In weak, unhappy times,        60
Efficacious rhymes;
Wait his returning strength.
Bird, that from the nadir’s floor
To the zenith’s top can soar,—
The soaring orbit of the muse exceeds that journey’s length.        65
Nor profane affect to hit
Or compass that, by meddling wit,
Which only the propitious mind
Publishes when ’tis inclined.
There are open hours        70
When the God’s will sallies free,
And the dull idiot might see
The flowing fortunes of a thousand years;—
Sudden, at unawares,
Self-moved, fly-to the doors,        75
Nor sword of angels could reveal
What they conceal.
 
 
CONTENTS · VOLUME CONTENTS · INDEX TO AUTHORS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
  PREVIOUSNEXT  
 
Loading
Click here to shop the Bartleby Bookstore.

Shakespeare · Bible · Strunk · Anatomy · Nonfiction · Quotations · Reference · Fiction · Poetry
© 1993–2014 Bartleby.com · [Top 150] · Subjects · Titles · Authors