Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/160

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THE JOURNEY OF TRUTH.
Expect from frail woman unchanging smiles,
Or win the bird from the serpent's wiles,
Or lure yon moth from that glittering flame,
Sooner than sully my dream of fame."

I entered the cell of the plodding sage,
And threw a gleam o'er his mystic page;
But he closed his pained eyeballs, and said that I
Could never have seen his new theory.

A fair young maiden, with open brow,
Was listening to her first-love's vow;
I whispered her, that one day she
Would weep her fond credulity;
That her idol was cold and vain, and would cling
To Ambition's shrine, and the offering
Of her changeless love would forget, and leave
Her youth over cold neglect to grieve.
She said my voice was harsh, and that I
Was governed by hate and by jealousy;
Her cheek was flushed with indignant pride,
As she clung more firm to her lover's side.

Wherever I went I spread dismay,
Friendship and Feeling I frightened away;
And Love shook his saucy finger at me,
And declared me his mortal enemy.

I entered the church, and what did I there?
I drove from the pulpit the minister.
Poor priest! he turned paler than marble—but I
Could not win to my shrine one votary.

I knocked at the dying man's desolate gate—
Death looked from the window, and begged me to wait,
For a doctor had entered the moment before,
And, seeing me coming, had bolted the door.
I entered his study to wait for him there,
And sat down to read in his easy-chair;
But his books fell to pieces, and during my stay
Two-thirds of his physic had melted away.

I dared not visit the lawyer's den,
For I knew I should never return again;
The rarest sport 'twould have been for him
To murder and tear me limb from limb.