The Moral.

What is the moral? Let us think awhile,

Taking the editorial WE to help,

It sounds respectable.

The moral; yes.

We always read, when any fable ends,

“Hence we may learn.” A moral must be found.

What do you think of this? “Hence we may learn

That dolphins swim about the coast of Wales,

And Admiralty maps should now be drawn

By teacher-girls, because their sight is keen,

And they can spy out islands.” Will that do?

No, that is far too plain,— too evident.

Perhaps a general moralizing vein —

( We know we have a happy knack that way.

We have observed, moreover, that young men

Are fond of good advice, and so are girls;

Especially of that meandering kind,

Which winding on so sweetly, treats of all

They ought to be and do and think and wear,

As one may say, from creeds to comforters.

Indeed, we much prefer that sort ourselves,

So soothing ). Good, a moralizing vein;

That is the thing; but how to manage it?

“Hence we may learn,” if we be so inclined,

That life goes best with those who take it best;

That wit can spin from work a golden robe

To queen it in; that who can paint at will

A private picture gallery, should not cry

For shillings that will let him in to look

At some by others painted. Furthermore,

Hence we may learn, you poets,— ( and we count

For poets all who ever felt that such

They were, and all who secretly have known

That such they could be; ay, moreover, all

Who wind the robes of ideality

About the bareness of their lives, and hang

Comforting curtains, knit of fancy's yarn,

Nightly betwixt them and the frosty world ),—

Hence we may learn, you poets, that of all

We should be most content. The earth is given

To us: we reign by virtue of a sense

Which lets us hear the rhythm of that old verse,

The ring of that old tune whereto she spins.

Humanity is given to us: we reign

By virtue of a sense, which lets us in

To know its troubles ere they have been told,

And take them home and lull them into rest

With mournfullest music. Time is given to us,—

Time past, time future. Who, good sooth, beside

Have seen it well, have walked this empty world

When she went steaming, and from pulpy hills

Have marked the spurting of their flamy crowns?

Have we not seen the tabernacle pitched,

And peered between the linen curtains, blue,

Purple, and scarlet, at the dimness there,

And, frighted, have not dared to look again?

But, quaint antiquity! beheld, we thought,

A chest that might have held the manna pot

And Aaron's rod that budded. Ay, we leaned

Over the edge of Britain, while the fleet

Of Caesar loomed and neared; then, afterwards,

We saw fair Venice looking at herself

In the glass below her, while her Doge went forth

In all his bravery to the wedding.

This,

However, counts for nothing to the grace

We wot of in time future:— therefore add,

And afterwards have done: “Hence we may learn,”

That though it be a grand and comely thing

To be unhappy,— ( and we think it is,

Because so many grand and clever folk

Have found out reasons for unhappiness,

And talked about uncomfortable things,—

Low motives, bores, and shams, and hollowness,

The hollowness o’ the world, till we at last

Have scarcely dared to jump or stamp, for fear,

Being so hollow, it should break some day,

And let us in ),— yet, since we are not grand,

O, not at all, and as for cleverness,

That may be or may not be,— it is well

For us to be as happy as we can!

Agreed: and with a word to the noble sex,

As thus: we pray you carry not your guns

On the full-cock; we pray you set your pride

In its proper place, and never be ashamed

Of any honest calling,— let us add,

And end; for all the rest, hold up your heads

And mind your English.