All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist; Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor power Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist When eternity affirms the conception of an hour. The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard, The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky, Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard; Enough that he heard it once: we shall hear it by and by. 80 Annulling youth's brief years, Do I remonstrate: folly wide the mark! Rather I prize the doubt 17 And what is our failure here but a triumph's evidence For the fullness of the days? Have we withered or agonized? Why else was the pause prolonged but that singing might issue thence? Why rushed the discords in, but that harmony should be prized? Sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear, Each sufferer says his say, his scheme of the weal and woe: But God has a few of us whom he whispers in the ear; The rest may reason and welcome: 'tis we musicians know. 88 Low kinds exist without, Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark. ROBERT BROWNING Let us not always say, And not partake, effect and not receive! Nearer we hold of God Who gives, than of his tribes that take, I must Then, welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, 30 Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never For thence, a paradox Which comforts while it mocks, Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: And was not, comforts me: 36 A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale. What is he but a brute Whose flesh has soul to suit, 42 Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play? To man, propose this test Thy body at its best, How far can that project thy soul on its lone way? Yet gifts should prove their use: I own the Past profuse Of power each side, perfection every turn: Brain treasured up the whole; 48 Should not the heart beat once "How good to live and learn"? Not once beat "Praise be thine! I see the whole design, I, who saw power, see now love perfect too: Thanks that I was a man! 54 Maker, remake, complete, I trust what thou shalt do"? For pleasant is this flesh; Our soul, in its rose-mesh бо Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest: did best! gain most, as we For note, when evening shuts, A certain moment cuts 90 The deed off, calls the glory from the grey: Shoots "Add this to the rest, Take it and try its worth: here dies another day." So, still within this life, Though lifted o'er its strife, 96 Let me discern, compare, pronounce at last, That acquiescence vain: The Future I may face now I have proved the For more is not reserved To man, with soul just nerved To act to-morrow what he learns to-day: 1 put on 2 2 i.e., it is work enough 102 Roger Sterne, Sterne's father, was the second son of a numerous race, descendants of Richard Sterne, Archbishop of York, in the reign of Charles II; and children of Simon Sterne and Mary Jaques, his wife, heiress of Elvington, near York. Roger was an ensign in Colonel Hans Hamilton's regiment, and engaged in Flanders in Queen Anne's wars. He married the daughter of a noted sutler,"N. B., he was in debt to him," his son writes, pursuing the paternal biography — and marched through the world with his companion; she following the regiment and bringing many children to poor Roger Sterne. The Captain was an irascible but kind and simple little man, Sterne says, and he informs us that his sire was run through the body at Gibraltar, by a brother officer, in a duel which arose out of a dispute about a goose. Roger never entirely recovered from the effects of this rencontre, but died presently at Jamaica, whither he had followed the drum. Laurence, his second child, was born at Clonmel, in Ireland, in 1713, and travelled for the first ten years of his life, on his father's march, from barrack to transport, from Ireland to England. One relative of his mother's took her and her family under shelter for ten months at Mullingar; another collateral descendant of the Archbishop's housed them for a year at his castle near Carrickfergus. Larry Sterne was put to school at Halifax in England, finally was adopted by his kinsman of Elvington, and parted company with his father, the Captain, who marched on his path of life till he met the fatal goose which closed his career. The most picturesque and delightful parts of Laurence Sterne's writings we owe to his recollections of the military life. Trim's montero cap, and Le Fevre's sword, and dear Uncle Toby's ro Laurence remained at Halifax school till he was eighteen years old. His wit and cleverness appear to have acquired the respect of his master here; for when the usher 4 whipped Laurence for writing his name on the newly whitewashed schoolroom ceiling, the pedagogue in chief rebuked the understrapper, and said that the name should never be effaced, for Sterne was a boy of genius, and would come to preferment. His cousin, the Squire of Elvington, sent Sterne to Jesus College, Cambridge, where he remained some years, and, taking orders,5 got, through his uncle's interest, the living of Sutton and a prebendal stall' at York. Through his wife's connections he got the living of Stillington. He married her in 1741, having ardently courted the young lady for some years previously. It was not until the young lady fancied herself dying, that she made Sterne acquainted with the extent of her liking for him. One evening when he was sitting with her, with an almost broken heart to see her so ill (the Reverend Mr. Sterne's heart was a good deal broken in the course of his life), she said -"My dear Laurey, I never can be yours, for I verily believe I have not long to live; but I have left you every shilling of my fortune;" a generosity which overpowered Sterne. She recovered: and so they were married, and grew heartily tired of each other before many years were over. "Nescio quid est materia cum me," Sterne writes to one of his friends (in dog-Latin, and very sad dog-Latin too); "sed sum fatigatus et aegrotus de mea uxore plus quam unquam:" which means, I am sorry to say, "I don't know what is the matter with me; but I am more tired and sick of my wife than ever." This to be sure was five-and-twenty years after Laurey had been overcome by her generosity, and she by Laurey's love. Then he wrote to her of the delights of marriage, say 1 See Tristram Shandy. 2 a battle in 1706 3 a battle in 1709 assistant teacher becoming a clergyman income as rector 7 income for occasional services at the cathedral |