Constantine republican. [volume] (Constantine, Mich.) 1836-1838, 1836-11-30
FA M E.
How hard IL il to limb
The steep whore Famc's proud temple shines afar

How hard it IL to limb
The steep whore Famc's proud temple shines afar.
BEArrIE.
AS for reputation, literary reputation
care not a rush. Thus exclaims one of
the most gifted American poets--one who
has risen high in fame, basked in the sun
shine, and wore the laurel of its applause.
Bot with these he has had its eart-burnings
the goadings of the benevolent, and the
insidious defamation of envy and prejudice.
With the guerdon of genius he has reapcd
the gall and NORWOOD Of thankless few
who hunt down every thing like merit, and
jeer and mock at the fine perceptions of
the pure in mind. Wherefore is it that the
brightest chance of JOY is forever dregged
with sorrow? Wherefore is it that those
whom the world applauds and whose minds
are coveted by mankind as more priceless
than coronets and crowns-why is it that
these are the children of sorrow, born to
pour forth brilliant corruscations Of intel.
lect, yet grovel amidst poverty and wretch.
edness, or pine away in that desolation of
earth which soon corrodes and extinguish-
es the mighty spirit? With few exceptions
the migty in mind have been the victims of
penury, whose fangs cling to the wretched
sufferer like living adders. And how is it
that the mind can pour forth its holy and
uplifted embodying amidst these horrors.
Calico and Homer, and all We mighty spi-
rits Of the past who suffered and are gone,
how deep mus: have been your philosophy,
how high your courage, when, amidst
wrong and outrage, poverty and shame, ye
lived on and triumphed. Fame what is
ia phantom--a meteor upon troubled
sea, Turing the ardent soul among shoals g.
quicksands, and wrecking his bark of hopes
on troubled waters.
"Famc, fame thou canst not be the stay
Unto the dropping reed,
The cool fresh fountain in the day
Of the souls fsv'rish necd
Where must the loved one turn and fee1
Not unto thee, oh not to thoe.
What recks it that bright lips and mellow
voices shall ring forth peans to the children
of genius, when the cold clod of the valley
shall cover their ashes? What recks il
that the puissant world shall echo GLAD
shout of applause, and Irvine a laure
wreath around the living brow, if the heart
within be desolate if the pulse beat wildly
with fever, the breath be hot with disease
the eye dim with sorrow, and the cheek
wan with the lingering stealth of death
What recks it that name glitters in gold
and eulogy come forth on million voices, i
we still must grope and grovel with a hero
whose god is mammon-tol and delve fol
sustenancc, while knavery triumphs in it
guilt. How little the world knows Of tn,
secret sorrows of those whom the worlt
applauds. The poison arrows of envy
and the bitter shafts Of prejudice, these arr
as burning doggers to the sensitive spirit
Thoughts that have cost the aching brail
hours OF weary reflection -cmanation
that flashed out amid the darkness of DIES
pair, and have been transferred to the scru
tiny of the world for appreciation will no
the aspiring soul writhe when calumny an,
heartlessness and all the bitter host Of evi
passions shall sneer and stigmatize wha