The morning star and Catholic messenger. [volume] (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, 1870-05-22

not have, to become rich. Like our renowned
Audubon had done; Shookbo- Loosah has tried
sl%oss every trade and profession suss:s.diPg g
know how to be idle Il very superior accom-
plishments" There II an h0nolRble leisure
Ao.ests~ oiism. He shall pot Rncerted!
e ss'G into r 20 Sspe Is Is
s 4: !. ;;s;i ss' i
Only : - he Is bus that u. tS Is that
Lodged 1esiSeseiss ot soelssy al Although many
may smile and snssr. we regard genuine poetry,
and powerful, the most ravishing embodiment
Of tho true, the good and the beautiful The
Muse 10 the sacred guardian OF ell glorious
with an unfading halo the greatest nations.
From the lofty epic to the plaintive elegy, she
has echoed tunefally the grandest and sweet
est ssp.laai.ons Q. the son N gee o. sadness
ing thrill through the deep and sympathetic
heart of chastenedF humanity. Without this
heavenly influence Of poetry man would not
progress; but he would have sunk borne
downward by the weight of the grossest in
stincts of his fallen nature. The Muse has
watchful love, from the cradle to the tomb,
ever pointing to the eternal loadstar of bliss
full realms above.
He is, then, only poetic is! and one, too,
of Immortality. He has sung sweetly and
boldly, with the true ring and divine atfiatus,
and reaped laurels enough, in both the Old
and New World, to screer. him from the fasa
tidous Icriticsm of literary shrimps. He has
many friends, devoted and of long date, who
know him well, love himS better, and esteem
GOODNESS and rebukes, the naughty and surfy
looks of upstart, greenback grandeur, or hot
bed nobility, high-aown people, pnffsd up,
Tell me, in n few years, where shall be all
these peop1e-where They shall have gone
down into the dark and deep grave of Oblivion,
an lnregarded vestige on earth of their being
as the smoke in the air or the foam ON the
wave." Whilst he, the poet, whom we have
seen in his tattered clothes, his homeric rags
thrOned in his proud compatriots' hearts, and
leaving q name enwreathed with the fadeless
flowers of glorious renown. Yes, his shall be
the honorable need of grateful Louisiana!
And, in his sorrows, now, he may exultingly
exclsim: nos osnis mortar. y
When I see these numberless warlike pig
Hercules, it seems that behold an army Of
sable dwarfs at. the foot and beneath the
shadow OF some great pyramid, trying to pull
ont one of the huge stones which has with,
stood the scorching simeon of the desert and
the beating waves of centuries:
Pignies are pigmies still though perched Alps,
And pyramids are pyramids In Wales.
The man we have been all the time writing
about is no other one, and no less q one than
the author of Les Mcschacebeennes" and Les
Flcurs dAme,ique," of whom Davidson speaks
SO praisefully in his "Living Writers of the
South" and on whom Henry Longfellow, our
great master in "lofty rhyme" has conferred
such cncorniun,s might make one feel |
proud and happy.
Who ever hath to me shone still the same |
Or hid in solitude, or crownd with fame;
Who is great good much above
The reach of hate as near the soul of love:
Why art thou here Why linger yet beneath
This smoky sky, while Nature sends wreath
OF blossoms and her treasure keeps in store,
Exhaustless still, though lavished evermore!
Go back 60 to the woods where Nature nursd |
Believe me-not a city is uncursdi
Go back where God invites and angels meet,
In thy oershadow'd cell and calm retreat"
OLD sACHEM.