We have toiled for many years and been troubled with many questionings, but what is the end of it all? We must learn to become simple again like little children. That is all we have a right to be: for this life was meant to be the childhood of our souls, and the more we try to be what we were meant to be, the better for us. Let us use the powers of our minds with the greatest freedom and love of truth, but let us never forget that we are, as Newton said, like children playing on the seashore, while the great ocean of truth lies undiscovered before us.
And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward; from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane,--as I do here.
Neither woman nor man, nor any kind of creature in the universe, was born for the exclusive, or even the chief, purpose of falling in love or being fallen in love with.... Except the zoophytes and coral insects of the Pacific Ocean, I am acquainted with no creature with whom it is the one or grand object.
And o'er them the lighthouse looked lovely as hope,-- That star of life's tremulous ocean.
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,-- Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun.
Be assured that a walk through the ocean of most Souls would scarcely get your Feet wet. Fall not in Love, therefore: it will stick to your face. -- National Lampoon, "Deteriorata"
There, first, the high-born Tyro I beheld; She claim'd Salmoneus as her sire, and wife Was once of Cretheus, son of Æolus. Enamour'd of Enipeus, stream divine, Loveliest of all that water earth, beside His limpid current she was wont to stray, When Ocean's God, (Enipeus' form assumed) Within the eddy-whirling river's mouth Embraced her; there, while the o'er-arching flood, Uplifted mountainous, conceal'd the God And his fair human bride, her virgin zone He loos'd, and o'er her eyes sweet sleep diffused. His am'rous purpose satisfied, he grasp'd Her hand, affectionate, and thus he said.
"To sea, viscount; you know I am a sailor. I was rocked when an infant in the arms of old ocean, and on the bosom of the beautiful Amphitrite; I have sported with the green mantle of the one and the azure robe of the other; I love the sea as a mistress, and pine if I do not often see her."
To whom Achilles, groaning deep, replied. My mother! it is true; Olympian Jove That prayer fulfils; but thence, what joy to me, Patroclus slain? the friend of all my friends Whom most I loved, dear to me as my life-- Him I have lost. Slain and despoil'd he lies By Hector of his glorious armor bright, The wonder of all eyes, a matchless gift Given by the Gods to Peleus on that day When thee they doom'd into a mortal's arms. Oh that with these thy deathless ocean-nymphs Dwelling content, thou hadst my father left To espouse a mortal bride, so hadst thou 'scaped Pangs numberless which thou must now endure For thy son's death, whom thou shalt never meet From Troy return'd, in Peleus' mansion more! For life I covet not, nor longer wish To mix with human kind, unless my spear May find out Hector, and atonement take By slaying him, for my Patroclus slain.
Then thus Achilles matchless in the race. Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd! I must with plainness speak my fixt resolve Unalterable; lest I hear from each The same long murmur'd melancholy tale. For I abhor the man, not more the gates Of hell itself, whose words belie his heart. So shall not mine. My judgment undisguised Is this; that neither Agamemnon me Nor all the Greeks shall move; for ceaseless toil Wins here no thanks; one recompense awaits The sedentary and the most alert, The brave and base in equal honor stand, And drones and heroes fall unwept alike. I after all my labors, who exposed My life continual in the field, have earn'd No very sumptuous prize. As the poor bird Gives to her unfledged brood a morsel gain'd After long search, though wanting it herself, So I have worn out many sleepless nights, And waded deep through many a bloody day In battle for their wives. I have destroy'd Twelve cities with my fleet, and twelve, save one, On foot contending in the fields of Troy. From all these cities, precious spoils I took Abundant, and to Agamemnon's hand Gave all the treasure. He within his ships Abode the while, and having all received, Little distributed, and much retained; He gave, however, to the Kings and Chiefs A portion, and they keep it. Me alone Of all the Grecian host he hath despoil'd; My bride, my soul's delight is in his hands, And let him, couch'd with her, enjoy his fill Of dalliance. What sufficient cause, what need Have the Achaians to contend with Troy? Why hath Atrides gather'd such a host, And led them hither? Was't not for the sake Of beauteous Helen? And of all mankind Can none be found who love their proper wives But the Atridæ? There is no good man Who loves not, guards not, and with care provides For his own wife, and, though in battle won, I loved the fair Briseïs at my heart. But having dispossess'd me of my prize So foully, let him not essay me now, For I am warn'd, and he shall not prevail. With thee and with thy peers let him advise, Ulysses! how the fleet may likeliest 'scape Yon hostile fires; full many an arduous task He hath accomplished without aid of mine; So hath he now this rampart and the trench Which he hath digg'd around it, and with stakes Planted contiguous--puny barriers all To hero-slaughtering Hector's force opposed. While I the battle waged, present myself Among the Achaians, Hector never fought Far from his walls, but to the Scæan gate Advancing and the beech-tree, there remain'd. Once, on that spot he met me, and my arm Escaped with difficulty even there. But, since I feel myself not now inclined To fight with noble Hector, yielding first To Jove due worship, and to all the Gods, To-morrow will I launch, and give my ships Their lading. Look thou forth at early dawn, And, if such spectacle delight thee aught, Thou shalt behold me cleaving with my prows The waves of Hellespont, and all my crews Of lusty rowers active in their task. So shall I reach (if Ocean's mighty God Prosper my passage) Phthia the deep-soil'd On the third day. I have possessions there, Which hither roaming in an evil hour I left abundant. I shall also hence Convey much treasure, gold and burnish'd brass, And glittering steel, and women passing fair My portion of the spoils. But he, your King, The prize he gave, himself resumed, And taunted at me. Tell him my reply, And tell it him aloud, that other Greeks May indignation feel like me, if arm'd Always in impudence, he seek to wrong Them also. Let him not henceforth presume, Canine and hard in aspect though he be, To look me in the face. I will not share His counsels, neither will I aid his works. Let it suffice him, that he wrong'd me once, Deceived me once, henceforth his glozing arts Are lost on me. But let him rot in peace Crazed as he is, and by the stroke of Jove Infatuate. I detest his gifts, and him So honor as the thing which most I scorn. And would he give me twenty times the worth Of this his offer, all the treasured heaps Which he possesses, or shall yet possess, All that Orchomenos within her walls, And all that opulent Egyptian Thebes Receives, the city with a hundred gates, Whence twenty thousand chariots rush to war, And would he give me riches as the sands, And as the dust of earth, no gifts from him Should soothe me, till my soul were first avenged For all the offensive license of his tongue. I will not wed the daughter of your Chief, Of Agamemnon. Could she vie in charms With golden Venus, had she all the skill Of blue-eyed Pallas, even so endow'd She were no bride for me. No. He may choose From the Achaians some superior Prince, One more her equal. Peleus, if the Gods Preserve me, and I safe arrive at home, Himself, ere long, shall mate me with a bride. In Hellas and in Phthia may be found Fair damsels many, daughters of the Chiefs Who guard our cities; I may choose of them, And make the loveliest of them all my own. There, in my country, it hath ever been My dearest purpose, wedded to a wife Of rank convenient, to enjoy in peace Such wealth as ancient Peleus hath acquired. For life, in my account, surpasses far In value all the treasures which report Ascribed to populous Ilium, ere the Greeks Arrived, and while the city yet had peace; Those also which Apollo's marble shrine In rocky Pytho boasts. Fat flocks and beeves May be by force obtain'd, tripods and steeds Are bought or won, but if the breath of man Once overpass its bounds, no force arrests Or may constrain the unbodied spirit back. Me, as my silver-footed mother speaks Thetis, a twofold consummation waits. If still with battle I encompass Troy, I win immortal glory, but all hope Renounce of my return. If I return To my beloved country, I renounce The illustrious meed of glory, but obtain Secure and long immunity from death. And truly I would recommend to all To voyage homeward, for the fall as yet Ye shall not see of Ilium's lofty towers, For that the Thunderer with uplifted arm Protects her, and her courage hath revived. Bear ye mine answer back, as is the part Of good ambassadors, that they may frame Some likelier plan, by which both fleet and host May be preserved; for, my resentment still Burning, this project is but premature. Let Phoenix stay with us, and sleep this night Within my tent, that, if he so incline, He may to-morrow in my fleet embark, And hence attend me; but I leave him free.
I said this almost involuntarily, and, with as little sanction of free will, my tears gushed out. I did not cry so as to be heard, however; I avoided sobbing. The thought of Mrs. O'Gall and Bitternutt Lodge struck cold to my heart; and colder the thought of all the brine and foam, destined, as it seemed, to rush between me and the master at whose side I now walked, and coldest the remembrance of the wider ocean--wealth, caste, custom intervened between me and what I naturally and inevitably loved.
Morrel extended his hand. "Now I understand," he said, "why you had me brought here to this desolate spot, in the midst of the ocean, to this subterranean palace; it was because you loved me, was it not, count? It was because you loved me well enough to give me one of those sweet means of death of which we were speaking; a death without agony, a death which allows me to fade away while pronouncing Valentine's name and pressing your hand."
I cannot describe to you my sensations on the near prospect of my undertaking. It is impossible to communicate to you a conception of the trembling sensation, half pleasurable and half fearful, with which I am preparing to depart. I am going to unexplored regions, to "the land of mist and snow," but I shall kill no albatross; therefore do not be alarmed for my safety or if I should come back to you as worn and woeful as the "Ancient Mariner." You will smile at my allusion, but I will disclose a secret. I have often attributed my attachment to, my passionate enthusiasm for, the dangerous mysteries of ocean to that production of the most imaginative of modern poets. There is something at work in my soul which I do not understand. I am practically industrious--painstaking, a workman to execute with perseverance and labour--but besides this there is a love for the marvellous, a belief in the marvellous, intertwined in all my projects, which hurries me out of the common pathways of men, even to the wild sea and unvisited regions I am about to explore. But to return to dearer considerations. Shall I meet you again, after having traversed immense seas, and returned by the most southern cape of Africa or America? I dare not expect such success, yet I cannot bear to look on the reverse of the picture. Continue for the present to write to me by every opportunity: I may receive your letters on some occasions when I need them most to support my spirits. I love you very tenderly. Remember me with affection, should you never hear from me again.
My brother asked the birds to forgive him; that sounds senseless, but it is right; for all is like an ocean, all is flowing and blending; a touch in one place sets up movement at the other end of the earth. It may be senseless to beg forgiveness of the birds, but birds would be happier at your side--a little happier, anyway--and children and all animals, if you were nobler than you are now. It's all like an ocean, I tell you. Then you would pray to the birds too, consumed by an all-embracing love, in a sort of transport, and pray that they too will forgive you your sin. Treasure this ecstasy, however senseless it may seem to men.
Such is my journal of what relates to this strange occurrence up to the present day. The stranger has gradually improved in health but is very silent and appears uneasy when anyone except myself enters his cabin. Yet his manners are so conciliating and gentle that the sailors are all interested in him, although they have had very little communication with him. For my own part, I begin to love him as a brother, and his constant and deep grief fills me with sympathy and compassion. He must have been a noble creature in his better days, being even now in wreck so attractive and amiable. I said in one of my letters, my dear Margaret, that I should find no friend on the wide ocean; yet I have found a man who, before his spirit had been broken by misery, I should have been happy to have possessed as the brother of my heart.
Then put Patroclus on his radiant arms. Around his legs his polish'd greaves he clasp'd, With argent studs secured; the hauberk rich Star-spangled to his breast he bound of swift Æacides; he slung his brazen sword With silver bright emboss'd, and his broad shield Ponderous; on his noble head his casque He settled elegant, whose lofty crest Waved dreadful o'er his brows, and last he seized Well fitted to his gripe two sturdy spears. Of all Achilles' arms his spear alone He took not; that huge beam, of bulk and length Enormous, none, Æacides except, In all Achaia's host had power to wield. It was that Pelian ash which from the top Of Pelion hewn that it might prove the death Of heroes, Chiron had to Peleus given. He bade Automedon his coursers bind Speedily to the yoke, for him he loved Next to Achilles most, as worthiest found Of trust, what time the battle loudest roar'd. Then led Automedon the fiery steeds Swift as wing'd tempests to the chariot-yoke, Xanthus and Balius. Them the harpy bore Podarge, while in meadows green she fed On Ocean's side, to Zephyrus the wind. To these he added, at their side, a third, The noble Pedasus; him Peleus' son, Eëtion's city taken, thence had brought, Though mortal, yet a match for steeds divine. Meantime from every tent Achilles call'd And arm'd his Myrmidons. As wolves that gorge The prey yet panting, terrible in force, When on the mountains wild they have devour'd An antler'd stag new-slain, with bloody jaws Troop all at once to some clear fountain, there To lap with slender tongues the brimming wave; No fears have they, but at their ease eject From full maws flatulent the clotted gore; Such seem'd the Myrmidon heroic Chiefs Assembling fast around the valiant friend Of swift Æacides. Amid them stood Warlike Achilles, the well-shielded ranks Exhorting, and the steeds, to glorious war.
But old Anchises, in a flow'ry vale, Review'd his muster'd race, and took the tale: Those happy spirits, which, ordain'd by fate, For future beings and new bodies wait- With studious thought observ'd th' illustrious throng, In nature's order as they pass'd along: Their names, their fates, their conduct, and their care, In peaceful senates and successful war. He, when Aeneas on the plain appears, Meets him with open arms, and falling tears. "Welcome," he said, "the gods' undoubted race! O long expected to my dear embrace! Once more 't is giv'n me to behold your face! The love and pious duty which you pay Have pass'd the perils of so hard a way. 'T is true, computing times, I now believ'd The happy day approach'd; nor are my hopes deceiv'd. What length of lands, what oceans have you pass'd; What storms sustain'd, and on what shores been cast? How have I fear'd your fate! but fear'd it most, When love assail'd you, on the Libyan coast." To this, the filial duty thus replies: "Your sacred ghost before my sleeping eyes Appear'd, and often urg'd this painful enterprise. After long tossing on the Tyrrhene sea, My navy rides at anchor in the bay. But reach your hand, O parent shade, nor shun The dear embraces of your longing son!" He said; and falling tears his face bedew: Then thrice around his neck his arms he threw; And thrice the flitting shadow slipp'd away, Like winds, or empty dreams that fly the day.
He ended, nor the Argicide refused, Messenger of the skies; his sandals fair, Ambrosial, golden, to his feet he bound, Which o'er the moist wave, rapid as the wind, Bear him, and o'er th' illimitable earth, Then took his rod with which, at will, all eyes He closes soft, or opes them wide again. So arm'd, forth flew the valiant Argicide. Alighting on Pieria, down he stoop'd To Ocean, and the billows lightly skimm'd In form a sew-mew, such as in the bays Tremendous of the barren Deep her food Seeking, dips oft in brine her ample wing. In such disguise o'er many a wave he rode, But reaching, now, that isle remote, forsook The azure Deep, and at the spacious grot, Where dwelt the amber-tressed nymph arrived, Found her within. A fire on all the hearth Blazed sprightly, and, afar-diffused, the scent Of smooth-split cedar and of cypress-wood Odorous, burning, cheer'd the happy isle. She, busied at the loom, and plying fast Her golden shuttle, with melodious voice Sat chaunting there; a grove on either side, Alder and poplar, and the redolent branch Wide-spread of Cypress, skirted dark the cave. There many a bird of broadest pinion built Secure her nest, the owl, the kite, and daw Long-tongued, frequenter of the sandy shores. A garden-vine luxuriant on all sides Mantled the spacious cavern, cluster-hung Profuse; four fountains of serenest lymph Their sinuous course pursuing side by side, Stray'd all around, and ev'ry where appear'd Meadows of softest verdure, purpled o'er With violets; it was a scene to fill A God from heav'n with wonder and delight. Hermes, Heav'n's messenger, admiring stood That sight, and having all survey'd, at length Enter'd the grotto; nor the lovely nymph Him knew not soon as seen, for not unknown Each to the other the Immortals are, How far soever sep'rate their abodes. Yet found he not within the mighty Chief Ulysses; he sat weeping on the shore, Forlorn, for there his custom was with groans Of sad regret t' afflict his breaking heart. Looking continual o'er the barren Deep. Then thus Calypso, nymph divine, the God Question'd, from her resplendent throne august.
Like Captain Peleg, Captain Bildad was a well-to-do, retired whaleman. But unlike Captain Peleg--who cared not a rush for what are called serious things, and indeed deemed those self-same serious things the veriest of all trifles--Captain Bildad had not only been originally educated according to the strictest sect of Nantucket Quakerism, but all his subsequent ocean life, and the sight of many unclad, lovely island creatures, round the Horn--all that had not moved this native born Quaker one single jot, had not so much as altered one angle of his vest. Still, for all this immutableness, was there some lack of common consistency about worthy Captain Peleg. Though refusing, from conscientious scruples, to bear arms against land invaders, yet himself had illimitably invaded the Atlantic and Pacific; and though a sworn foe to human bloodshed, yet had he in his straight-bodied coat, spilled tuns upon tuns of leviathan gore. How now in the contemplative evening of his days, the pious Bildad reconciled these things in the reminiscence, I do not know; but it did not seem to concern him much, and very probably he had long since come to the sage and sensible conclusion that a man's religion is one thing, and this practical world quite another. This world pays dividends. Rising from a little cabin-boy in short clothes of the drabbest drab, to a harpooneer in a broad shad-bellied waistcoat; from that becoming boat-header, chief-mate, and captain, and finally a ship owner; Bildad, as I hinted before, had concluded his adventurous career by wholly retiring from active life at the goodly age of sixty, and dedicating his remaining days to the quiet receiving of his well-earned income.
Then thus with wiles veiling her deep design Imperial Juno. Give me those desires, That love-enkindling power by which thou sway'st Immortal hearts and mortal, all alike; For to the green earth's utmost bounds I go, To visit there the parent of the Gods, Oceanus, and Tethys his espoused, Mother of all. They kindly from the hands Of Rhea took, and with parental care Sustain'd and cherish'd me, what time from heaven The Thunderer hurled down Saturn, and beneath The earth fast bound him and the barren Deep. Them go I now to visit, and their feuds Innumerable to compose; for long They have from conjugal embrace abstain'd Through mutual wrath, whom by persuasive speech Might I restore into each other's arms, They would for ever love me and revere.
All was again silent, but his words rang in my ears. I burned with rage to pursue the murderer of my peace and precipitate him into the ocean. I walked up and down my room hastily and perturbed, while my imagination conjured up a thousand images to torment and sting me. Why had I not followed him and closed with him in mortal strife? But I had suffered him to depart, and he had directed his course towards the mainland. I shuddered to think who might be the next victim sacrificed to his insatiate revenge. And then I thought again of his words--"I WILL BE WITH YOU ON YOUR WEDDING-NIGHT." That, then, was the period fixed for the fulfilment of my destiny. In that hour I should die and at once satisfy and extinguish his malice. The prospect did not move me to fear; yet when I thought of my beloved Elizabeth, of her tears and endless sorrow, when she should find her lover so barbarously snatched from her, tears, the first I had shed for many months, streamed from my eyes, and I resolved not to fall before my enemy without a bitter struggle.
A compromise was thus effected between the esoteric doctrine of the metaphysician and some of the most prevalent forms of popular worship, resulting in what was henceforth to constitute the orthodox system of belief of the Brahmanical community. Yet the Vedic pantheon could not be altogether discarded, forming part and parcel, as it did, of that sacred revelation (_sruti_), which was looked upon as the divine source of all religious and social law (_smriti_, "tradition"), and being, moreover, the foundation of the sacrificial ceremonial on which the priestly authority so largely depended. The existence of the old gods is, therefore, likewise recognized, but recognized in a very different way from that of the triple divinity. For while the triad represents the immediate manifestation of the eternal, infinite soul--while it constitutes, in fact, the Brahma itself in its active relation to mundane and seemingly material occurrences, the old traditional gods are of this world, are individual spirits or portions of the Brahma like men and other creatures, only higher in degree. To them an intermediate sphere, the heaven of Indra (the _svarloka_ or _svarga_), is assigned to which man may raise himself by fulfilling the holy ordinances; but they are subject to the same laws of being; they, like men, are liable to be born again in some lower state, and, therefore, like them, yearn for emancipation from the necessity of future individual existence. It is a sacred duty of man to worship these superior beings by invocations and sacrificial observances, as it is to honour the _pitris_ ("the fathers"), the spirits of the departed ancestors. The spirits of the dead, on being judged by _Yama_, the Pluto of Hindu mythology, are supposed to be either passing through a term of enjoyment in a region midway between the earth and the heaven of the gods, or undergoing their measure of punishment in the nether world, situated somewhere in the southern region, before they return to the earth to animate new bodies. In Vedic mythology Yama was considered to have been the first mortal who died, and "espied the way to" the celestial abodes, and in virtue of precedence to have become the ruler of the departed; in some passages, however, he is already regarded as the god of death. Although the pantheistic system allowed only a subordinate rank to the old gods, and the actual religious belief of the people was probably but little affected by their existence, they continued to occupy an important place in the affections of the poet, and were still represented as exercising considerable influence on the destinies of man. The most prominent of them were regarded as the appointed _Lokapalas_, or guardians of the world; and as such they were made to preside over the four cardinal and (according to some authorities) the intermediate points of the compass. Thus _Indra_, the chief of the gods, was regarded as the regent of the east; _Agni_, the fire (_ignis_), was in the same way associated with the south-east; _Yama_ with the south; _Surya_, the sun ([Greek: Haelios]), with the south-west; _Varuna_, originally the representative of the all-embracing heaven ([Greek: Ouranos]) or atmosphere, now the god of the ocean, with the west; _Vayu_ (or _Pavana_), the wind, with the north-west; _Kubera_, the god of wealth, with the north; and _Soma_ (or _Chandra_) with the north-east. In the institutes of Manu the _Lokapalas_ are represented as standing in close relation to the ruling king, who is said to be composed of particles of these his tutelary deities. The retinue of Indra consists chiefly of the _Gandharvas_ (probably etym. connected with [Greek: kentauros]), a class of genii, considered in the epics as the celestial musicians; and their wives, the _Apsaras_, lovely nymphs, who are frequently employed by the gods to make the pious devotee desist from carrying his austere practices to an extent that might render him dangerous to their power. _Narada_, an ancient sage (probably a personification of the cloud, the "water-giver"), is considered as the messenger between the gods and men, and as having sprung from the forehead of Brahma. The interesting office of the god of love is held by _Kamadeva_, also called _Ananga_, the bodyless, because, as the myth relates, having once tried by the power of his mischievous arrow to make Siva fall in love with Parvati, whilst he was engaged in devotional practices, the urchin was reduced to ashes by a glance of the angry god. Two other mythological figures of some importance are considered as sons of Siva and Parvati, viz. _Karttikeya_ or _Skanda_, the leader of the heavenly armies, who was supposed to have been fostered by the six _Krittikas_ or Pleiades; and _Ganesa_ ("lord of troops"), the elephant-headed god of wisdom, and at the same time the leader of the _dii minorum gentium_. Entry: A