THE PHILOSOPHER ARISTIPPUS[1]

TO A LAMP WHICH HAD BEEN GIVEN HIM BY LAIS.

    Dulcis conscia lectuli lucerna.

    MARTIAL, lib. xiv. epig. 89.

"Oh! love the Lamp" (my Mistress said),

  "The faithful Lamp that, many a night,

"Beside thy Lais' lonely bed?

  "Has kept its little watch of light.

"Full often has it seen her weep,

  "And fix her eye upon its flame.

"Till, weary, she has sunk to sleep,

  "Repeating her beloved's name.

"Then love the Lamp—'twill often lead

  "Thy step through learning's sacred way;

"And when those studious eyes shall read,

 "At midnight, by its lonely ray,

  "Of things sublime, of nature's birth,

  "Of all that's bright in heaven or earth,

 Oh, think that she, by whom 'twas given,

"Adores thee more than earth or heaven!"

Yes—dearest Lamp, by every charm

  On which thy midnight beam has hung;

The head reclined, the graceful arm

  Across the brow of ivory flung;

The heaving bosom, partly hid,

  The severed lips unconscious sighs,

The fringe that from the half-shut lid

  Adown the cheek of roses lies;

By these, by all that bloom untold,

  And long as all shall charm my heart,

I'll love my little Lamp of gold—

  My Lamp and I shall never part.

And often, as she smiling said,

  In fancy's hour thy gentle rays

Shall guide my visionary tread

  Through poesy's enchanting maze.

Thy flame shall light the page refined,

  Where still we catch the Chian's breath,

  Where still the bard though cold in death,

Has left his soul unquenched behind.

Or, o'er thy humbler legend shine,

  Oh man of Ascra's dreary glades,

To whom the nightly warbling Nine

  A wand of inspiration gave,

Plucked from the greenest tree, that shades

The crystal of Castalia's wave.

Then, turning to a purer lore,

We'll cull the sage's deep-hid store,

From Science steal her golden clue,

And every mystic path pursue,

Where Nature, far from vulgar eyes,

Through labyrinths of wonder flies.

'Tis thus my heart shall learn to know

How fleeting is this world below,

Where all that meets the morning light,

Is changed before the fall of night!

I'll tell thee, as I trim thy fire,

  "Swift, swift the tide of being runs,

"And Time, who bids thy flame expire,

  "Will also quench yon heaven of suns."

Oh, then if earth's united power

Can never chain one feathery hour;

If every print we leave to-day

To-morrow's wave will sweep away;

Who pauses to inquire of heaven

Why were the fleeting treasures given,

The sunny days, the shady nights,

And all their brief but dear delights,

Which heaven has made for man to use,

And man should think it crime to lose?

Who that has culled a fresh-blown rose

Will ask it why it breathes and glows,

Unmindful of the blushing ray,

In which it shines its soul away;

Unmindful of the scented sigh,

With which it dies and loves to die.

Pleasure, thou only good on earth[2]

One precious moment given to thee—

Oh! by my Lais' lip, 'tis worth

  The sage's immortality.

Then far be all the wisdom hence,

  That would our joys one hour delay!

Alas, the feast of soul and sense

  Love calls us to in youth's bright day,

  If not soon tasted, fleets away.

Ne'er wert thou formed, my Lamp, to shed

  Thy splendor on a lifeless page;—

Whate'er my blushing Lais said

  Of thoughtful lore and studies sage,

'Twas mockery all—her glance of joy

Told me thy dearest, best employ.

And, soon, as night shall close the eye

  Of heaven's young wanderer in the west;

When seers are gazing on the sky,

  To find their future orbs of rest;

Then shall I take my trembling way,

  Unseen but to those worlds above,

And, led by thy mysterious ray,

  Steal to the night-bower of my love.

[1] It does not appear to have been very difficult to become a philosopher amongst the ancients. A moderate store of learning, with a considerable portion of confidence, and just wit enough to produce an occasional apophthegm, seem to have been all the qualifications necessary for the purpose.

[2] Aristippus considered motion as the principle of happiness, in which idea he differed from the Epicureans, who looked to a state of repose as the only true voluptuousness, and avoided even the too lively agitations of pleasure, as a violent and ungraceful derangement of the senses.

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