The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P - novelonlinefull.com
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THE SPARTAN (_calmly_).
Friend, Spartans when they need improvement Take models not from endless movement.
We found our sires the lords of Greece;-- Ask'd why? this answer--"Laws and Peace."
Enough for us to hold our own; Who grasps at shadows risks the bone.
You're ever up, and ever down,-- There's something fix'd in True Renown.
The New has charms for men, I'm told; Granted,--but all our G.o.ds are old.
Better to imitate a G.o.d Than shift like men.
THE ATHENIAN (_impatiently_).
You are so odd!
There is no sense in these laconics.
Ho, Dromio! bring my last Platonics.
This mode of arguing, though emphatic, Is quite eclipsed by the Socratic.
SPARTAN.
Friend--
ATHENIAN.
_You_ have said. Now listen! Peace!
SPARTAN.
Friend--
ATHENIAN.
G.o.ds! his tongue will never cease!
I tell you, man is made for walking, Not standing still.
SPARTAN.
My friend--
ATHENIAN.
And talking!
Forward's my motto--life and motion!
SPARTAN.
Mine be the Rock, as thine the Ocean.
TIME.
Discuss, ye symbols of the twain Great Creeds--THE STEADFAST AND IMPROVING; The one shall rot that would remain, The one wear out in moving!
[L] Thucyd. lib. 1, c. 68-71 (The Speech of the Corinthians).
[M] Herod. lib. 6, c. 120.
THE PHILANTHROPIST AND THE MISANTHROPE.
A DIALOGUE.
THE PHILANTHROPIST.
Yes, thou mayst sneer, but still I own A love that spreads from zone to zone: No time the sacred fire can smother!
Where breathes the man, I hail the brother.
Man! how sublime,--from Heaven his birth-- The G.o.d's bright Image walks the earth!
And if, at times, his footstep strays, I pity where I may not praise.
THE MISANTHROPE.
Thou lov'st mankind. Pray tell me, then, What history best excuses men?
Long wars for slight pretences made, See murder but a glorious trade; Each landmark from the savage state, Doth virtue or a vice create?
Do ships speed plenty o'er the main?-- What swells the sail? The l.u.s.t of gain!
What makes a law where laws were not?
Strength's wish to keep what Strength has got!
If rise a Few--the true Sublime, Who lend the light of Heaven to Time, What the return the Many make?
The poison'd bowl! the fiery stake!
Thou lov'st mankind,--come tell me, then, Lov'st thou the past career of men?
THE PHILANTHROPIST.
Nay, little should I love mankind, If their dark PAST my praise could find, It is because--
THE MISANTHROPE.
A moment hold!
Enough gone times: _our own_ behold!
What lessons doth a past of woe And crime upon our age bestow?
How few amongst the tribes of earth Are rescued from the primal wild; What countless lands the ocean's girth, By savage rites and gore defil'd!
Afric--a mart of human flesh; Asia--a satrapy of slaves!
And yonder tracts from Nature fresh, Worn empires fill with knaves?
Are men at home more good and wise?
My friend, thou read'st the daily papers; Perchance, thou seest but laughing skies, Where I but mists and vapours.
But much the same seems each disease.
What most improved? The doctor's fees!
The Law can still oppress the Weak, The Proud still march before the Meek.
Still crabbed Age and heedless Youth; Still Power perplex'd, asks "What is Truth?"
To no result our squabbles come: To some what's best is worst to some.
