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printer set up in type； and never binder enclosed within his covers！
But our young man seems farther away from life than any student whose
head is bent downwards over his books。 His eyes are turned away from
all human things。 How cold the moonlight is that falls upon his
forehead； and how white he looks in it！ Will not the rays strike
through to his brain at last； and send him to a narrower cell than
this egg…shell dome which is his workshop and his prison？
I cannot say that the Young Astronomer seemed particularly impressed
with a sense of his miserable condition。 He said he was lonely； it
is true； but he said it in a manly tone； and not as if he were
repining at the inevitable condition of his devoting himself to that
particular branch of science。 Of course； he is lonely； the most
lonely being that lives in the midst of our breathing world。 If he
would only stay a little longer with us when we get talking； but he
is busy almost always either in observation or with his calculations
and studies； and when the nights are fair loses so much sleep that he
must make it up by day。 He wants contact with human beings。 I wish
he would change his seat and come round and sit by our Scheherezade！
The rest of the visit went off well enough； except that the 〃Man of
Letters；〃 so called； rather snubbed some of the heavenly bodies as
not quite up to his standard of brilliancy。 I thought myself that
the double…star episode was the best part of it。
I have an unexpected revelation to make to the reader。 Not long
after our visit to the Observatory； the Young Astronomer put a
package into my hands； a manuscript； evidently； which he said he
would like to have me glance over。 I found something in it which
interested me； and told him the next day that I should like to read
it with some care。 He seemed rather pleased at this； and said that
he wished I would criticise it as roughly as I liked； and if I saw
anything in it which might be dressed to better advantage to treat it
freely； just as if it were my own production。 It had often happened
to him； he went on to say； to be interrupted in his observations by
clouds covering the objects he was examining for a longer or shorter
time。 In these idle moments he had put down many thoughts；
unskilfully he feared； but just as they came into his mind。 His
blank verse he suspected was often faulty。 His thoughts he knew must
be crude； many of them。 It would please him to have me amuse myself
by putting them into shape。 He was kind enough to say that I was an
artist in words； but he held himself as an unskilled apprentice。
I confess I was appalled when I cast my eye upon the title of the
manuscript； 〃Cirri and Nebulae。〃
Oh！ oh！I said；that will never do。 People don't know what
Cirri are； at least not one out of fifty readers。 〃Wind…Clouds and
Star…Drifts〃 will do better than that。
Anything you like；he answered；what difference does it make how
you christen a foundling？ These are not my legitimate scientific
offspring； and you may consider them left on your doorstep。
I will not attempt to say just how much of the diction of these
lines belongs to him； and how much to me。 He said he would never
claim them； after I read them to him in my version。 I； on my part；
do not wish to be held responsible for some of his more daring
thoughts； if I should see fit to reproduce them hereafter。 At this
time I shall give only the first part of the series of poetical
outbreaks for which the young devotee of science must claim his share
of the responsibility。 I may put some more passages into shape by
and by。
WIND…CLOUDS AND STAR…DRIFTS。
I
Another clouded night； the stars are hid；
The orb that waits my search is hid with them。
Patience！ Why grudge an hour； a month； a year；
To plant my ladder and to gain the round
That leads my footsteps to the heaven of fame；
Where waits the wreath my sleepless midnights won？
Not the stained laurel such as heroes wear
That withers when some stronger conqueror's heel
Treads down their shrivelling trophies in the dust；
But the fair garland whose undying green
Not time can change； nor wrath of gods or men！
With quickened heart…beats I shall hear the tongues
That speak my praise； but better far the sense
That in the unshaped ages； buried deep
In the dark mines of unaccomplished time
Yet to be stamped with morning's royal die
And coined in golden days；in those dim years
I shall be reckoned with the undying dead；
My name emblazoned on the fiery arch；
Unfading till the stars themselves shall fade。
Then； as they call the roll of shining worlds；
Sages of race unborn in accents new
Shall count me with the Olympian ones of old；
Whose glories kindle through the midnight sky
Here glows the God of Battles； this recalls
The Lord of Ocean； and yon far…off sphere
The Sire of Him who gave his ancient name
To the dim planet with the wondrous rings；
Here flames the Queen of Beauty's silver lamp；
And there the moon…girt orb of mighty Jove；
But this； unseen through all earth's aeons past；
A youth who watched beneath the western star
Sought in the darkness； found； and showed to men；
Linked with his name thenceforth and evermore！
So shall that name be syllabled anew
In all the tongues of all the tribes of men：
I that have been through immemorial years
Dust in the dust of my forgotten time
Shall live in accents shaped of blood…warm breath；
Yea； rise in mortal semblance； newly born
In shining stone； in undecaying bronze；
And stand on high； and look serenely down
On the new race that calls the earth its own。
Is this a cloud； that； blown athwart my soul；
Wears a false seeming of the pearly stain
Where worlds beyond the world their mingling rays
Blend in soft white；a cloud that； born of earth；
Would cheat the soul that looks for light from heaven？
Must every coral…insect leave his sign
On each poor grain he lent to build the reef；
As Babel's builders stamped their sunburnt clay；
Or deem his patient service all in vain？
What if another sit beneath the shade
Of the broad elm I planted by the way；
What if another heed the beacon light
I set upon the rock that wrecked my keel；
Have I not done my task and served my kind？
Nay； rather act thy part； unnamed； unknown；
And let Fame blow her trumpet through the world
With noisy wind to swell a fool's renown；
Joined with some truth be stumbled blindly o'er；
Or coupled with some single shining deed
That in the great account of all his days
Will stand alone upon the bankrupt sheet
His pitying angel shows the clerk of Heaven。
The noblest service comes from nameless hands；
And the best servant does his work unseen。
Who found the seeds of fire and made them shoot；
Fed by his breath； in buds and flowers of flame？
Who forged in roaring flames the ponderous stone；
And shaped the moulded metal to his need？
Who gave the dragging car its rolling wheel；
And tamed the steed that whirls its circling round？
All these have left their work and not their names；
Why should I murmur at a fate like theirs？
This is the heavenly light； the pearly stain
Was but a wind…cloud drifting oer the stars！
VI
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