But ah! my Toadie, there’s the rub,
  With every human breast—­
To live as in the cynic’s tub,
  And yet be self-possessed!

For, how to let no boast get round
  Beyond our tub, to show
That we in head and heart are sound,
  Is one great thing to know.

And yet, the prison-staves and hoop
  To let no murmur through,
However hard we find the coop,
  Is greater still to do.

Then go, thou sage, resigned and calm,
  Amid thy low estate;
And to thy burrow bear the palm
  For victory over fate.

We conquer, when we meekly bear
  The lot we cannot shape;
And hug to death the ills and care
  From which there’s no escape.

=The Blind Musician=

“Ah! who comes here?” old Raymond cried,
As lone he sat by the highway-side,
Where Frisk jumped up at his knee in play;
And his white locks went to the air astray;—­
While his worn-out hat lay on the ground,
And his light violin gave forth no sound—­
“Ah! who comes here with voice so kind
To the ear of a poor old man who’s blind?”

’Twas a gladsome troop of bright young boys,
With hearts all full of their play-day joys,
As their baskets were of nuts and cake,
And fruits, a pic-nic treat to make. 
For they were out for the fields and flowers—­
For the grassy lane, and the woodland bowers;
And the course they took first led them by
Where the lone one sat with a sightless eye.

They saw he’d a worn and hungry look;
And each from his basket promptly took
A part of its precious pic-nic store,
And tried the others to get before,
As on with their ready gifts they ran,
To reach them forth to the poor old man;
And said, “Good Sir, take this and eat
While resting thus on your mossy seat.”

“Heaven bless you, little children dear!”
Old Raymond cried, with a starting tear,
As they took their cup to the fountain’s brink,
And brought him back some clear, cool drink. 
And Frisk looked up with a grateful eye,
As to him they dropped some crust of pie: 
For he, good dog, was his master’s guide,
By a cord to the ring of his collar tied.

“And now, would you like to hear me play,”
Said the traveller, “ere you go your way? 
O, I did not think that aught so soon
Could have put my poor old heart in tune. 
But you have touched it at the spring,
And it seems as if it could dance and sing. 
Your kindness makes my spirit light,
Till I hardly feel that I’ve lost my sight!”

He took up his violin and bow,
And made his voice to their music flow;
And the children, listening sat around
As if by a spell to the circle bound. 
While thus they were fastened to the spot,
And their first pursuit almost forgot,
They felt they could ask no pleasure more,
And their picnic frolic at once gave o’er.

And there they staid till the sun went down,
When they led the old Raymond safe to town;
While Frisk went sporting all the way,
To speak his thanks by his joyous play. 
They found him a room with a table spread,
And a pillow to rest his hoary head. 
Then feeling their time and pence well-spent,
They all went back to their homes content.