THE HIGHWAY TO FAME.
In every man this world doth hold
Two selves are cast in that human mould.
If he hearken but to the voice of one,
Then heaven is his when his work is done ;
But if to the other his ear doth turn,
Despair in his heart shall for ever burn.
I and my other self one day
Woke from sleep on the world's highway.
Women and men bore us company,
But never a child did I chance to see.
I pitied young faces so pale and wan
I saw in the crowd, as we hurried on.
I pitied old faces, so eager they
Lest they be last on the great highway.
Another road we have met at last —
We paused a moment ere it we passed.
Few turned their feet the strange road upon.
Though the way was fair God's sun shone on.
The path was rough, but the hedges' bloom
Sent forth a sweet and a rare perfume.
If the thorns wounded your naked feet,
The birds' songs were in your ear full sweet.
Did you close your eyes in black despair,
You oped on the hills—and God was there.
Did you weep with fear when the night came on,
The face of Hope in the darkness shone.
‘O stay,’ I cried, ‘for a moment stay—
Till I pluck from the hedge a wild-rose spray.
Hark, the sweet birds! For a moment stay—
No song I hear on the world's highway,
But cries of women and men alway.’
My other self thus replied to me:
‘Then the hill of Fame you will never see,
Nor hear the songs so wondrous there’—
And I passed the road that I deemed so fair.
Suspicion, envy, and jealousy,
I oft in my neighbours' eyes could see.
Alas! in my heart the serpent grew—
I smiled lest others should see it too.
A woman staggered, and falling cried
As I paused a moment by her side:
‘Too late, too late! I am lost for aye,
I have passed God's road on the great highway
I have missed the treasure that lies before,
And glimpse of Heaven Til see no more.’
I laid my hand her cold brow upon,
But my other self in my ear said: ‘On!
For those behind will help her through.’
I stepped in her place, but that cry I knew
Was the last she gave, ere she silent lay
'Neath the cruel feet on the great highway.
A cottage door, as we passed, stood wide;
A mother sat with her babe inside,
And her eyes beamed love as she kissed the child,
That raised its arms in its sleep and smiled:
In the fields that bordered the great highway
Children dropped, as we passed, their play.
I raised a bright guinea for them to see—
A golden king-cup they held to me.
A sapphire's gleam from my finger fell—
They gathered a bunch of the blue speedwell.
A string of pearls I raised again—
Laughing, they turned to their daisy chain.
A youth and a maiden I next did see;
I cried in my heart, ‘He will envy me.’
He smiled as he kissed the white hand that lay
In his, and I sighed on the great highway.
Is it worth all I lose and I leave behind,
That treasure I seek, which I may not find?
I saw a man in my path, and he
Stood still as we came, and he looked at me.
Oh, sorrow's home was that face divine;
Oh, the infinite love as his eyes met mine!
An oaken cross on his shoulders lay—
I paused a moment, then turned away.
For my other self thus had cried to me:
‘'Tis but a phantom you chance to see.
Look! Even now it has ceased to stay
’Neath the hurrying feet on the great highway.‘
So I was first in the weary race,
As, aged and worn, we toiled apace.
Each man bowed low at my feet and came
To crown me king on the Hill of Fame,
And king of them all I reigned alone.
Yet I shuddered oft on my golden throne.
The ground had grown not earth nor stones,
For the hill was raised of dead men's bones.
I fear my subject's untiring praise,
For his hand the while with his dagger plays.
My other self whispers: ‘O joy! for see,
Men and women all worship thee.
Thy flattered ear to their praise incline;
Endless glory and wealth are thine;
Such fame, such worship, no man hath known.’
Ah me! I sigh on my golden throne.