Convinced, eloquent,--again and again the notes of Epicurean
philosophy fall almost unconsciously from his lips. With poetry at
hand, he appears to feel no misgivings. A large faith he might seem
to have in what is called "natural optimism," the beauty and
benignity of nature, if let alone, in her mechanical round of changes
with man and beast and flower. Her method, however, certainly
involves forgetfulness for the individual; and to this, to the
prospect of oblivion, poetry, too, may help to brace us, if, unlike
so genial and cheerful a poet as Mr. Gosse, we need bracing thereto:-
-
Now, giant-like, the tall young ploughmen go
Between me and the sunset, footing slow;
My spirit, as an uninvited guest,
Goes with them, wondering what desire, what aim,
May stir their hearts and mine with common flame,
Or, thoughtless, do their hands suffice their soul?
[117]
I know not, care not, for I deem no shame
To hold men, flowers, and trees and stars the same,
Myself, as these, one atom in the whole.
That is from one of those half-Greek, half-English idylls, reminding
one of Frederick Walker's "Ploughman," of Mason's "Evening Hymn," in
which Mr. Gosse is at his best. A favourite motive, he has treated
it even more melodiously in "Lying in the Grass":--
I do not hunger for a well-stored mind,
I only wish to live my life, and find
My heart in unison with all mankind.
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