The Brothers 1838

There were two scions of a noble house,

Brothers in nature and affection. They—

In their fresh-breathing days of infancy—

Rejoiced and wept, and prayed in unison:

Each found a pleasure double sweet, whene’er

His brother shared it; and their every sport

Lost half its value if enjoyed alone.

Time passed. The elder, flattered and caressed

By the sleep minions of his father’s house,

Began to look with coldness upon him

Who erst has been so dear. His brother saw

And mourned the change; ’til, wounded to the soul

With insult and neglect, he left his home

Nor saw it more.

Years wore away. A wanderer on the earth

He moved among his fellowmen: his hand,

His words were with them, but his mind was not.

Yet did he much of good; the son’s of grief,

And daughter’s of affection, were to him

Linked in a bond of brotherhood and love.

He sheered the path, and cleared the eyes of age,

And whispered words of renovating power,

That fell like manna on their withered hearts.

He lived amid the benisons of these,

Nor sought for more. And, when at length he died,

They laid him in a green and quiet spot,

That seemed a fairy-natured solitude:

And aged men did bow their heads, and breathe

Blessings unheard but felt; and children came,

And scattered flowers upon his lonely grave,

And deemed it holy ground. Thus, far away

From home and kindred, was he stricken down,

And laid by strangers in the narrow house.

Meanwhile, how fared the elder one? Begirt

With honours, pleasures, fawnings, flatteries,

The puny lordling thought himself a god

For men to crouch and worship. He beheld

A seeming form of pleasure flit around,

And desperately strove to capture it.

He clasped his hands, and beauty stretched her arms,

Musicians played their choicest melodies,

And all that most delights the heart of man

Was placed within his grasp. What wonder then

That, as he grew, he learned to spurn his kind,

To close his ear to penury’s lament,

And heap contempt on desolation’s cry!

He breathed an atmosphere of courtly smiles,

And with the peers and magistrates of the land,

He held familiar intercourse. But still,

Amid the crowds that thronged to honour him,

He felt the utter hollowness of all,

He knew himself most lone, most desolate.

Last, he too died. With ceremonious rites,

And gorgeous pomp, they carried him towards

The mausoleum of his ancestors;

And, ’neath the banners, and escutcheonry,

And hoar insignia of his noble line,

They laid him down, and coldly left him there.

Such is their tale. Who may not draw from hence

A moral and a marvel?

“Korah”

30 August 1838