Мхи старої садиби
The Artist of the Beautiful
Whetheritwerepainorhappinessthatthrilledthroughhisveins,hisfirstimpulsewastothankHeavenforrenderinghimagainthebeingofthought,imagination,andkeenestsensibilitythathehadlongceasedtobe.
"Nowformytask,"saidhe."NeverdidIfeelsuchstrengthforitasnow."
Yet,strongashefelthimself,hewasincitedtotoilthemorediligentlybyananxietylestdeathshouldsurprisehiminthemidstofhislabors.Thisanxiety,perhaps,iscommontoallmenwhosettheirheartsuponanythingsohigh,intheirownviewofit,thatlifebecomesofimportanceonlyasconditionaltoitsaccomplishment.Solongaswelovelifeforitself,weseldomdreadthelosingit.Whenwedesirelifefortheattainmentofanobject,werecognizethefrailtyofitstexture.But,sidebysidewiththissenseofinsecurity,thereisavitalfaithinourinvulnerabilitytotheshaftofdeathwhileengagedinanytaskthatseemsassignedbyProvidenceasourproperthingtodo,andwhichtheworldwouldhavecausetomournforshouldweleaveitunaccomplished.Canthephilosopher,bigwiththeinspirationofanideathatistoreformmankind,believethatheistobebeckonedfromthissensibleexistenceattheveryinstantwhenheismusteringhisbreathtospeakthewordoflight?Shouldheperishso,thewearyagesmaypassaway—theworld’s,whoselifesandmayfall,dropbydrop—beforeanotherintellectispreparedtodevelopthetruththatmighthavebeenutteredthen.
