Page:The Atlantic Monthly Volume 1.djvu/678

VII.—CLAUDE TO EUSTACE. JUSTAPOSITION is great,—but, you tell me, affinity greater. Ah, my friend, there are many affinities, greater and lesser, Stronger and weaker; and each, by the favor of juxtaposition, Potent, efficient, in force,—for a time; but none, let me tell you, Save by the law of the land and the ruinous force of the will, ah, None, I fear me, at last quite sure to be final and perfect. Lo, as I pace in the street, from the peasant-girl to the princess, Homo sum, nihil humani a me alienum puto,— Vir sum, nihil fæminei,—and e'en to the uttermost circle, All that is Nature's is I, and I all things that are Nature's. Yes, as I walk, I behold, in a luminous, large intuition, That I can be and become anything that I meet with or look at: I am the ox in the dray, the ass with the garden-stuff panniers; I am the dog in the doorway, the kitten that plays in the window, Here on the stones of the ruin the furtive and fugitive lizard, Swallow above me that twitters, and fly that is buzzing about me; Yes, and detect, as I go, by a faint but a faithful assurance, E'en from the stones of the street, as from rocks or trees of the forest, Something of kindred, a common, though latent vitality, greet me, And, to escape from our strivings, mistakings, misgrowths, and perversions, Pain could demand to return to that perfect and primitive silence, Fain be enfolded and fixed, as of old, in their rigid embraces.

VIII.—CLAUDE TO EUSTACE. AND as I walk on my way, I behold them consorting and coupling; Faithful it seemeth, and fond, very fond, very probably faithful; And I proceed on my way with a pleasure sincere and unmingled. Life is beautiful, Eustace, entrancing, enchanting to look at; ```