14
Paracelsus.
Of this new ardour which supplants the old:
I watch'd it—'twas significant and strange,
In one match'd to his soul's content at length
With rivals in the search for Wisdom's prize,
To see the sudden pause, the total change,
From contest, that transition to repose—
From pressing onward as his fellows press'd,
To a blank idleness; yet most unlike
The dull stagnation of a soul content—
Once foil'd—to leave betimes a thriveless quest:
That careless bearing, free from all pretence
Even of contempt for what it ceased to seek—
Smiling humility, praising much, yet waiving
What it profess'd to praise . . . yet not so well
Secured but that rare outbreaks, fierce and brief,
Reveal'd the hidden scorn—as quickly curb'd . . .
That ostentatious show of past defeat—
That ready acquiescence in contempt―
I deem'd no other than the letting go
His shiver'd sword, of one about to spring
Upon his foe's throat . . . but it was not thus:
Not that way look'd your brooding purpose then;
I watch'd it—'twas significant and strange,
In one match'd to his soul's content at length
With rivals in the search for Wisdom's prize,
To see the sudden pause, the total change,
From contest, that transition to repose—
From pressing onward as his fellows press'd,
To a blank idleness; yet most unlike
The dull stagnation of a soul content—
Once foil'd—to leave betimes a thriveless quest:
That careless bearing, free from all pretence
Even of contempt for what it ceased to seek—
Smiling humility, praising much, yet waiving
What it profess'd to praise . . . yet not so well
Secured but that rare outbreaks, fierce and brief,
Reveal'd the hidden scorn—as quickly curb'd . . .
That ostentatious show of past defeat—
That ready acquiescence in contempt―
I deem'd no other than the letting go
His shiver'd sword, of one about to spring
Upon his foe's throat . . . but it was not thus:
Not that way look'd your brooding purpose then;
