Brand.
Another, heavier cross's weight
I bear; take that from me who can.
The Mayor.
What's this? You do not seem to shake
With agitation at such prize?
You mystery of mysteries!
But pray consider, for God's sake
Brand.
[Stamping.]
This is mere babble of vain speech:—
Nothing I learn and nothing teach;
You have not grasp'd the smallest shred
Of the true sense of what I said.
I meant not greatness men compute,
And measure by the inch and foot,
But that which, viewless, darts and streams,
Pierces the soul with frosts and fires,
That beckons to impassion'd dreams,
And like the starlit heaven inspires—
That—leave me! I am worn, oppress'd;—
Convince, teach, edify the rest.
[Goes up towards the Church.
The Mayor.
[To himself.]
In such a labyrinth who can stray
And find an issue? Greatness lay
In something that is "viewless," "streams,"
"Not inchwise measured," "lifts to dreams,"
And "starlit heaven"? It went so, surely?
Has he been lunching prematurely? [Goes.
