£ 3 s ys 
 
Publishers' »-pHE LOVES OF GREAT MEN, by Salvarona is practically a sequel 
 Introductory to the "Wisdom of Passion " by the same author. A work, which 
 
 Greeting * (in the opinion of the Medical Times, N. Y., of January, 1902) sur- 
 
 passes in its philosophy of the Passions those of the two great treatises of 
 Spinoza and Hume. The " Wisdom of Passion " being of " wider extent, 
 and the subject handled with greater clearness and force." The book re- 
 ceived the lofty praise of Lombroso, the Academy of France and the Boston 
 Transcript. Professors of the University of Chicago classed it with the 
 philosophies of Browning and Shelley as one of the great books of 1901. 
 Ella Wheeler Wilcox gave the book a half -page notice in the N. Y. four- 
 nal and the Boston Post. In such organs as Public Opinion, the Outlook, 
 the Boston Globe and the Arena, the work was noticed as a book of high 
 merit. The Loves of Great Men advocates the theory that all Love 
 whatsoever implies an hypnosis of either the Senses, the Lower Passions, 
 or the Loftier Affections of the Soul. 
 
 The " Loves of Great Men," or the " Wisdom of Passion," will be 
 mailed prepaid for #1.50 postal note. 
 
 The " Wisdom of Passion " is bound in Common cloth, Common 
 paper, and is a Book of 252 pages, i2mo. 
 
 "The Loves of Great Men" is richly bound in imported imperial, dark 
 brown velour, with inlaid leather title, and handsome lining. „ The book is 
 printed in very large primer type, fine paper and contains with its introduc- 
 tion and notes over 100 pages. It is a beautiful book designed for the 
 table ; not for the book shelf. The poetic-prose essays were written in the 
 spring of 1901 and intended to form a part of the " Wisdom of Passion." 
 The " Loves of Great Men " was written in the late spring of 1902. 
 
 The Mystic River Book Company, Publishers, 
 
 Everett Station, Boston, Mass. 
 
i*y- 
 
Salvarona 
 
THF '.'BflASY OF 
 
 CONGRESS, 
 Two C 
 
 i 902 
 
 CnPVBIOHT ENTOV 
 
 'Cun b - . ^ £ T- 
 Ct.ARS^ XXo. No. 
 
 r 
 
 
 > 
 
 Copyright, 1902, 
 
 BY 
 
 Harry Guy Waters 
 
TO 
 
 MY ILLUSTRIOUS ADMIRER 
 
 LOMBROSO 
 
 the savant of italy 
 
 as a token of admiration 
 
 and an acknowledgment of what i owe 
 
 to his hearty endorsement 
 
 of my recent treatise 
 
 The Wisdom of Passion 
 
|Y friend Lombroso's opinion, that The 
 great strength of Passion at the Moral Rights 
 moment of Conception is the secret of Love 
 of the intensity of Genius and In- 
 sanity, has much to support it. Be 
 this as it may, Common Sense clearly indicates, 
 however, that intensity of temperament and disposi- 
 tion increases the Violence and Ungovernableness 
 of the expectations of Genius. And this extreme 
 intensity of violent expectation urges the Genius, 
 with his brother the Madman, to trespass the bounds 
 of public customs in ethics. He who through in- 
 tensity of temperament violates public custom must 
 therefore suffer public disapproval. This is why 
 Jesus, the Genius, suffered the same fate as the 
 thieves. He with them had violated the current 
 custom of thought in popular ethics, only, of course, 
 in a different way. Urged thereto by the splendid 
 spiritual intensity of his spiritual and moral nature. 
 In the condemnation of Jesus public opinion and 
 law were wrong. In the case of the thieves, public 
 opinion and law were only half right; for American 
 law would not tolerate the crucifixion of a thief. 
 Be this as it may, the Honor of Love is based on 
 the Public and Religious Rights of Love, i. <?., of 
 
The our community or immediate neighbors. Not on 
 
 Moral Rights the Private Rights of the Individual to Love. If I 
 of Love Love at all, I must Love according to Public Rule, 
 
 Law, and Custom ; not as an Individual. This is 
 right, just, and proper. For if I am depraved, neu- 
 rotic, 2ifille dejoie, insane, jilt, degenerate, or crimi- 
 nal — my own erotic impulses may urge me in a 
 quick series to a Polygamous Free Love; and 
 thereby to the wantonness of perhaps three hun- 
 dred and sixty-five secret Lovers a year, that is, if 
 the secret motives, and selfish propensities of my 
 Love, change quickly enough, and I have that num- 
 ber of secret selfish points to gain. The Rules 
 governing the Public and Religious Rights of 
 Love, as expressed in Public and Religious Laws, 
 justly forbid such conditions, however. Public 
 rights imply Private limitations. I have little 
 patience with the tendency of the age to reduce all 
 sin and rational violation of spiritual and moral law 
 to disease. Nevertheless, there is such a thing as 
 irrational love. Thus, Genius and Insanity are 
 admitted exceptions to normal rules. In the " Wis- 
 dom of Passion," I defined Liberty to be the equity 
 of the expectations of the Passions of the Individ- 
 ual. The equity of the Love of the Individual is 
 
therefore based on the Public rights of Love, as The 
 expressed in Public and Religious Laws. Whilst Moral Rights 
 admitting this fact, I have, however, in such poetic- of Love 
 prose essays, as " Love of Independence," and 
 others, emphasized this inevitable conflict of the 
 ages between Individualism versus Public Customs. 
 Or, of that existing between the higher ideals of 
 Genius and those of the Lower Common Place. 
 In these poetic-prose essays I assume that Public 
 Laws are relative ; and, that the loftier standards of 
 Genius and of Individuals are the only hopes of 
 individual progress. Of course, this law is an in- 
 evitable opposition to the other law, which assumes 
 that the highest rights of the Individual are, once 
 for all, infallibly expressed in our present Civil and 
 Religious Laws and Customs. It is for my readers 
 to solve the problem. One page of the moral phi- 
 losophy of the Bonnie Brier Bush, of Sartor Re- 
 sartus, of Tolstoi, or Ruskin, is worth more as a 
 pure, sweet, moral guide, than all the volumes of 
 the Secular Free Lovers put together. Seeing that 
 these Secular ideas are sometimes used as a means 
 of mental and moral seduction, to gain social sexual 
 power, and for the unconscious ruin of homes. 
 
fjEVERER laws are needed for the Protect 
 better moral protection of Women the Women 
 against the terrible diabolism of that 
 class of Men who simply attract them 
 to Ruin. This class of Men are far 
 more dangerous than the Women of this type ; and 
 accomplish a wider Evil. Being utterly destitute 
 of Great Affection and Sympathy themselves, 
 both types are, of course, unarrested criminals. 
 Such Men are not, like Alfieri or Tasso, troubled 
 with Melancholia, Insanity, or Plans of Suicide, 
 because of the Profound Intensity of their Love, or 
 Affection. Being cool, heartless, and cold-blooded, 
 and treating the most sacred loves of life and 
 religion, as a mere laughing sport, and jest, they 
 attract Women for pure fiendish sport and conquest. 
 As elsewhere stated, I shall devote my next volume 
 to an explanation of the Hypnosis of the Sympa- 
 thies of Women by such Men. But to be scientific, 
 just, and fair, to both sides, I shall simply confine 
 myself in this book to the Hypnosis of the Sympa- 
 thies of Great Men by Women. Keeping in mind 
 the terrible fact, that the number of the Hearts 
 of Lovely Women broken by Men, immeasurably 
 
Protect outnumber the Hearts of Men as broken by Women. 
 
 the Women Of this cold-blooded, heartless type of Man, how- 
 ever, whose whole aim in life is the humorous sport 
 and ruin of the Affections of Women, it can never 
 be affirmed that he would owe his own ruin, in the 
 lines of Byron, to the fact, that, 
 
 ' His Love was passion's essence — as a tree 
 On fire by lightning, with ethereal flame 
 Kindled he was, and blasted.' 
 
IT seems to be the rule The 
 rather than the exception Premise 
 that Great Men, and some 
 types of Great Women, 
 invariably go wrong in their Love 
 affairs. There is evidently some pro- 
 found psychological reason for this, 
 apart from the purely moral aspect. 
 In the author's opinion, a great capac- 
 ity for Tenderness and Sympathy, 
 is, in a paradox, a great weakness. 
 Such a capacity is oftentimes a char- 
 acteristic of Great Genius. The 
 greater the capacity for Sympathy of 
 a Great Mind, the greater will be its 
 capacity to be influenced. George 
 Sand first throws herself at Chopin 
 until finally he is unable to resist her. 
 Every soul possesses the ability to 
 be fatally fascinated by one person 
 
The to the exclusion of all the rest of the 
 Premise people in the world. It must there- 
 fore be considered as axiomatical ly 
 true, that all Love whatsoever im- 
 plies degrees of Hypnosis. The per- 
 ception of what, at first, appeared to 
 be magnificent ideals of the Highest 
 Spiritual Beauty, often proves the 
 source of our attraction and ruin. 
 We say, in our haste, all Ideals are 
 liars. We are mistaken. Our Sun 
 of Ideal Beauty is still there. Our 
 Clouds of Despair have for the 
 moment overshadowed it. When, 
 however, we are carried away by a 
 fierce ungovernable interest in any 
 one person we are poor judges of our 
 own sanity. It is reported of John 
 Bright that he once said of Glad- 
 stone, " I doubt that man's sanity." 
 
Shortly afterwards, Gladstone, on The 
 seeing a picture of John Bright, re- Premise 
 marked, " I wonder if that man is 
 sane?" I shall deal justly with the 
 Woman's side of this question in my 
 next book, and with keener analysis. 
 Human Nature is always made up 
 of a mixture of clay and gold. In 
 our Idealizing Raptures, we over- 
 value the percentage of the Gold in 
 others. In our moments of Selfish 
 Fear for the protection of ourselves, 
 we over-estimate the percentage of 
 
 the Clay in others. 
 
 Salvarona. 
 
 Boston, Mass., U.S.A., 
 Midsummer, 
 MDCCCCII. 
 
Irrational We is a Loves of 
 
 disease; not a sin. An Great Men 
 
 hypnosis ; not a thing of 
 
 ethics. The capacity to love 
 greatly is the capacity to err greatly. 
 Had Robert Burns' sympathies been 
 less strong, his errors had been less. 
 Burns suffered from the loss of self 
 control because of the greatness of 
 his sympathetic nature. On the other 
 hand, had Boccaccio never fallen 
 madly in love with Joanna, or Dante 
 with Beatrice, the " Decameron" and 
 the " Inferno " would never have been 
 written. Burns, Byron, and Boccac- 
 cio were all subject to hypnosis of 
 the sympathies. The story of the 
 author who loved not wisely but too 
 well is as old as Ovid, and as young 
 
 i 
 
Loves of as Kipling and Ruskin. The hyp- 
 GreatMen nosis of the sympathies of such men 
 always implies an exaggerated sus- 
 ceptibility to suggestion, induced by 
 a feminine influence. The fact that 
 such conditions of love are, in reality, 
 conditions of hypnosis is seen where 
 the artist or author has been known 
 to helplessly struggle with all the 
 strength of his will against the sym- 
 pathetic impulse. The forsaking of 
 Octavia for Cleopatra by Mark 
 Antony was an hypnosis. The cele- 
 brated Frenchwoman Ninon de 
 Lenclos possessed this power to 
 such a degree that Larochefoucald 
 consulted her ' upon his maxims, 
 Moliere upon his comedies, and 
 Scarron upon his romances. What 
 but the hypnotic fascination of Lady 
 
Hamilton led Nelson, the greatest Loves of 
 of English admirals, on to his in- Great Men 
 fatuated attachment? In the moral 
 courage to accept responsibility at 
 all hazards no man ever surpassed 
 Nelson. The fiery enthusiasm and 
 intensity of his tenderness made him 
 an easy mark. The proof whether 
 a man, when hypnotized by sympathy 
 into love, is likely to be ruined de- 
 pends on whether the man is known 
 to be intense. Alfieri's affair at 
 Turin, and the agonies he under- 
 went because of the woman he fell 
 in love with, clearly proved hypnosis. 
 He was conscious of a coercion hold- 
 ing him in bondage against his own 
 will. Alfieri's condition showed the 
 unlimited subjection of his will to the 
 will of the woman; the domination 
 
Loves of of his will by her. The bondage of 
 Great Men love is thus the hypnosis of the sym- 
 pathies. All great genius is charac- 
 terized by its intensity of feeling. So 
 that the dependence of the genius on 
 the one he may be in love with dif- 
 fers from the normal always in the 
 degree of this intensity. Genius 
 means intensity of affection or it 
 means nothing. Intensity often over- 
 balances clearness of reason in great 
 poets. For intensity of affection gives 
 rise to an inertia of the will. To 
 awaken Love is always to create a 
 susceptibility to be influenced by the 
 suggestions of the one who awakens 
 it. The condition of Charlotte von 
 Kalb, one of the most brilliant women 
 of Germany, was unfortunate in this 
 sense when she sought a divorce 
 
in order to marry Richter. In a Loves of 
 similar condition was the woman who Great Men 
 committed suicide because Richter 
 could not return her love. The 
 love of Rousseau utterly destroyed 
 his power of will. Contrast him 
 with Richelieu, who makes even the 
 Queen-mother Maria de Medicis to 
 bow before his unbending spirit, and 
 to withdraw into exile. The most dis- 
 tinguished lover of Dame Recamier in 
 her later years is known to have been 
 Chateaubriand, who visited her nearly 
 every day. But Chateaubriand was 
 in his decline. The social triumphs 
 of noble women all have a more or 
 less hypnotic origin. There come to 
 us moods in which we feel that our 
 expectations of appreciation are but 
 the jetsam of the common follies of 
 
 5 
 
Loves of experience which we throw into the 
 Great Men Sea of Hope. To expect sympathy 
 always implies our inability to live 
 alone in the world. Because, how- 
 ever, this Wandering Jew for Sym- 
 pathetic Approval cannot die in the 
 Soul, the desire for Fame is born. 
 Common Sense indicates that the 
 Harbor of Sympathy is a part of the 
 Bay of Success. For no one paints 
 a picture or writes a book who does 
 not expect some degree of apprecia- 
 tion. Praise comes to be considered 
 a tributary to the River of Worth. 
 Sympathy is an affair of the heart ; 
 not of the head. Artists, Authors, 
 and Editors often have big hearts as 
 well as large intellects. A certain 
 class of them reverence the apprecia- 
 tion of cultured womanhood. Few 
 6 
 
of them realize, however, how dan- Loves of 
 gerous such cataracts of Intellectual Great Men 
 and Moral Desire for Sympathy may 
 prove. How, after all, the winds of 
 Appreciation may do more to impede 
 than to assist the navigation of the 
 Soul. By reason of a long previous 
 life of shameful neglect and bitter 
 experience, this longing for the in- 
 tellectual cultured companionship of 
 lofty women may become a fierce 
 impulse in the life of an artist or 
 author. If so, his first successful 
 picture may bring to him a concealed 
 woe. The Stoic afterwards becomes 
 his ideal ; for he realizes that sym- 
 pathy and appreciation are full of 
 terrible dangers. An hypnosis of the 
 artist's or author's sympathies means, 
 therefore, an hypnosis of his will. 
 
 7 
 
Loves of And the only way to get through the 
 Great Men mountains of some artists' or authors' 
 lives is through the tunnel of their 
 sympathies. A great heart is often a 
 great curse. It is but natural that 
 the woman who gives the artist or 
 the author the most intellectual sym- 
 pathy reaps from him the most love. 
 Normally, the artist's or author's soul 
 is a city, defended by several forts 
 of Selfishness along its walls. By a 
 fortified citadel of unbiased Judg- 
 ment. A great Sympathy destroys 
 this. Intensity of affection holds him 
 in bondage. Chivalry expresses the 
 apotheosis of his condition. Because 
 chivalry implies,* as some one has 
 said, a systematic, poetical develop- 
 ment of the bondage of Love. To be 
 in a condition, therefore, where we 
 8 
 
desire Sympathy is to be in a peril- Loves of 
 ous condition. The peril consists in Great Men 
 that Desired Sympathy, as an har- 
 bor, is superior to all others, in its 
 accessibility of praise-craft, in every 
 variation of mood. This is why the 
 artist or author, who perchance has 
 been hungering all his life for highly 
 cultured sympathy, rarely takes that 
 sympathy at its true value when it 
 does come. His head has not been 
 turned. But his heart has. And it 
 is the heart, not the head, that is the 
 parent of all tragedies. Grant there- 
 fore in the artist or author an irresist- 
 ible impulse for feminine sympathy, 
 such an impulse is sometimes more 
 likely to prove an artist's or author's 
 or great man's social ruin than his 
 success. It marred the life of Sir 
 
 9 
 
Loves of Walter Raleigh. It doomed Shelley 
 Great Men and others to suicide. It cursed the 
 life of Rousseau. It prowled into 
 the sadness of Liszt. It blighted 
 Byron. It was a moaning river in 
 the life of Dante. It caused George 
 Sand to hunt up Chopin. It was the 
 despair of Sallust. It made the heart 
 of George Eliot beat for Lewes. It 
 ruined Camoens, the Portuguese poet. 
 It cut the locks of Samson. It drove 
 Alfieri temporarily insane. It was 
 the woe of Heine. It was an angry 
 cloud in the life of Donizetti. It 
 destroyed Burns. It ate out the soul 
 of Ruskin. It was a wave of dark- 
 ness for Bulwer Lytton. It shadowed 
 Poe and Thorwaldsen. It was the 
 secret of the wail of Schopenhauer 
 It caused Dumas to tear out his 
 10 
 
wife's hair. Goethe felt it. It weak- Loves of 
 ened Sylla. It made Napoleon pes- Great Men 
 simistic. It wilted Fodero. It blasted 
 Beecher. It injured Socrates. It was 
 the degradation of Mark Antony. 
 Sir Isaac Newton in his old age was 
 afraid of it. It was the gloom of 
 Vincenzo. It was the cause of the 
 banishment of Ovid. It drove Tasso 
 to a cell. It broke the heart of Col- 
 lins. It sent De Quincey after Ann 
 of Venusburg. It threatened Milton. 
 It shadowed Chopin. It lowered the 
 genius of Foscolo. It left its ter- 
 rible pathos in Paganinni. It drove 
 Turner to isolation and eccentricity 
 and pessimism. It hurled Salvator 
 to sensuality and the style of desola- 
 tion. It darkened the life of Alfred 
 de Musset. It painted the Vampire 
 
 1 1 
 
Loves of of Kipling. It blighted Dickens. It 
 Great Men is the secret of the vulgarity of the 
 unintellectual faces of many of the 
 Madonnas of Italian artists. It was 
 the woe of Cavour. It had its sad 
 effect on the life of Tennyson. Its 
 bursts of lightning smote the soul of 
 Caesar. In its relation to men less 
 widely known to fame, the law is the 
 same. The greater the heart of the 
 artist or author, the greater will be 
 the possibility of his danger. Desire 
 for appreciative sympathy may be- 
 come a monomania. In such cases 
 the sympathy of the woman of brilliant 
 genius appeals irresistibly to the art- 
 ist's or author's educated sympathies. 
 His work henceforth is a fire, produced 
 by a concussion of flint and steel. 
 Suppose, too, that the majority of the 
 12 
 
women he has previously associated Loves of 
 with have been illiterates, fools, com- Great Men 
 mon-places, or degenerates. Then 
 the advent of a cultured woman into 
 his life throws him into the condition 
 of Tantalus. If he accept her sym- 
 pathy, he may reap the fierce mad- 
 dening jealousy of relatives, her chil- 
 dren, or her husband, or a prison cell. 
 Or it may end in his melancholia, 
 insanity, or suicide. On the other 
 hand, if he does not accept it, but in- 
 stantly cuts the importuned acquaint- 
 ance, repeatedly forced upon him at 
 first against his will, the artist or 
 author has possibly missed the 
 supreme opportunity of his life for 
 laying the foundations of an endur- 
 ing intellectual friendship. Obviously 
 the fire-escapes of friendship are 
 
 13 
 
Loves of constructed of very poor material. 
 
 Great Men Where the desire for intellectual sym- 
 pathy in such cases is imperious, it 
 renders the will weak and inert. The 
 flowering season of the Soul seems 
 past ; or there is an extraordinary de- 
 velopment of genius as an effort of the 
 intensity of the aroused Love. On 
 the other hand, Intensity of Sympathy 
 in man is always a sign of weakness. 
 The inordinate sympathy for lofty 
 women by Angelo Firenzuola, the 
 Italian author, was the cause of his 
 eulogies of the gentler sex. On the 
 other hand, so sensitive was Vincenzo, 
 the lyrical poet of Italy, to the ap- 
 plause of women, that he consigned 
 all his exquisite love inspirations to 
 the flames because he was deeply 
 wounded in his affections. One of 
 
 14 
 
the great characteristics of Genius is Loves of 
 its vast capacity for the vehement ex- Great Men 
 pression of the Passion of Love, and 
 its inability to sustain unbroken rela- 
 tions of mere conventional friendship. 
 In fact Love is similar to the passion 
 of Genius, in that a great Genius is 
 always intolerably jealous of his ar- 
 tistic, scientific, poetic or philosophi- 
 cal ideal. The jealous rage of John- 
 son when contradicted, the furious jeal- 
 ousy of Schopenhauer, the quarrels 
 of Michael Angelo, the fiery indig- 
 nation of Byron and Dante, are in 
 evidence. And what shall we say of 
 Leibnitz and Newton? Both Love 
 and Genius are characterized in their 
 highest ratios by a fiery exclusiveness. 
 A wild ungovernable intolerance of dis- 
 appointment. A martyrlike devotion 
 
 15 
 
Loves of to a solitary ideal. An incessant pin- 
 GreatMen ing and longing to be at a perfect 
 oneness and harmony with the ideal 
 selected by it. Thus, whilst every 
 Genius has the capacity for some 
 form of great Love, every great 
 Lover is not a Genius. Usually, the 
 Genius has very few friends. His 
 very nature renders him incapable of 
 friendship. At the same time Gen- 
 iuses are the most wonderful Lovers 
 of all history. As examples, take 
 Paderewski, the Brownings, Tenny- 
 son, Byron, Burns, Shelley. The 
 tragic side of it all seems to be that 
 flattering hopes and delusive dreams 
 are often the common stock-in-trade 
 of both the Genius and the Lover ; 
 for both are insane wooers of an inef- 
 fable ideal, and imaginary perfection. 
 16 
 
Excess of sympathy and attachment Loves of 
 are mania, and three-fourths of the Great Men 
 race are born mad. In their general 
 outlines the fate of many authors and 
 artists and musicians have been simi- 
 lar to that of the great poet Tasso. 
 His brotherly affection toward Leo- 
 nora, the Duke of Ferrara's sister, 
 was at first kindly encouraged. They 
 ran after him. They would not let 
 him alone. Then jealousy of the poet 
 arose with an attempt to repulse him. 
 Finally, when the terrible pathos of 
 his abnormal brotherly affection for 
 Leonora became uncontrollable, those 
 who first ran after him turned him 
 finally over to the guardians of the 
 law and a cell. He was left with- 
 out a friend in the world. What 
 sense Tasso had was grand, bizarre, 
 
 17 
 
Loves of uncommon, out of the way. He had 
 Great Men no common sense. Great Genius 
 rarely has. Byron, in his " Lament of 
 Tasso," tells the story. Both Byron 
 and Goethe agree in the same inter- 
 pretation. As Byron's foot-note will 
 tell, the excuse offered for this awful 
 treatment of Tasso, was the statement 
 of the Duke of Ferrara, that Tasso 
 was mad. In truth, all the craziness 
 Tasso suffered from was an extreme 
 purity of abnormal brotherly affection 
 for Leonora, with whom he had spent 
 his literary hours. The great poet 
 had no idea that he was making him- 
 self ridiculous, was compromising any- 
 one, or was a bother. Whatever of a 
 monomania of melancholy and sui- 
 cide was subsequently developed in 
 Tasso as the result of the thwarting 
 18 
 
of this abnormal brotherly attachment, Loves of 
 was probably due, finally, to system- Great Men 
 atic cruelties of maddening disap- 
 pointment. These double dealings 
 were possibly practised on him cold- 
 bloodedly. First, for sport, and, sec- 
 ondly, in the hope that the system- 
 atic cruelty would kill out the great 
 poet's abnormal brotherly affection 
 and sympathy for the Duke's sister. 
 Whilst the attempt of the ruin of his 
 splendid genius by the ruse was 
 made the laughter of the Palace. 
 Byron has told the story better than 
 I can. Poor Tasso ! When, in his 
 cell, the abnormal kindliness of his 
 soul was so great, and his pity so 
 supreme, that his affection and sym- 
 pathy could not turn to hate. He 
 answered their severity, duplicity, 
 
 19 
 
Loves of • gibes, and taunting laughter with 
 Great Men tears, and a broken heart. They 
 could not kill out the great poet's 
 fierce abnormal affection for them. 
 Had they died, and he lived, he 
 would have implored his jailer to 
 have taken him to their graves per- 
 chance; where, throwing his body in 
 an ecstacy of incontrollable grief on 
 the ground, he would have pressed 
 his parched lips to the earth that cov- 
 ered them, begging to be taken back 
 to his cell to die. By this cruel and 
 ghastly sacrifice of the great Tasso 
 to the police authorities and a prison 
 cell, the Duke of Ferrara freed Leo- 
 nora from an intense friend, whose 
 fierce, abnormal, and unremitting 
 brotherly affection made his calls a 
 peril. Leonora could also claim her 
 20 
 
old social honor. The Duke's fierce Loves of 
 jealousy would be allayed, and new Great Men 
 opportunities could be speedily 
 opened for the making of new friend- 
 ships not imperiled by the intensities 
 of genius. Though, for convenience 
 sake, I have applied my theory of the 
 hypnosis of the sympathies, in this 
 essay, to the influence of women on 
 men, the same law applies to the 
 hypnosis of the sympathies of women 
 by men. It wholly depends on 
 whether the man or the woman de- 
 clare their love first. If the confes- 
 sion of love is first made by the 
 woman to the man, as it is in uncon- 
 ventional cases, and the man is pro- 
 foundly influenced by it, then the 
 hypnosis was first induced by the 
 woman. The mistake with our present 
 
 21 
 
Loves of theory of hypnosis is, that it implies 
 Great Men that under all circumstances the hyp- 
 nosis is attempted by the woman 
 solely for the purpose of gaining 
 some social advantage. This is as 
 untrue, as it is nonsensical. The 
 confession of the woman may grow 
 out of the sweetest, purest motives 
 that ever throbbed in a human soul. 
 The amount of possible harm done 
 to the man, though, under such cir- 
 cumstances, will depend wholly on 
 the intensity of the affections of the 
 man. Because, intensity of affection 
 as a disposition in a man, always 
 means weakness of will to resist ap- 
 peals of feminine sympathy. People 
 continue to wonder why men of intel- 
 lect like Byron, Burns, and Shelley 
 were so easily influenced by lovely 
 
 22 
 
women. They suppose that their Loves of 
 
 great knowledge should save them, as Great Men 
 
 they were so smart. But smartness 
 
 and knowledge is not power. All of 
 
 us can see farther than we can jump. 
 
 To see means knowledge. To jump 
 
 means power. If our power equalled 
 
 our knowledge we should be able to 
 
 jump as far as we can see. 
 
 23 
 
§JOW and prurient minds always judge Explanatory 
 people from their own low and pruri- Note 
 ent passions. Dishonor to him who 
 evil thinks. Even the possibility of 
 purity of intention in the Loves of 
 Great Men is denied by these Evil Thinkers. 
 Such Evil Judges are, in the most cases, either 
 Degenerates, Potential Criminals, Fanatics, or affect- 
 edly scrupulous in conduct. Will is the power of 
 the Senses, Affections, and Passions, to choose 
 between the Persons and Objects we like best. 
 Hypnosis — which implies the destruction of this 
 power of choice and a form of temporary monoma- 
 nia for one person or object — may be one of either 
 three types : (a) Of the Senses. As in temporary 
 or long sustained hallucinations of Seeing, Hearing, 
 Touch, or Smell, (b) Of the Lower Passions. As 
 confined to the mental conditions of lower animal 
 types ; the physical and criminal passions of man. 
 (c) Of the Affections of the Soul. As confined to 
 Intellectual, Moral, and Ideal Love. The exagger- 
 ated susceptibility of Great Men, and Moral Beings 
 in general, to be sometimes carried insanely away 
 by association with Lofty Women and Great Men, 
 
 23 * 
 
Explanatory whom we consider to be Ideals of Perfection in our 
 Note own way. This form of Hypnosis is the Hypnosis 
 
 of the Moral and Artistic Sympathies. To this 
 class belong the most — not all — of the Unfortu- 
 nate Loves of Great Men. Of those, who, like Alfieri 
 and Tasso, become for a short time unbalanced 
 because of the Intensity of their Affections for their 
 Ideal Types of Women. Ignorant and Low per- 
 sons, having no knowledge of Psychology, or Moral 
 Philosophy, always class the Loves of Great Men, 
 Heroes, Authors, Poets, or Artists, with those of the 
 Lower Animal Types. The judgment of a Beast is 
 always Bestial. 
 
 24* 
 
POETIC-PROSE ESSAYS 
 
 AND 
 
 PROVERBS OF LOVE 
 
OR Thine Own Self-Help Love of 
 travel with me to the high- Self-Help 
 lands of the Self. Roam 
 for awhile on the upland 
 meadows of thy spiritual imagination. 
 Full Summer shall come in thy Soul, 
 and the song-birds of June stir them- 
 selves to sounds of Harmony within 
 thee. Fireflies of Hope gleaming in 
 the fields of Love. The thoughts se- 
 lected by thee to stay in the pavilion 
 of thy Mind do either make or mar 
 thy life. All are ploughed under. 
 Thy thoughts are forces, fashioning 
 the conditions of thy future. Wander 
 through the orchard aisles of Love; 
 let not thy Soul become a weed-grown 
 nook. Look the gold sun of God's 
 great thought in the face, though it 
 
 25 
 
Love of blind thee. Yea, though thy Soul be 
 Self- Help veiled in a shivering mist of fear. 
 Grow in Soul ; and the withered gray 
 of thy Fears shall change to a summer 
 red of Joys. O poor drowsy stream 
 of Self, whispering a melancholy tune 
 of Despair ! Let the glory of a new 
 health and power burn in the glowing 
 fields of thy Soul ! Yea, though a 
 weeping mist of tears fill thy eyes. 
 Ignorance and Sin and Death are 
 the negations of the Ages. Trust 
 the daybreak of Love ! The waves 
 of the Word, creeping crimson up 
 the sandy dunes of thy Life. There 
 is no ultimate reality in evil ! Error 
 hath no throne of pearl that shall not 
 be razed with the march of Science. 
 The bird of Love still sings beside 
 the nest of Care. The force of thy 
 26 
 
Mind is its Thought. Thou, O Soul, Love of 
 art thine own physician, priest and Self Help 
 king. Thou art thine own sword 
 and lance of life ! Let not the canker- 
 worm of thy Fear eat the petals of 
 the flower of thy Divine Self. Hell 
 is but wasted passion. The wild 
 despair and agony of thine own con- 
 sciousness, f Heaven has no location 
 but in thine own breast ; in flaring / 
 embers on the hearth of Love. Let 
 greater Thoughts plow freer furrows 
 through the wave and foam of thy 
 Soul. / Ignorance breeds the bitter 
 fruit of Doubt. From Doubt arises 
 the Upas of Fear. From Fear comes 
 suffering and death. In the laws of 
 thy Consciousness, are disease and 
 woe. Sin is a poisonous mist creep- 
 ing among the shivering trees of the 
 
 27 
 
Love of Soul's landscape. Thy Truth of 
 Self-Help Being must mean to thee a more har- 
 monious thinking and joy. For thee 
 are the trills of the bird of Happi- 
 ness in the woodland of Life! The 
 discordant condition of thy mentality 
 causeth thy Soul to drift with every 
 wind of woe on the great sea of 
 Misery. In tortured days that seem 
 long, bitter years. Awaken to the 
 starlit heights of thine own Great- 
 ness ! Thy Soul shall have its Spring 
 and Sunshine, and its Summers of 
 new-mown hay, though some Sad- 
 ness lay secret within thee. Thy 
 power of Help is the power of thine 
 own Divine Self. There alone is the 
 pure sunlight and the supreme air of 
 Success. Albeit the Soil is a stupid 
 platitude, saith the Critic, and the 
 28 
 
Rain is a Conglomeration of the Love of 
 Common Place. Within thy Soul Self-Heli 
 Love saith to Beauty : " Let us make 
 the New Ideal after our own like- 
 ness. And let the New Ideal have 
 dominion over the Future of this 
 Man." So Love and Beauty created 
 the New Ideal for this Man in their 
 own image. And the New Ideal 
 wandered quite naked among the 
 flowers of Fate. And Love watched 
 the growth of the New Ideal ! And 
 lo! It was past the eventide of the 
 ages. Then Love met the New 
 Ideal in the Garden of Death. And 
 lo ! It was the sunrise of Humanity. 
 And soft waves of tremulous light 
 danced in the eyes of Love. And 
 a radiance shone on the face of the 
 New Ideal as he gazed in the eyes 
 
 29 
 
Love of of Love. And Love stretched forth 
 Self-Help her hand to caress the face of the 
 New Ideal and said: " Clothe me 
 with thy Beauty, O Fair One." And 
 the New Ideal answered Love and 
 said : "Thy love of my Beauty is but 
 thy desire to Idealize, O Love.y The 
 Beauties thou seest in Me are but 
 harmonies struck from the loftier 
 chords of thine own Soul/' And Love 
 smote the lips of the New Ideal with 
 kisses of burning ecstasy. And the 
 New Ideal held the hand of Love, 
 and gazed into her eyes with great 
 sadness. For Love secretly desired 
 to enrobe herself with the garments 
 of the New Ideal. And lo! Love 
 sought the home of the New Ideal, 
 which is beyond the sun-rising ; and 
 she became footsore and aweary. 
 
 30 
 
RT seeketh the images of Love of 
 its Beauty in the trage- Art 
 dies of Grief. Even in 
 the Grave, and Years that 
 bring their winter tide. She kindleth 
 Beauty in the kine of the Meadow, 
 and the Clouds of the Firmament, 
 and in the Mad Despair of a Great 
 Love! The darkness of the Symbol 
 shall become Light to thee when thy 
 brown flowing hair grows white as 
 snow. The artist is forever greater 
 than his Art, though after Love's 
 whirlwind not a pulse-beat stirs. 
 The Art of God is the ideal of all 
 things, though the smitten soul of the 
 Artist be in agony with Love, drip- 
 ping from a cross of Pain. The sil- 
 very laughter of woodland streams, 
 
 3i 
 
Love of the stars studding the cloudless night, 
 Art the reaches of woody hills, and soft 
 
 rolling valleys. Art seeth greater 
 Beauty; though the old Love lost at 
 sea, mount up in woe! Art is the 
 idealized Passion of Love. Im- 
 mortal Form, wreathing itself in a 
 fairer Dream. As of some Divine 
 soul, amid a pine wood, wandering 
 pathetic in a trance of tears, seeking 
 the last rest of life! The Artist 
 giveth to Common Life its Beauty. 
 Yea, to the rock-bells ceaseless chime 
 of Love. Imagination painteth the 
 picture of the fairer Truth; though 
 bitter winds blow rough across 
 Love's sea. In Love's chaos Art 
 seeth the progress of the centuries; 
 yea, in the last sad night when Love 
 lay in the arms of Death. Every 
 32 
 
Soul is an Artist working in its own Love of 
 Colors. The asphodel, and the hya- Art 
 cinth, and the bluebell of the morn- 
 ing. The Art that hath no Soul of 
 Love hath no Beauty. The crimson 
 flower of the ideal hath its roots in a 
 Divine soil ! , To idealize the Com- 
 mon-place is the proof of a great 
 mind. To give grandeur to simplic- 
 ity, and a wisdom to the mightier 
 worth of lowlier things. To lips 
 that now with tender kisses glow. 
 The Art of thy Nobler Self giveth 
 Light to the Evening of thy Life ; 
 for all Beauty is born from the Dark- 
 ness of the womb of Pain! Lo! the 
 precepts of Art are all written in the 
 book of thy Passions; on faces where- 
 on rain the tears of Love. Truth is 
 but a mean to ends ; to lure the Soul 
 
 33 
 
Love of on to its time of blossoming; and to 
 Art skies flecked with gray. Art furnish- 
 
 eth loftier Beauty, and expresseth the 
 face of Reni's Mater, and the waste 
 of her hearts tossing spray. Lo ! 
 Divine Love is not a stranger to the 
 whispering of the pines, or to grief- 
 wrung hearts of woe! Where thou 
 art Caius, there am I Caia, forever 
 and forever ! 
 
 34 
 
HE clover of the pastures Love for 
 welcometh the brown bees Society 
 to the kisses of its lips; 
 and the lips of the wood- 
 land pool waiteth for the lips of the 
 thirsty kine. The Morning Wind in 
 the Meadow pipeth to the listening 
 Buttercups, a new Song of Love; 
 and the tangled Woodbine in the 
 Woods stayeth his climbing to listen. 
 If Society closeth its gilded doors 
 against thee, what hast thou to do 
 with gilt ? Better that thy trust was 
 in a Shepherd's crook, or the sheaves 
 of Autumn corn. Love will find for 
 Love a way; though the wreck of 
 all thy hopes now float ashore. 
 Neither waste thy heart with the 
 flame of Suspicion, nor make thy feet 
 
 35 
 
Love for sore traveling for Popularity; nor 
 Society make of Love a sad and fruitless 
 chase. Among the many is the Soul 
 that shall be thy guiding star. Ca- 
 lyxes of Love in the Lilies of thy 
 Soul. If the wind of popular praise 
 fill the sail of thy Hope, shall it not 
 flap against the mast of thy loftier 
 purposes ? Thou art as a bird caught 
 in its torrents sheen, borne on and on 
 from Grief to Grief. All things love 
 their own, and the pine-tree telleth 
 his tale of love to the elm, and there 
 is a gladsome gossip in the forest. 
 O child of broken heart, some ear of 
 human kindness may yet hear thy 
 wailing in the Wold of Life, yea, 
 though thy Love be but a madness ! 
 Kindly hands are waiting to twine 
 thy fingers in Love! Behind the 
 
 36 
 
drifting mists of thy Anxiety, stands Love for 
 an unseen Angel swinging its censer Society 
 with thine. Be true to thy Nobler 
 Self, and Affection s cheek shall red- 
 den as she runneth to welcome thee ! 
 To be quick to know the World, is to 
 be quick to woo Folly. ( Meadows 
 of new-mown hay, the sounds of low- 
 ing cattle, are lovelier sounds than 
 the voices of the streets of cities./ 
 Though the falling frost of thy Fail- 
 ure chill thee, the Morrow may find 
 thee startled at thy Fame! Rain 
 fast thy hammer blows, O God of 
 Pain! ''Only the gods are crucified \ 
 for others. Adam doomed forever 
 to pare the apple of Eve with the 
 knife of Remorse! To him that 
 hath Hunger sitting in State in his 
 Soul, the City seemeth a flowerless 
 
 37 
 
Love for land ! A lure to a region of sadness 
 Society Lo ! To her who would be aflame 
 with false life, drunk with the wine 
 of Pride, there shall be Sorrow! A 
 bloody sweat falleth from a crowned 
 brow that listeneth in tears to the 
 break of the waves. To the wild 
 storm of broken hearts ! Yea, to the 
 rain of Loves that come too late. 
 Thy Passion for Life is thy desire to 
 exult in a great sea of Pure Love in 
 which thou shalt be bathed in tears. 
 Life is a sea that giveth up its Dead 
 in renewed forms. The almond 
 blossoms of Friendship are thine for 
 the asking. I weep for thee because 
 I love thee, O Beauty of Friendship ! 
 Deceive not thyself, thy Passion for 
 Society shall mean to thee a war; and 
 pulses afire with the fate of Love. 
 
 38 
 
The Spring glory of thy Honor may Love for 
 
 wither to an Autumn crimson of Society 
 
 Shame. As Wine mingleth with 
 
 Wine, and in the Chalice becometh 
 
 One; so doth Two Souls become 
 
 One, as Love mingles with Love in 
 
 the Cup of Life. Thrust in thy 
 
 Spear, O Love, and count me as thy 
 
 slain! In Society a Soul shall yet 
 
 cause the river waves of thy Love to 
 
 leap through thy veins in billows of 
 
 enchantment ; and thy Reason shall 
 
 be rocked to sleep. Lo ! The leaves 
 
 on the tree of thy Reason shall dance 
 
 in the mad swirl of thy Ecstatic Joy, 
 
 if thou make thy Highest Love a 
 
 god ! 
 
 39 
 
HE Oceans have their Love of 
 hours of Madness, and Wrong 
 the Heavens themselves, Ideals 
 lose their equilibrium. 
 Thy Genius is a sensitively balanced 
 intensity. Worry not thyself be- 
 cause of thy lack of poise. The 
 Genius is a brother to the Madman. 
 The finer balanced thy Sensitiveness, 
 the more easily will it be disturbed. 
 Ideals are perils. The fascinations 
 of Heaven often lead to Hell. Out 
 of Tune with the Harmony of the 
 Universe, is this false, sad Wind of 
 the Evil of Love! Pouring to thee in 
 a storm-tossed rain! Sickness and 
 Disease are shrill mocking fools of 
 Unwise Love, and Sin, and Fear. 
 Thy Evil is the mistake of thy Love 
 
 4i 
 
Love of in its search for Ideals through the 
 Wrong gloom of thy years. A perfect Love 
 Ideals shall one day slay thy Evil. Gray 
 are the Shadows of the Night of thy 
 Mistaken Loves, falling o'er the sad- 
 ness of thy brow. A Greater Morn- 
 ing shall steal across thy purer, newer 
 consciousness! Yea, when thou 
 kneelest beside a face of death on 
 which thou shalt rain tears! Bemoan 
 not thy Fate, O Soul ! Lo ! Yonder 
 silver gleam of Hope glistening 
 through the poplar tree! Through 
 the ruin of thy Hopes and Loves. 
 The Love that knows no parting 
 knows no pain. , Thou art an expres- 
 sion of the Infinite One. Thy Soul 
 is as a crimson Rose agleam with 
 morning dew. No mere drifting 
 foam on the restless sea of Fate. 
 42 
 
Thy Soul shall turn to God as the Love of 
 Sunflower turns to the Sun and the Wrong 
 Amaryllis to its Red Noon of Beauty. Ideals 
 Unravel the threads of thy Destiny 
 by the firelight of Love, when Time 
 at last has gently lined thy brow. 
 The dew of Immortal Youth glistens 
 bright upon the Garden Home of 
 Age, where Love leans against the 
 trellis of Sorrow. In the light of an 
 Infallible Love shall pass away thy 
 Grief, recalling all the love of buried 
 years. Thy rest is in a Higher Soul- 
 life ! A more August Spiritual Cre- 
 ation of the Self. Though thou hast 
 gained a harvest home of tears. 
 Unsatisfied Love is the Creator of 
 Evil, sounding in thee like some 
 faint chord of Woe. The climbing 
 Brier on the porch of Life, whose 
 
 43 
 
Love of Rosebuds of Promise break into the 
 Wrong Pink of False Ideals of a fatal Color 
 Ideals and poisonous Beauty. Evil is relative 
 to thine own consciousness, though 
 in these sad hours the heart seems far 
 from home. Our Evils are passing 
 modes of Life. Flickering lights that 
 shine in on us, full of ghastliness, 
 and are gone forever. Shadows of 
 Agony, whose strange shapes drift 
 away with the Years. Blossoms of 
 Pain blown before the breezes of 
 Time! 
 
 44 
 
NFURL thine own sail, Love of 
 embark on thine own Sea, Independ- 
 and Heaven shall send ence 
 thee a fair Wind, breaking 
 through thy Sunset. Reject all 
 standards but the loftiest light of 
 thine own heart, when the hurried 
 winds of the night of thy Years trem- 
 ble about thee. To Believe in thine 
 own thought, and to die for it, is to 
 be greater than Kings. Upon thine 
 own Shoulder bear thine own Cross. 
 Bid Simon go and play at the 
 Brook's Mouth. Read aloud from 
 the leaves of the Passions of thine 
 own Heart, and the Rivers, and the 
 Stars shall stay their courses to listen 
 to thy ministration as the twilight 
 dies. Behold the truly Great Man, 
 
 45 
 
> 
 
 Love of for he laugheth at Custom through 
 Independ- many summers. Originality sits on 
 ence his brow. Conventionality is his 
 
 slave, and he fixes the gulf of his 
 own Destiny. Within thine own 
 Heart is the light of the Universe, 
 the tideless waves of dawning power. 
 /He who depends on himself depends 
 on his God, even in the sobbing ves- 
 per hour of Love. Verily, thy Soul 
 was born to wanton in a happier sky 
 of deepening repose. The Eagle in 
 thy Heart hath wings for the Azure, 
 and rejoiceth in the Light of the 
 Sun ; yonder, where the Great Still- 
 ness broodeth across the faces of the 
 Worlds. If thou loathe the mental 
 food of the lower popular standards, 
 thou shalt be fed by the gods in the 
 day of thy desolation. Follow the 
 
 4 6 
 
wild bent of thy Genius till thou hast Love of 
 plumed the far-soaring wing of thy Independ- 
 thought in the dusk and the dew of ence 
 the Evening of Sorrow. Strike 
 from thy Soul the Chains of Lower 
 Custom ! Lo ! The god within thee 
 pines for his native cloud, and to 
 splash in the Higher Sea! The 
 Keepers of Opinion are many, and 
 each hath a heavier chain. The Jas- 
 mine consulteth not the Violet. In 
 his own separate Hell of Form where 
 the Greater Self is tortured Con- 
 formity crowdeth each in his Soli- 
 tude of Pretence. Bond Slaves of 
 covert dreams. He who frees him- 
 self frees his country, and drinks 
 from a purer stream. The lust of 
 Custom burns in all with a fierce in- 
 genious flame, succoring the ruses of 
 
 47 
 
Love of unfaithful Love. Voice the thun- 
 Independ- ders of the divine tempests within 
 ence thine own heart, and awake to thy 
 
 nobler worth. Chime thine own 
 Morning Bells. To be free to as- 
 cend with thy Love is to be Moral, 
 and never to know Age, or Ruin, or 
 Death. Better the spontaneity and 
 caprice of the freedom of a Great 
 Love, than the restraint of an Igno- 
 ble Fear, sauntering slowly towards 
 the wiles of Treachery. The undis- 
 ciplined spontaneity of Compassion 
 is of more merit than the discipline 
 of Hate, brooding along the years of 
 Youth. If the Ideal of thine own 
 age be greater than thine, follow it. 
 If it be lower, follow thine own with 
 thoughts of nobler vein. He who 
 consecrates a low public opinion as 
 
 4 8 
 
his Ideal, and calleth it Duty, is Love of 
 wanting in Wisdom. Tis but a Independ- 
 Mad Sea of Voices, roaring upon ence 
 the Harbor-bar of the worldling's 
 World. The Lives that know noT\ 
 Spontaneity, know no Greatness, in 
 Glory, Love, or Art. The Heavens 
 shall shine about any man who shall 
 be true to his Nobler Self. Behold 
 the Lilies ! Each garden-bed bloom- 
 eth its own Beauty, and Color, and 
 Music. It is better with Tasso to 
 be imprisoned for Love, than to live 
 in freedom with Hate, as thy Com- 
 panion. Hail! Welcome! Blow 
 and blow, O Mountain Breezes of 
 Thy Wider Liberties, O Soul ! Every 
 heart hath its Austerlitz. Hail! Wel- 
 come ! Flow and flow, O Rivers 
 of Thy Greater Freedom, O Soul! 
 
 49 
 
Love of Moscow burns in the Souls of all. 
 
 Independ- Hail ! Welcome! Grow and grow, 
 
 ence O Ye Young Flowers of our New 
 
 Humanity ! And ye from whom the 
 
 apple-blooms of the years are falling. 
 
 So 
 
|0! The Hyacinth and the Love of a 
 Pansy live content with Higher 
 the Sunshine, and the Air Love 
 from the Great Oceans, 
 and the Soil, and the falling of Soft 
 Rains. They are happy with small 
 means. The Buttercup and the Daisy 
 of the Meadow seek no luxury. In 
 the apparel of the Asphodel, and the 
 plumage of the Humming Bird, is a 
 Refinement above Fashions. The 
 Fern is joyous in its own Worth. 
 It careth nothing for Appearances. 
 The Jasmine is frank and open, and 
 is one in its innocence with Sages, 
 and the Birds that fly, and with 
 Babes, and the Quiet Stars. Lo! 
 The spirituality of the Lily and the 
 Lotus grows up through the Dark- 
 ness of Sad Experiences. They 
 
 Si 
 
Love of a await unconsciously, and without 
 Higher hurry, the hours of their blossom- 
 Love ings of Love. Lo! Love's fitful 
 
 gleam findeth a voice in the Curlew's 
 cry, and the Lowing Oxen in the 
 Grass, and in the pressing of the red 
 lips of Affection. The poison ivy of 
 the Dishonored Love that twineth 
 about our lives hath its root in a 
 darker law. A False Nirvana 
 comes in its wild, dark embrace. 
 Love is the Wind of the Soul. 
 Albeit every Wind of Love doth not 
 blow from the South ! Dishonorable 
 Love putteth forth her bud of 
 Promise, and lo! it becometh a 
 Blossom of Shame. In the heart of 
 the Wise Man, the Storms of Pas- 
 sion often bend the Oaks of Purpose, 
 so that they take a deeper hold on 
 52 
 
Wisdom. In the Lover's Vision is Love of a 
 
 no Love but hath in it the Wisdom Higher 
 
 of some Sadness ; though the Flesh Love 
 
 seem vanished like a Spirit's dream. 
 
 The Harbor for Love is Wisdom. 
 
 He that farmeth his Soul for Virtue, 
 
 farmeth on the side of the Volcanoes 
 
 of the Darkness of his own Love. 
 
 Though the Wise Man bridleth his 
 
 Love, nevertheless he knoweth that 
 
 dark torrents may run in small 
 
 ravines, though we by no one else but 
 
 God are seen. There is more error 
 
 in Reason than in Love, when all 
 
 thy Reason is but the Darkness of 
 
 Seduction and Ignorance; though I 
 
 stand praying with my lips on thine. 
 
 A false Reason decoyeth a Soul 
 
 from the Truth of its Noblest Love. 
 
 All things have their Season in 
 
 53 
 
Love of a Love. Error and the fruits that 
 Higher ripen on the trees of Folly; and on 
 Love slopes of Danger, where thy perils 
 
 lie. There are Many Rivers of 
 Love in the Soul, and all are navi- 
 gable to the ships of Sorrow. An 
 old False Love shall teach thee a 
 New Despair, and the Wild Beasts 
 of thy Pain shall teach thee much 
 Wisdom. My Love is a Lamp all 
 a-quiver that mingles its Sadness with 
 thine, O Sorrow! To Forgive is to 
 be Royal, and to Forget is to be 
 Contented. O weary and world-worn 
 Soul, wipe for him the blade the As- 
 sassin has plunged into thine own 
 Heart, kiss his cheek and return to 
 him his weapon, with a mute implor- 
 ing grace. 
 
 54 
 
ITH eyes inflamed by The 
 Weeping, I became the Miseri- 
 Bride of Pain. For the cordia 
 Ruin of my Life had 
 Reason went insane. 
 
 come, and 
 When he laughed at my Dishonor as 
 Devotion bowed and prayed; At the 
 Organ of my Soul I knelt to hear 
 my Requiem played. First, Hunger 
 struck the organ chords, and sobbed 
 through all her song; As her sad 
 voice told in throbs of Woe the story 
 of my Wrong. How I wandered 
 through Judea's streets with Madness 
 for a Friend; And Hunger struck the 
 keyboard twice and begged the chant 
 should end! Next, Poverty, half 
 choked with tears, then chanted of my 
 woes; A Life wherein the Thorns 
 
 55 
 
 OF THE 
 
 Magdalen 
 
The had left no place to bloom a Rose. 
 
 Miseri- Among the keys thin fingers strayed, 
 
 cordia her pale cheeks wet with tears; I 
 
 of the heard her Voice of Anguish chant the 
 
 Magdalen Miseries of Years. Next, Fear sat 
 
 down and changed the stops all 
 
 trembling and alone; With glance 
 
 askance she swept the keys in Terror 
 
 at the tone. The chant Fear sang 
 
 was weird with Pain, and Dark with 
 
 Midnight Gloom; Without a Friend 
 
 in all the World I heard my Awful 
 
 Doom. Next, Hope appeared, and 
 
 smiled on me and touched the organ's 
 
 stops; Whilst Cheerfulness picked 
 
 from the floor .the music Hope had 
 
 dropped. Hope bade me look to 
 
 Fairer Days, and as she sang her air; 
 
 My sky of Life grew bright again, 
 
 once clouded with Despair. Next, 
 
 56 
 
Love, celestial singer came and took The 
 the organ seat; And with Him came Miseri- 
 Pure Pity, softly sighing at His feet, cordia 
 Love's Voice grew sad and sweeter, of the 
 till His miracle of Sound; Becalmed Magdalen 
 each pang of Sorrow, and the Sad- 
 ness Sorrow found. As Love sang 
 on with Broken Heart, and told His 
 Life of Tears; And of the Wrecks of 
 Happiness that strew the Shores of 
 Years; Mad Jealousy forgot his Pain, 
 and Anger knew no Spite; For in 
 Love's greater Agony the Darkness 
 saw the Light ! 
 
 57 
 
|HE Wings of Love are Love of 
 ever a-gleam with Thy Soul Love 
 Story of Sorrow. Herald- 
 ing thy glad birth of Ad- 
 vancement. Yea, the glory of thy 
 Love through the Sea-gull's cry of 
 Death and swoop of Years. Love 
 awakeneth Life from her lily-flowered 
 bed as her laughter ripples softly in 
 its flow. Love asserteth a Guardian 
 Angel dwelleth in the Scarlet Mead- 
 ows of the Sky, and where the wild 
 storm-king of thy Love is in air with 
 shaft a-gleam. She whispers of the 
 mist fields of the Sky; and where, in 
 the maiden's cheeks, the Hollyhocks 
 are a-bloom. Truth is the only end 
 of Science; but Love useth her 
 truth for Greater Purposes. Its 
 
 59 
 
Love of fires scorcheth the heart of Love 
 Soul Love with its Pain; and the flame of its 
 Shame. Science interpreteth Mat- 
 ter as the end of Life, flowing all 
 sad as a dream to its sea. But Love 
 hath a secret stair to a Higher Wis- 
 dom. All Death is relative to Life, 
 saith Love, as she shaketh her 
 golden hair; for Glory, Art, and 
 Love hath dark as well as sunny 
 days for hearts estranged by Pain. 
 Thy Soul is a tired bird, and 
 needeth its Sunset of Rest. As a 
 Lark starteth up from the Meadow, 
 and reacheth the gold of the Sun, so 
 thou shalt awake to the Art of thy 
 Life, and soar at thy morning hour. 
 Nevertheless, thy lips must first 
 drink the Wine they drink in Hell ! 
 The tenderness for which you yearn 
 60 
 
shall seem to others but a madness. Love of 
 In Grief, thou shalt shed hot tears and Soul Love 
 turn away! Love heareth the songs 
 of the Roses as they blow. In notes 
 that Mortals never know. In Voices 
 that wander over Life's bleak hill. 
 To the Great a Pure Love is Greater 
 than Honor. If thou shouldst die 
 To-Night, the Errors of thy Love are 
 but the Earthly Vestments of thy 
 Soul, teaching a surer foot-path for 
 thy Love to tread. Love is as a 
 Sacred Fire burning in all things. Its 
 crops of Hope ripen with the Years; 
 though the Heart be travel-worn with 
 Grief. The ashes of Love hath a 
 greater Learning than Learning. 
 The air was bleak, and yet we wan- 
 dered on. The City lights below had 
 joined the stars. Thy darkly splendid 
 
 61 
 
Love of Love shall change its seeming, and 
 Soul Love men will say how can this thing be ? 
 For thy voice shall be choked with 
 sobs; though thou hast climbed the 
 steeps of Love's own sweet romance. 
 The blind profundity of thy Love 
 hath led thee to a faithless depth 
 to teach thee Wisdom. A tragedy 
 and sacrifice of Pain. In Dark- 
 ness lay the hillside like a dream. 
 By Love shall man fall and by Love 
 shall he rise again ! We sought each 
 Shadow where the Fences leaned. 
 Yea, Love shall have dearer Hopes 
 and brighter Days; though I smooth 
 thy hair with- tearful tenderness. 
 Whirlwinds of Intellectual Love 
 draw all things unto them; for all 
 Reason is the Passion of Thought. 
 We held each other's Hands and 
 62 
 
both felt Strong. For every heart Love of 
 hath its June of Love and its bloom- Soul Love 
 ing of Roses! We sat at length 
 where yonder white stones spread. 
 In the Errors of Love are the 
 hidden secrets of Eternal Bliss and 
 Woe. The Pain and the Flowers 
 of Pain. For the winds of Caprice 
 are still blowing the sails of thy Fu- 
 ture to a Loftier Love. The Love 
 that seeth the Purer Light hath a 
 Knowledge deeper than Sages though 
 the Future leave no Gate ajar by 
 which we meet. Say not thy Loftier 
 Love is wild and spendthrift; the 
 heart of the Primrose understandeth 
 thee, and the Rose, and the Violet, 
 and the Nightingale, the bird of God 
 that singeth in the gray woodland. 
 
 6 3 
 
LIMB the Solitary Moun- Love of 
 tain of thy Ideal ! It shall Appre- 
 afford Thee a more Mag- ciation 
 nificent Prospect if Thou 
 wilt forsake the Praise of the Ignor- 
 ant! (Slam thy Door in the faces of 
 Fools and Wise Men shall come and 
 peer in thy Windows. ) Thy passion 
 for the Praise of those who are 
 Higher than thy Neighbors shall be 
 a Power in thy Life to Winnow away 
 the Chaff of thy Ignorance and to 
 force Thee through the raging surf of 
 Fate! Love the praise of the truly 
 Great Man, and the Slopes of the 
 Hills of thy Life shall be covered with 
 Vines of Spiritual Joy. Triumph 
 and Power shall come to Thee though 
 thy Heavens be Rife with Tumult. 
 
 65 
 
Love of Thy running hither and thither for 
 Appre- the Praise of Common Souls shall 
 ciation make thee Common. Thou art strik- 
 ing a Treacherous Shoal. Thy Love 
 for Praise is only of Worth as it shall 
 lead Men to Love Thee for thy 
 Mental Worth, and the Noontide 
 Splendor of thy Thought! Albeit, 
 greater than the Praise of Men is 
 the Love of Men. Those who seek 
 Fame rather than Love, seek much 
 Sorrow, hopelessly battling with 
 Wind and Wave of Opinion. Thy 
 Sun shall Rise to Shine again on 
 some near Shore of Fame; for the 
 Wind of Hope down the River of 
 Life is Fair. Thy Fame is a Tide 
 with an Ebb and a Flow. The 
 Wise Soul expecteth the Hour of 
 the Ebb. Though thy Ship in the 
 66 
 
Bay is ashore the Life Boats are Love of 
 many. Thy Worth is the Volcano Appre- 
 that shall Raise the Mountain of thy ciation 
 Fame. He who toils for the Praise 
 of Fools, toils for the Rainbow. 
 Though the Standards of Praise are 
 more numerous than the Stars never- 
 theless all Men turn their Faces to 
 the Stars. Honor is as Wind, and 
 Men are as Grass, and the Grass 
 waves in the Wind. The Cedar 
 desireth the Good Opinion of the 
 Oak, and saith: "Are Not My 
 Branches Exceeding Beautiful?" 
 Whereupon the Oak replieth: " Thy 
 branches spread Ungainly, O Cedar, 
 and thy R.oots are Gnarled." 
 Wherefore there is Strife among the 
 Trees of the Forest ! A good Opin- 
 ion decideth the Scales of Love; and 
 
 6 7 
 
Love of the Desire of Opinion is the Al- 
 Appre- mighty's way in the Growth of the 
 ciation Minds of Men. The Missel-thrush 
 singeth in the Glade to its Mate, 
 and the Lion sheweth the Lioness 
 his Strength, in the Silence of the 
 Desert ( Lo ! The Bow that is not 
 Bent dischargeth no Arrow, and thy 
 Sensitiveness to Blame hath made 
 thee Excellent in Ancient Strength. 
 Look not on the Wine of the Flat- 
 terer's Praise. Cherish the Judg- 
 ment of the Blunt Man of a tyran- 
 nous freedom. Lo ! The Fool shall 
 praise thee for thy Folly, and the 
 Wise Man shall praise thee for thy 
 Wisdom if thy Heart be true. Bet- 
 ter the Cold North Wind of Satire 
 to Blow away thy Conceit than the 
 Warm South Wind of Affection 
 68 
 
indulging thee in Self-valuations of Love of 
 Narrowness, and the curbless passion Appre- 
 of Pride. When Ignorance crouch- ciation 
 eth on her Nest, verily her Mate 
 singeth to her of the Joys of Folly! 
 Seek thou the Praise of the Purest ; 
 or Rudderless thy Soul shall drift 
 across the Ocean of thy Years. 
 When the Light breaks from the 
 pure Heavens, its Truth deceiveth no 
 Man. Thy Passion to be Worthy 
 of the Just Praise of the Highest 
 Minds is the Eagle of thy Ideal soar- 
 ing in the Sky of its perfection ; for 
 all Praise is relative to the Greatness, 
 Intelligence and Purity of the One 
 Praising Thee. Appreciate the New- 
 Age, for the Sowers of a New Wis- 
 dom are in the Fields. The Oaks 
 wear an over-bold Glory. Behold 
 
 6 9 
 
Love of the Woodland's New Fire of Gold! 
 Appre- The Rain of Science, and a Might- 
 ciation ier Love are Gladdening the Parched 
 Earth! drowsing in Golden Sunlight. 
 Doubt causeth many new Flowers to 
 appear in the Fields of Knowledge, 
 and the Vines of Wisdom are putting 
 forth new grapes. Yea, Doubt slay- 
 eth the Foxes of Jealousy that spoil 
 the Vines of Love. Lo ! Doubt 
 sought Love by Night on her Bed 
 and whispered to Her: Arise, O 
 Love, from thy Couch of Past Ideas? 
 Come away, my Fair One? Lo ! 
 The Winter of the World's Supersti- 
 tion is Past, the Storm is Over and 
 Gone ! And Love gazed into the 
 eyes of Doubt and said : Lo ! I 
 behold that thou art Fair, O Doubt ! 
 I will wander forth with thee to the 
 70 
 
Mountains, until the Day break, and Love of 
 the Shadows flee away. And Love Appre- 
 arose from her Bed and wandered ciation 
 forth with Doubt. And in the Dawn 
 of the New Age they plucked for 
 themselves Lilies that grew in a 
 New Garden of Greater Beauty, and 
 Truth, and Goodness. 
 
 7i 
 
HE Sharpness of Need, is Love of 
 the Test of Friendship ! Friend- 
 In those Darker Hours ship 
 just before the Dawn of 
 thy Success are the Stars of Friend- 
 ship welcome. Not in the Fiercer 
 Splendor of thy Noon of Glory! 
 And though it Wanteth an Hour still 
 of thy Day of Success, nevertheless 
 thy Sun is Rising, and thy Mountain 
 Tops are aglow with Climbing Rays 
 of Light! Can I help Thee when 
 Slander roars like a Cataract about 
 thy Life? When the Shadows of 
 the Night of thy Despair come on? 
 When the Winds of Persecution 
 howl around thy Reputation? Quiv- 
 ering in the Mad Play of their Cruelty 
 with thy Name? When thy Ruin 
 
 73 
 
Love of flows like a Universal Deluge? 
 Friend- And thy Days are full of the Storm 
 ship and Thunder of Disgrace? When 
 thy Heart is a Wave-washed Wreck 
 of Love, and Fate hath hurled Thee 
 deep in the trough of the Wave of 
 Despair? When Poverty shocks 
 Thee with its Eddying Storm? 
 When Life seems but a Foul Wind 
 of Dishonor and Failure? If I can 
 help Thee in these Hours then am I 
 thy Friend ? When all cries from 
 Thee to the Shore are drowned in 
 the roar of the Sea? There is a 
 False Thing that doth Disgrace the 
 name of Friendship. It basketh in 
 the Tamarisk shade of thy Fame ; 
 and leaveth Thee helpless when thy 
 Ship seems doomed. It is the Friend- 
 ship of Serene Days and of Elegant 
 
 74 
 
Leopard Skins, and of a Tiger's Love of 
 Thirst, and of Hours when Thou art Friend- 
 riding high on the crest of Pros- ship 
 perity and the World smiles on Thee. 
 It valueth a House and the Wine 
 Vat as Ideals, and often findeth its 
 Joys in Satyrs, and Bacchantes, and 
 the opaline tremors of Flattery. It 
 quoteth Poetry with a Dainty Lip 
 and Lazily Shepherdeth a Flock of 
 Follies ; yet leaveth Thee in treach- 
 erous Despair when thy Masts go by 
 the Board, and the Sea pours o'er 
 Thee, and all the Wind and Wave 
 of Society are in fierce conflict about 
 thy seemingly Wrecked Prospects. 
 When the Sad River of thy Life 
 wearieth of its Disappointing Flow. 
 When each timber in Thee creak, 
 and thy Cargo seem but Wind and 
 
 75 
 
Love of Water. When the Sailors of thy 
 Friend- Hopes ply their Laboring Oars of 
 ship Effort in Vain. When wild cries of 
 
 Agony burst from thy Stricken Soul, 
 and Reason seems whirled away in 
 the Spray of the Storm. If I will 
 not aid Thee in such an hour how 
 hollow is my Friendship ! O Vigi- 
 lant Mother of Friendship bending 
 in Agony over the Wasted Face of 
 Ambition ! Measure Friendship by 
 its Bravery; for the Coward is a 
 Friend only to Self. O Crimson 
 Roses of Friendship washed to a 
 Dying Whiteness by the Treacheries 
 of Love! The Coward mounteth in 
 Hot Haste the Steed of Distrust 
 when Trouble comes. When 
 Reason seeks for Treasure and 
 findeth none. In the Equality of 
 
 7 6 
 
Mental Power and Ideals is the Love of 
 Strength of Friendship; for those Friend- 
 who Love not thy Ideals, are not in ship 
 Mental Affinity with Thee. All 
 Creation widens when Thou hast 
 found a Friend of Great Knowledge 
 and Love. And yet Thou must 
 possess some Excellence thy Friend 
 hath not. Else by what Magnet of 
 Worth canst Thou attract and hold 
 thy Friend? Thy Social Ambition 
 is but a Vulture preying upon the 
 Heart of Friendship. Seek thy 
 Shelter in some Happier Star. Our 
 Thoughts of Friendship are but 
 Stars ruling the Night of Our 
 Hopes in the jewelled skies of Life. 
 The Soul said, "Let there be 
 Light!" and Lo ! Great Stars of 
 Love appeared in the Firmament 
 
 77 
 
Love of of its Reason. Many are the trees of 
 Friend- Good and Evil in the Orchards of 
 ship Friendship. Habit thyself, though 
 
 with Pain, to rise to the Best 
 Thoughts of thy Friend; for thy 
 Loftier Knowledge is the Proof of 
 thy Fitness to talk with the Gods. 
 Of the Evil fruitage of the Tree of 
 Friendship many are the Eves that 
 Die Enamored. The Wind of thy 
 Friendship, O Woman, is in travail, 
 and it Pipeth Drearily the Song of 
 thy Past Follies. Bridle thy Lower 
 Soul, and a Purer Love shall save 
 Thee from the Stormier Sea of thy 
 Fate. Yea, .the Aerial Caravan of 
 all thy Loftier Thoughts of Friend- 
 ship shall follow Thee Beyond thy 
 last Sunset, Shepherded by the 
 Angels of thy Dying Years. 
 
 7% 
 
Despise not the lowly Origin of thy Love of 
 Wisdom, O Friend! What if the Friend- 
 silky seeds of thy Knowledge, fall- ship 
 ing Wantonly on thy Soul, were 
 blown there by the Strong Winds of 
 Passion ? 
 
 79 
 

 Class 
 
 ftnnk ' 
 
 Copyright!^ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
Library of Congress 
 Branch Bindery, 1903