This is he, who, felled by foes,
Sprung harmless up, refreshed by blows
He to captivity was sold,
But him no prison-bars would hold:
Though they sealed him in a rock,
Mountain chains he can unlock:
Thrown to lions for their meat,
The crouching lion kissed his feet:
Bound to the stake, no flames appalled,
But arched o’er him an honouring vault.
This is he men miscall Fate,
Threading dark ways, arriving late,
But ever coming in time to crown
The truth, and hurl wrong-doers down.
He is the oldest, and best known,
More near than aught thou call’st thy own,
Yet, greeted in another’s eyes,
Disconcerts with glad surprise.
This is Jove, who, deaf to prayers,
Floods with blessings unawares.
Draw, if thou canst, the mystic line
Severing rightly his from thine,
Which is human, which divine.
Back to Ralph Waldo Emerson
To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.
Comments1Just finished taking in Ralph Waldo Emerson's thought provoking words. His use of metaphors are quite intriguing and his perspective on fate certainly give one some food for thought. But who exactly is he referring to when he speaks of Jove? Is this another term for God or someone else entirely? Anyone have any insights?