What is Beauty? That which
we see not. What is Heroism? That which we are not. It is in vain to hang out
flags on a day of rejoicing — fresh bunting, bright and whole; better
the soiled and torn remnant which has been borne in the wars.
We have considered a fair specimen of an Englishman in the sixteenth century;
but it behoves us to be fairer specimens of American men in the nineteenth.
The gods have given man no constant gift, but the power and liberty to act
greatly. How many wait for health and warm weather to be heroic and noble! We
are apt to think there is a kind of virtue which need not be heroic and
brave — but in fact virtue is the deed of the bravest; and only the
hardy souls venture upon it, for it deals in what we have no experience, and
alone does the rude pioneer work of the world. In winter is its campaign, and
it never goes into quarters.
“Sit not down,” said
Sir Thomas Browne,
“in the popular seats and common level of virtues, but endeavor
to make them heroical. Offer not only peace-offerings, but holocausts, unto
God.”
In our lonely chambers at night we are thrilled by some far-off serenade
within the mind, and seem to hear the clarion sound and clang of corselet and
buckler from many a silent hamlet of the soul, though actually it may be but
the rattling of some farmer’s wagon rolling to market against the
morrow.
