You are not gone being gone， where'er you arr，
You leave in him your watchful eyes， in him your loving heart。
In the noon and the afternoon of life we still throb at the recollection of days when happiness was not happy enough， but must be drugged with the relish of pain and fear；for he touched the secret of the mat-ter， who said of love，“All other pleasures are not worth its pains”；and when the day was not long enough， but the night， too， must be con-sumed in keen recollections；when the head boiled all night on the pillow with the generous deed it resolved on；when the moonlight was a pleasing fever， and the stars were letters， and the flowers ciphers， and the air was coined into song；when all business seemed an impertinence， and all the men and women running to and fro in the streets， mere pictures。
The passion rebuilds the world for the youth。 It makes all things alive and significant。Nature grows conscious。Every bird on the boughs of the tree sings now to his heart and soul。The notes are almost articulate。The clouds have faces as he looks on them。The trees of the forest， the waving grass， and the peeping flowers have grown intelligent；and he al-most fears to trust them with the secret which they seem to invite。Yet nature soothes and sympathizes。In the green solitude he finds adearer home than with men。
Fountain-heads and pathless groves，
Places which pale passion loves，
Moonlight walks， when all the fowls
Are safely housed， save bats and owls，
A midnight bell， a passing groan，
-These are the sounds we feed upon。”
Behold there in the wood the fine madman！He is a palace of sweet sounds and sights；he dilates；he is twice a man；he walks with arms akimbo；he soliloquizes；he accosts the grass and the trees；he feels the blood of the violet， the clover， and the lily in his veins；and he talks with the brook that wets his foot。
The heats that have opened his perceptions of natural beauty have made him love music and verse。 It is a fact often observed， that men have written good verses under the inspiration of passion， who cannot write well under any other circumstances。
The like force has the passion over all his nature。 It expands the sentiment；it makes the clown gentle， and gives the coward heart。Into the most pitiful and abject it will infuse a heart and courage to defy the world， so only it have the countenance of the beloved object。In giving him to another， it still more gives him to himself。He is a new man， with new perceptions， new and keener purposes， and a religious solemnity of character and aims。He does not longer appertain to his family and soci-ety；he is somewhat；he is a person；he is a soul。
And here let us examine a little nearer the nature of that influence which is thus potent over the human youth。 Beauty， whose revelation to man we now celebrate， wele as the sun wherever it pleases to shine， which pleases everybody with it and with themselves， seems sufficient to it-self。The lover cannot paint his maiden to his fancy poor and solitary。Like a tree in flower， so much soft， budding， informing love-liness is soci-ety for itself， and she teaches his eye why Beauty was pictured withLoves and Graces attending her steps。Her existence makes the world rich。Though she extrudes all other persons from his attention as cheap and unworthy， she indemnifies him by carrying out her own being into somewhat impersonal， large， mundane， so that the maiden stands to him for a representative of all select things and virtues。For that reason， the lover never sees personal resemblances in his mistress to her kindred or to oth-ers。His friends find in her a likeness to her mother， or her sisters， or to persons not of her blood。The lover sees no resemblance except to summer evenings and diamond mornings， to rainbows and the song of birds。
The ancients called beauty the flowering of virtue。 Who can analyze the nameless charm which glances from one and another face and form？We are touched with emotions of tenderness and placency， but we cannot find whereat this dainty emotion， this wandering gleam， points。It is de-stroyed for the imagination by any attempt to refer it to organization。Nor does it point to any relations of friendship or love known and described in society， but， as it seems to me， to a quite other and unattainable sphere， to relations of transcendent delicacy and sweetness， to what roses and violets hint and fore-show。We cannot approach beauty。Its nature is like opaline doves'-neck lustres， hovering and evanescent。Herein it resembles the most excellent things， which all have this rainbow character， defying all attempts at appropriation and use。What else did Jean Paul Richter sig-nify
when he said to music，“Away！away！you speak to me of things which in all my endless life I have not found， and shall not find。”The same fluency may be observed in every work of the plastic arts。The statue is then beautiful when it begins to be inprehensible， when it is passing out of criticism， and can no longer be defined by pass and measuring-wand， but demands an active imagination to go with it， and to say what it is in the act of doing。The god or hero of the sculptor is always represented in a transition from that which is representable to the senses， to that which is not。Then first it ceases to be a stone。The same remark holds of painting。And of poetry， the success is not at-tained when it lulls and satisfies， but when it astonishes and fires us with new endeavours after the unattainable。Concerning it， Landor inquires“whether it is not to be referred to some purer state of sensation and existence。”
In like manner， personal beauty is then first charming and itself， when it dissatisfies us with anyend；when it bees a story without an end；when it suggests gleams and visions， and not earthly satisfactions；when it makes the beholder feel his unworthiness；when he cannot feel his right to it， though he were Caesar；he cannot feel more right to it than to the firmament and the splendors of a sunset。
Hence arose the saying，“If I love you， what is that to you？”We say so， because we feel that what we love is not in your will， but a-bove it。 It is not you， but your radiance。It is that which you know not in yourself， and can never know。
This agrees well with that high philosophy of Beauty which the ancient writers delighted in；for they said that the soul of man， embodied here on earth， went roaming up and down in quest of that other world of its own， out of which it came into this， but was soon stupefied by the light of the natural sun， and unable to see any other objects than those of this world， which are but shadows of real things。 Therefore， the Dei-ty sends the glory of youth before the soul， that it may avail itself of beautiful bodies as aids to its recollection of the celestial good and fair；and the man beholding such a person in the female sex runs to her， and finds the highest joy in contemplating the form， movement， and intelligence of this person， because it suggests to him the presence of that which indeed is within the beauty， and the cause of the beauty。
If， however， from too much conversing with material objects， the soul was gross， and misplaced its satisfaction in the body， it reaped nothing but sorrow；body being unable to fulfil the promise which beauty holds out；but if， accepting the hint of these visions and suggestions which beauty makes to his mind， the soul passes through the body， and falls to admire strokes of character， and the lovers contemplate one another in their dis-courses and their actions， then they pass to the true palace of beauty， more and more inflame their love of it， and by this love extinguishing the base affection， as the sun puts out the fire by shining on the hearth， they bee pure and hallowed。 By conversation with that which is in it-self excellent， magnanimous， lowly， and just， the lover es to a warmer love of these nobilities， and a quicker apprehension of them。Then he passes from loving them in one to loving them in all， and so is the one beautiful soul only the door through which he enters to the society of all true and pure souls。