Arquivo de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - www.FilosofiaEsoterica.com

A Day of Sunshine

Coeditor — Fri, 03 Jun 2016 22:14:44 +0000

Looking At Nature and Observing Oneself

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The heart-consciousness in human
beings is linked to the energy of the Sun

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Editorial Note:

No clear borderline divides

philosophical poetry from esoteric

wisdom. In the ancient world, both

Eastern and Western nations used to record

and to memorize religious teachings in the form

of verses. At all times, good philosophical poems

seem to directly speak to one’s higher levels of

consciousness. As to the following poem, it should

be taken into consideration that the whole Nature is

seen as divine, in theosophy as in Baruch Spinoza’s

philosophy and the mysticism of every religion. In

this context, “god” is but the eternal universal law.

“A Day of Sunshine” is reproduced from “The Works

of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow”, The Wordsworth

Poetry Library, U.K., 1994, 886 pp., pp. 319-320.

(Carlos Cardoso Aveline)

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O gift of God! O perfect day:

Whereon shall no man work, but play;

Whereon it is enough for me,

Not to be doing, but to be!

Through every fibre of my brain,

Through every nerve, through every vein,

I feel the electric thrill, the touch

Of life, that seems almost too much.

I hear the wind among the trees

Playing celestial symphonies;

I see the branches downward bent,

Like keys of some great instrument. [1]

And over me unrolls on high

The splendid scenery of the sky,

Where though a sapphire sea the sun

Sails like a golden galleon,

Towards yonder cloud-land in the West,

Towards yonder Islands of the Blest,

Whose steep sierra far uplifts

Its craggy summits white with drifts.

Blow, winds! and waft through all the rooms

The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms!

Blow, winds! and bend within my reach

The fiery blossoms of the peach!

O Life and Love! O happy throng

Of thoughts, whose only speech is song!

O heart of man! canst thou not be

Blithe as the air is, and as free?

NOTE:

[1] Referring to the music of the wind upon reeds, H. P. Blavatsky wrote to a Russian newspaper: “…There are many such natural orchestras in India; they are well known to the Brahmanas who call this wind in the reeds vina-devas (the lute of the Gods).” See “From the Caves and Jungles of Hindustan”, H. P. Blavatsky, TPH, 1975-1983, p. 283. (CCA)

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On the role of the esoteric movement in the ethical awakening of mankind during the 21st century, see the book “The Fire and Light of Theosophical Literature”, by Carlos Cardoso Aveline.

Published in 2013 by The Aquarian Theosophist, the volume has 255 pages and can be obtained through Amazon Books.

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A Psalm of Life

Coeditor — Sat, 20 Aug 2016 02:45:22 +0000

Lives of Great Men Remind Us
That We Can Make Our Lives Sublime

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Time is fleeting, according to Longfellow

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Editorial Note:

Henry Longfellow was born on

February 27, 1807, and lived up to 1882.

While many of his poems have a theosophical

content, the reader must take into consideration

the fact that in theosophy and philosophy the concept

of a monotheistic god does not make sense. The term

is a “misnomer”, according to the Masters of the

Wisdom. The word can be accepted in part if one establishes

that “God” is the totality of Nature, as Baruch Spinoza wrote.

(CCA)

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What the heart of the young man said to the psalmist

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

Life is but an empty dream! –

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act, – act in the living Present!

Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,

Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait.

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On the role of the esoteric movement in the ethical awakening of mankind during the 21st century, see the book “The Fire and Light of Theosophical Literature”, by Carlos Cardoso Aveline.

Published in 2013 by The Aquarian Theosophist, the volume has 255 pages and can be obtained through Amazon Books.

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Christmas Bells

Coeditor — Mon, 28 Nov 2016 12:32:40 +0000

A Poem About Universal Brotherhood

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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The following poem is reproduced

from “The Works of Henry Wadsworth

Longfellow”, The Wordsworth Poetry

Library, U.K., 1994, 886 pp., p. 534.

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I heard the bells on Christmas Day

Their old familiar carols play,

And wild and sweet

The words repeat

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,

The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along

The unbroken song

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way,

The world revolved from night to day,

A voice, a chime

A chant sublime

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black accursed mouth

The cannon thundered in the South,

And with the sound

The carols drowned

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent

The hearth-stones of a continent,

And made forlorn

The households born

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;

“There is no peace on earth,” I said;

“For hate is strong,

And mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

“God is not dead; nor doth he sleep! [1]

The Wrong shall fail,

The Right prevail,

With peace on earth, good-will to men!”

NOTE:

[1] The reader must take into consideration that in esoteric philosophy the word “God” is but a metaphor meaning the universal law and the totality of Nature. The very context and meaning of these final verses confirms that Longfellow uses the concept of God as a synonym to Law.

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On the role of the esoteric movement in the ethical awakening of mankind during the 21st century, see the book “The Fire and Light of Theosophical Literature”, by Carlos Cardoso Aveline.

Published in 2013 by The Aquarian Theosophist, the volume has 255 pages and can be obtained through Amazon Books.

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Prometheus, Or the Poet’s Forethought

Coeditor — Fri, 02 Dec 2016 15:15:18 +0000

A Greek Myth Teaches the Law of Self-Sacrifice

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Prometheus Bound

An Editorial Note:

Noble actions suppose a degree of self-sacrifice. Challenging the routine of established ignorance can be a painful experience, until the good karma is ripe enough to return to its origin.

In her book “The Secret Doctrine”, Helena P. Blavatsky includes a number of references and commentaries to the Greek myth of Prometheus, whose symbolism teaches the courage and determination that are necessary to help mankind.

H.P.B. writes on Prometheus:

“The subject of Aeschylus’ drama (the trilogy is lost) is known to all cultured readers. The demi-god robs the gods (the Elohim) of their secret – the mystery of the creative fire. For this sacrilegious attempt he is struck down by KRONOS [Time] and delivered unto Zeus, the FATHER and creator of a mankind which he would wish to have blind intellectually (…..). Hence Prometheus, ‘the fire and light-giver’, is chained on Mount Caucasus and condemned to suffer torture.” [1]

The very life of H.P. Blavatsky illustrates the myth. In another paragraph, H. P. B. adds:

“Our Saviours, the Agnishwatta and other divine ‘Sons of the Flame of Wisdom’ (personified by the Greeks in Prometheus) may well, in the injustice of the human heart, be left unrecognized and unthanked. They may, in our ignorance of the truth, be indirectly cursed (….)”. [2]

History shows that self-sacrifice is a precondition for anyone who wants to have the privilege of helping others, and Henry Longfellow demonstrates in his poem that there are many who follow the example given in the Greek myth.

“Prometheus, Or the Poet’s Forethought” is reproduced from “The Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow”, The Wordsworth Poetry Library, U.K., 1994, 886 pp., pp. 298-299.

(Carlos Cardoso Aveline)

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Prometheus, Or the Poet’s Forethought

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Of Prometheus, how undaunted

On Olympus’ shining bastions

His audacious foot he planted,

Myths are told and songs are chanted,

Full of promptings and suggestions.

Beautiful is the tradition

Of that flight through heavenly portals,

The old classic superstition

Of the theft and the transmission

Of the fire of the Immortals!

First the deed of noble daring,

Born of heavenward aspiration,

Then the fire with mortals sharing,

Then the vulture, – the despairing

Cry of pain on crags Caucasian.

All is but a symbol painted

Of the Poet, Prophet, Seer;

Only those are crowned and sainted

Who with grief have been acquainted,

Making nations nobler, freer.

In their feverish exultations,

In their triumph and their yearning,

In their passionate pulsations,

In their words among the nations,

The Promethean fire is burning.

Shall it, then, be unavailing,

All this toil for human culture?

Through the cloud-rack, dark and trailing,

Must they see above them sailing

O’er life’s barren crags the vulture?

Such a fate as this was Dante’s,

By defeat and exile maddened;

Thus were Milton and Cervantes,

Nature’s priests and Corybantes,

By affliction touched and saddened.

But the glories so transcendent

That around their memories cluster,

And, on all their steps attendant,

Make their darkened lives resplendent

With such gleams of inward lustre!

All the melodies mysterious,

Through the dreary darkness chanted;

Thoughts in attitudes imperious,

Voices soft, and deep, and serious,

Words that whispered, songs that haunted!

All the soul in rapt suspension,

All the quivering, palpitating

Chords of life in utmost tension,

With the fervor of invention,

With the rapture of creating!

Ah, Prometheus! heaven-scaling!

In such hours of exultation

Even the faintest heart, unquailing,

Might behold the vulture sailing

Round the cloudy crags Caucasian!

Though to all there is not given

Strength for such sublime endeavor,

Thus to scale the walls of heaven,

And to leaven with fiery leaven

All the hearts of men for ever;

Yet all bards, whose hearts unblighted

Honor and believe the presage,

Hold aloft their torches lighted,

Gleaming through the realms benighted,

As they onward bear the message!

NOTES:

[1] “The Secret Doctrine”, Theosophy Co., Vol. II, p. 415.

[2] “The Secret Doctrine”, Vol. II, pp. 411-412.

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In September 2016, after a careful analysis of the state of the esoteric movement worldwide, a group of students decided to form the Independent Lodge of Theosophists, whose priorities include the building of a better future in the different dimensions of life.

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Something Left Undone

Coeditor — Thu, 01 Dec 2016 17:02:54 +0000

Or, On Holding the Sky On One’s Shoulders

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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Editorial Note:

The following poem is

reproduced from “The Works of Henry

Wadsworth Longfellow”, The Wordsworth

Poetry Library, U.K., 1994, 886 pp., p. 320.

From one day to another, as from one lifetime

to the next, there is a sense of incompleteness

about life, and this is why evolution goes on. No

cycle is complete in itself. Every round leaves

things and tasks undone, and errors to be corrected.

(Carlos Cardoso Aveline)

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Labor with what zeal we will,

Something still remains undone,

Something uncompleted still

Waits the rising of the sun.

By the bedside, on the stair,

At the threshold, near the gates,

With its menace or its prayer,

Like a mendicant it waits;

Waits, and will not go away;

Waits, and will not be gainsaid;

By the cares of yesterday

Each to-day is heavier made;

Till at length the burden seems

Greater than our strength can bear,

Heavy as the weight of dreams,

Pressing on us everywhere.

And we stand from day to day,

Like the dwarfs of times gone by,

Who, as Northern legends say,

On their shoulders held the sky.

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Henry W. Longfellow was born on 27 February 1807 and lived until 24 March 1882.

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The Ladder of St. Augustin

Coeditor — Mon, 28 Nov 2016 11:03:05 +0000

The Antahkaranic Ladder to Celestial Consciousness

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Idea of a Ladder to Sky is a Symbol of the Path to Wisdom

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Editorial Note:

Theosophy teaches that each individual has in his

own consciousness a ladder to the celestial or immortal

perception of life. Its technical name is “Antahkarana”.

In the classical theosophical work “Light on the Path”

(Theosophy Company, India, Part I, Rule 20), one can see:

“All steps are necessary to make up the ladder. The

vices of men become steps in the ladder, one by one,

as they are surmounted. The virtues of man are steps

indeed, necessary – not by any means to be dispensed with.”

The following poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

(1807-1882) expresses and expands this central axiom of

the timeless Eastern esoteric tradition. While discussing

the metaphoric Ladder to Wisdom, the poem constitutes

a study in theosophy and alchemy. It is here reproduced

from “The Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow”, The

Wordsworth Poetry Library, U.K., 1994, 886 pp., pp. 299-300.

(Carlos Cardoso Aveline)

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Saint Augustine! well hast thou said,
That of our vices we can frame
A ladder, if we will but tread
Beneath our feet each deed of shame!

All common things, each day’s events,
That with the hour begin and end,
Our pleasures and our discontents,
Are rounds by which we may ascend.

The low desire, the base design,
  That makes another’s virtues less;
The revel of the ruddy wine,
  And all occasions of excess;
The longing for ignoble things;
  The strife for triumph more than truth;
The hardening of the heart, that brings
  Irreverence for the dreams of youth;

All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds,
That have their root in thoughts of ill;
Whatever hinders or impedes
The action of the nobler will;-

All these must first be trampled down
Beneath our feet, if we would gain
In the bright fields of fair renown
The right of eminent domain.

We have not wings, we cannot soar;
But we have feet to scale and climb
By slow degrees, by more and more,
The cloudy summits of our time.

The mighty pyramids of stone
That wedge-like cleave the desert airs,
When nearer seen, and better known,
Are but gigantic flights of stairs.

The distant mountains, that uprear
Their solid bastions to the skies,
Are crossed by pathways, that appear
As we to higher levels rise.

The heights by great men reached and kept
Were not attained by sudden flight,
But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night.

Standing on what too long we bore
With shoulders bent and downcast eyes,
We may discern – unseen before –
A path to higher destinies.

Nor deem the irrevocable Past,
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,
If, rising on its wrecks, at last
To something nobler we attain.

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The Law of Cycles

Coeditor — Wed, 22 Sep 2021 02:17:44 +0000

Nothing That is Shall Perish Utterly,

But Perish Only to Revive Once More

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Nothing that is shall perish utterly,

But perish only to revive again

In other forms, as clouds restore in rain

The exhalations of the land and sea.

Men build their houses from the masonry

Of ruined tombs; the passion and the pain

Of hearts, that long have ceased to beat, remain

To throb in hearts that are, or are to be.

So from old chronicles, where sleep in dust

Names that once filled the world with trumpet tones,

I build this verse; and flowers of song have thrust

Their roots among the loose disjointed stones,

Which to this end I fashion as I must.

Quickened are they that touch the Prophet’s bones.

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The above poem was published in the associated websites on 21 September 2021. It is also part of the November 2019 edition of “The Aquarian Theosophist”, page 07. In both cases it is reproduced from “The Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow”, The Wordsworth Poetry Library, UK, 1994, 886 pp., see p. 786. Its verses open the larger poem entitled “Michael Angelo”. We have add the title.

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Helena Blavatsky (photo) wrote these words: “Deserve, then desire”.

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The Light of Stars

Coeditor — Mon, 05 Dec 2016 14:28:17 +0000

A Philosophical Psalm to Planet Mars

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

In the above image, Mars is the smaller light, and Venus the brighter one

The night is come, but not too soon;

And sinking silently,

All silently, the little moon

Drops down behind the sky.

There is no light in earth or heaven

But the cold light of stars;

And the first watch of night is given

To the red planet Mars.

Is it the tender star of love?

The star of love and dreams?

Oh, no! from that blue tent above

A hero’s armor gleams.

And earnest thoughts within me rise,

When I behold afar,

Suspended in the evening skies,

The shield of that red star.

O star of strength! I see thee stand

And smile upon my pain;

Thou beckonest with thou mailed hand,

And I am strong again.

Within my breast there is no light

But the cold light of stars;

I give the first watch of the night

To the red planet Mars.

The star of unconquered will,

He rises in my breast,

Serene, and resolute, and still,

And calm, and self-possessed.

And thou, too, whosoever thou art,

That readest this brief psalm,

As one by one thy hopes depart,

Be resolute and calm.

Oh, fear not in a world like this,

And thou shalt know erelong,

Know how sublime a thing it is

To suffer and be strong.

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The above poem, “The Light of Stars”, is reproduced from the book “Favorite Poems”, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Dover-Thrift-Editions, Dover Publications, Inc., N.Y., USA, 1992, 85 pp., see pp. 4-5.

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The Occultation of Orion

Coeditor — Thu, 01 Dec 2016 17:24:54 +0000

A Pythagorean Poem

Announces the New Era of Peace

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Orion the Hunter, in one of the many possible drawings of him

Editorial Note:

“The Occultation of Orion” starts with a description of the Pythagorean Music of the Spheres, and concludes with an angel, or divine intelligence, proclaiming the end of the reign of violence on Earth.

Longfellow writes this opening note to the poem:

“Astronomically speaking, the title is incorrect, as I apply to a constellation what can be properly applied to some of its stars only. But my observation is made from the hill of song, and not from that of science, and will, I trust, be found sufficiently accurate for the present purpose.”

In Greek Mythology, Orion was the son of Neptune. His father gave him the power of wading through the depths of sea, and he was a mighty hunter, as Bulfinch says. [1]

Orion loved Merope, the daughter of Oenopion, who didn’t like the idea and deprived Orion of his sight. Later on, thanks to the help from Vulcan, Orion was given his sight back by the Sun.

Bulfinch adds:

“After this he dwelt as a hunter with Diana, with whom he was a favourite, and it is even said that she was about to marry him. Her brother was highly displeased and often chid her, but to no purpose. One day, observing Orion wading through the sea with his head just above the water, Apollo pointed it out to his sister and maintained that she could not hit that black thing on the sea. The archer-goddess discharged a shaft with fatal aim. The waves rolled the dead body of Orion to the land, and bewailing her fatal error with many tears, Diana placed him among the stars, where he appears as a giant, with a girdle, sword, lion’s skin, and club. Sirius, his dog, follows him, and the Pleiades fly before him.”

In Theosophy, the Pleiades are seen as a source of guidance and inspiration for mankind.

The poem is reproduced from “The Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow”, The Wordsworth Poetry Library, U.K., 1994, 886 pp., pp. 127-128.

(Carlos Cardoso Aveline)

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The Occultation of Orion

I saw, as in a dream sublime,
The balance in the hand of Time.
O’er East and West its beam impended;
And day, with all its hours of light,
Was slowly sinking out of sight,
While, opposite, the scale of night
Silently with the stars ascended.

Like the astrologers of eld,
In that bright vision I beheld
Greater and deeper mysteries.
I saw, with its celestial keys,
Its chords of air, its frets of fire,
The Samian’s great Aeolian lyre,
Rising through all its sevenfold bars,
From earth unto the fixed stars.
And through the dewy atmosphere,
Not only could I see, but hear,
Its wondrous and harmonious strings,
In sweet vibration, sphere by sphere,
From Dian’s circle light and near,
Onward to vaster and wider rings,
Where, chanting through his beard of snows,
Majestic, mournful, Saturn goes,
And down the sunless realms of space
Reverberates the thunder of his bass.

Beneath the sky’s triumphal arch
This music sounded like a march,
And with its chorus seemed to be
Preluding some great tragedy.
Sirius was rising in the east;
And, slow ascending one by one,
The kindling constellations shone.

Begirt with many a blazing star,
Stood the great giant Algebar,
Orion, hunter of the beast!
His sword hung gleaming by his side,
And, on his arm, the lion’s hide
Scattered across the midnight air
The golden radiance of its hair.

The moon was pallid, but not faint;
And beautiful as some fair saint,
Serenely moving on her way
In hours of trial and dismay.
As if she heard the voice of God,
Unharmed with naked feet she trod
Upon the hot and burning stars,
As on the glowing coals and bars,
That were to prove her strength, and try
Her holiness and her purity.

Thus moving on, with silent pace,
And triumph in her sweet, pale face,
She reached the station of Orion.
Aghast he stood in strange alarm!
And suddenly from his outstretched arm
Down fell the red skin of the lion
Into the river at his feet.
His mighty club no longer beat
The forehead of the bull; but he
Reeled as of yore beside the sea,
When, blinded by Oenopion,
He sought the blacksmith at his forge,
And, climbing up the mountain gorge,
Fixed his blank eyes upon the sun.

Then, through the silence overhead,
An angel with a trumpet said,
“Forevermore, forevermore,
The reign of violence is o’er!”
And, like an instrument that flings
Its music on another’s strings,
The trumpet of the angel cast
Upon the heavenly lyre its blast,
And on from sphere to sphere the words
Re-echoed down the burning chords,-
“Forevermore, forevermore,
The reign of violence is o’er!”

NOTE:

[1] See “Greek and Roman Mythology”, Thomas Bulfinch, Dover Publications, N.Y., 2000, pp. 165-166.

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Two Philosophical Poems

Coeditor — Tue, 29 Nov 2016 13:44:04 +0000

On the Art of Living a Peaceful Life

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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Editorial Note:

There is a mantramic effect in good

poetry, and this expands the potential

importance of philosophical poems for

those who search for universal wisdom.

The following poems are reproduced

from “The Works of Henry Wadsworth

Longfellow”, The Wordsworth Poetry

Library, U.K., 1994, 886 pp., pp. 782-783.

“Loss and Gain” is published along with other

“Personal Poems”. “A Quiet Life” is a translation

from the French, with no indication as to its author.

Both poems transmit Stoic lessons on how to live.

(Carlos Cardoso Aveline)

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1. Loss and Gain

When I compare

What I have lost with what I have gained,

What I have missed with what attained,

Little room do I find for pride.

I am aware

How many days have been idly spent;

How like an arrow the good intent

Has fallen short or been turned aside.

But who shall dare

To measure loss and gain in this wise?

Defeat may be victory in disguise;

The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.

2. A Quiet Life

Let him who will, by force or fraud innate,

Of courtly grandeurs gain the slippery height;

I, leaving not the home of my delight,

Far from the world and noise will meditate.

Then, without pomps or perils of the great,

I shall behold the day succeed the night;

Behold the alternate seasons take their flight,

And in serene repose old age await.

And so, whenever Death shall come to close

The happy moments that my days compose,

I, full of years, shall die, obscure, alone!

How wretched is the man, with honors crowned,

Who, having not the one thing needful found,

Dies, known to all, but to himself unknown.

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