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Literary
March 28, 1810
The Rhode Island Republican
Newport, Newport County, Rhode Island
What is this article about?
In this poem, a speaker questions why marital joys turn to pain and, through a visionary journey to an Indian grove, hears a priest explain that souls meant to be paired get separated during incarnation, leading to unhappy, mismatched unions in Europe.
Clipping
OCR Quality
95%
Excellent
Full Text
Poetry.
[SELECTED.]
THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHER.
Why could our joys transform to pain?
Why gentle Hymen's silken chain,
A plague of iron prove?
Being 'tis strange, the charm which binds
Millions of hands, should leave their minds,
At such a loss from love.
And viewing o'er the wide fields of nature's laws,
Distraught I sought the wondrous cause.
And in the schools in vain,
Then deeply thought, within my breast,
My soul retired, and slumber dressed
A bright instructive scene.
O'er the broad lands, and cross the tide,
On fancy's airy horse I ride,
(Sweet rapture of the mind!)
Till on the banks of Ganges' flood,
In an ancient grove I stood
For sacred use designed.
Hard by, a venerable priest,
Worshipping with his God, the Sun, from rest,
Awoke his morning song!
Thrice he conjured the murmuring stream;
The birth of souls was all his theme,
And half divine his tongue.
He sang the Eternal rolling flame
That vital mass, which still the same,
Does all our minds compose;
But shaped in twice ten thousand frames,
Thence differing souls of differing names
And jarring tempers rose.
The mighty power which formed the mind,
One mould for every two designed,
And blessed the new-born pair;
Their match a match for that—(he said)
Then down he sent the souls he made
To seek them bodies here.
By parting from their warm abode,
They lost their fellow on the road,
And never joined their hands,
Ah! cruel chance, and crossing fates).
Our Eastern souls have dropped their mates
On Europe's barbarous lands,
Happy the youth who finds the Bride
Whose birth is to his own allied,
But, O, the crowds of wretched souls
The sweetest joys of life.
Fettered to minds of different moulds,
And chained to eternal strife!
Thus sang the wondrous Indian bard
My soul with vast attention heard
While murmurs ceased to flow.
Sure, then, (I cried) might I but see
What gentle nymph is destined with me,
I may be happy too.
What distant lands this unknown fair
Some courteous angel, tell me where
Or distant may she roam)
Swift as the wheel of nature rolls
To meet me, kindred souls,
And wear the joyful chain.
[SELECTED.]
THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHER.
Why could our joys transform to pain?
Why gentle Hymen's silken chain,
A plague of iron prove?
Being 'tis strange, the charm which binds
Millions of hands, should leave their minds,
At such a loss from love.
And viewing o'er the wide fields of nature's laws,
Distraught I sought the wondrous cause.
And in the schools in vain,
Then deeply thought, within my breast,
My soul retired, and slumber dressed
A bright instructive scene.
O'er the broad lands, and cross the tide,
On fancy's airy horse I ride,
(Sweet rapture of the mind!)
Till on the banks of Ganges' flood,
In an ancient grove I stood
For sacred use designed.
Hard by, a venerable priest,
Worshipping with his God, the Sun, from rest,
Awoke his morning song!
Thrice he conjured the murmuring stream;
The birth of souls was all his theme,
And half divine his tongue.
He sang the Eternal rolling flame
That vital mass, which still the same,
Does all our minds compose;
But shaped in twice ten thousand frames,
Thence differing souls of differing names
And jarring tempers rose.
The mighty power which formed the mind,
One mould for every two designed,
And blessed the new-born pair;
Their match a match for that—(he said)
Then down he sent the souls he made
To seek them bodies here.
By parting from their warm abode,
They lost their fellow on the road,
And never joined their hands,
Ah! cruel chance, and crossing fates).
Our Eastern souls have dropped their mates
On Europe's barbarous lands,
Happy the youth who finds the Bride
Whose birth is to his own allied,
But, O, the crowds of wretched souls
The sweetest joys of life.
Fettered to minds of different moulds,
And chained to eternal strife!
Thus sang the wondrous Indian bard
My soul with vast attention heard
While murmurs ceased to flow.
Sure, then, (I cried) might I but see
What gentle nymph is destined with me,
I may be happy too.
What distant lands this unknown fair
Some courteous angel, tell me where
Or distant may she roam)
Swift as the wheel of nature rolls
To meet me, kindred souls,
And wear the joyful chain.
What sub-type of article is it?
Poem
Vision Or Dream
What themes does it cover?
Love Romance
Religious
What keywords are associated?
Indian Philosopher
Mismatched Souls
Marriage Pain
Soul Pairs
Eastern Wisdom
Literary Details
Title
The Indian Philosopher.
Key Lines
Why Could Our Joys Transform To Pain?
Why Gentle Hymen's Silken Chain,
A Plague Of Iron Prove?
He Sang The Eternal Rolling Flame
That Vital Mass, Which Still The Same,
Does All Our Minds Compose;
By Parting From Their Warm Abode,
They Lost Their Fellow On The Road,
And Never Joined Their Hands,
Our Eastern Souls Have Dropped Their Mates
On Europe's Barbarous Lands,