est Orare._ In a thousand senses, from one end of it
to the other, true Work is Worship. He that works, whatsoever be
his work, he bodies forth the form of Things Unseen; a small
Poet every Worker is. The idea, were it but of his poor Delf
Platter, how much more of his Epic Poem, is as yet 'seen,'
halfseen, only by himself; to all others it is a thing unseen,
impossible; to Nature herself it is a thing unseen, a thing
which never hitherto was;--very 'impossible,' for it is as yet a
No-thing! The Unseen Powers had need to watch over such a man;
he works in and for the Unseen. Alas, if he look to the Seen
Powers only, he may as well quit the business; his No-thing will
never rightly issue as a Thing, but as a Deceptivity, a Sham-
thing,--which it had better not do!

Thy No-thing of an Intended Poem, O Poet who hast looked merely
to reviewers, copyrights, booksellers, popularities, behold it
has not yet become a Thing; for the truth is not in it! Though
printed, hot-pressed, reviewed, celebrated, sold to the twentieth
edition: what is all that? The Thing, in philosophical
uncommercial language, is still a No-thing, mostly semblance, and
deception of the sight;--benign Oblivion incessantly gnawing at
it, impatient till chaos to which it belongs do reabsorb it!--

He who takes not counsel of the Unseen and Silent, from him will
never come real visibility and speech. Thou must descend to the
_Mothers,_ to the _Manes,_ and Hercules-like long suffer and
labour there, wouldst thou emerge with victory into the sunlight.
As in battle and the shock of war,--for is not this a battle?--
thou too shalt fear no pain or death, shalt love no ease or life;
the voice of festive Lubberlands, the noise of greedy Acheron
shall alike lie silent under thy victorious feet. Thy work, like
Dante's, shall 'make thee lean for many years.' The world and
its wages, its criticisms, counsels, helps, impediments, shall be
as a waste ocean-flood; the chaos through which thou art to swim
and sail. Not the waste waves and their weedy gulf-streams,
shalt thou take for guidance: thy star alone,--'Se to segui tua
stella!' Thy star alone, now clear-beaming over Chaos, nay now
by fits gone out, disastrously eclipsed: this only shalt thou
strive to follow. O, it is a business, as I fancy, that of
weltering your way through Chaos and the murk of Hell! Green-
eyed dragons watching you, three-headed Cerberuses,--not without
sympathy of the