Puslapio vaizdai
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A river crossed the path; the passage o'er
Was nice to find; the servant trod before;
Long arms of oaks an open bridge supplied,
And deep the waves beneath the bending glide.
The youth, who seemed to watch time to sin,
Approached the careless guide, and thrust him in;
Plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head,
Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead.

Wild, sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes,
He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries,
"Detested wretch!"--but scarce his speech began,
When the strange partner seemed no longer man :
His youthful face grew more serenely sweet;
His robe turned white, and flowed upon his feet;
Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair;
Celestial odours breathe through purpled air;
And wings, whose colours glittered on the day,
Wide at his back their gradual plumes display,
The form ethereal bursts upon his sight,
And moves in all the majesty of light.

Though loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew,
Sudden he gazed, and wist not what to do;
Surprise in secret chains his words suspends,
And in a calm his settling temper ends.
But silence here the beauteous angel broke,
(The voice of music ravished as he spoke.)

"Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown, In sweet memorial rise before the throne:

These charms, success in our bright region find,
And force an angel down, to calm thy mind;
For this, commissioned, I forsook the sky,
Nay, cease to kneel-thy fellow servant I.

"Then know the truth of government divine,
And let these scruples be no longer thine.

"The Maker justly claims that world he made,
In this the right of Providence is laid;
Its sacred majesty through all depends
On using second means to work his ends:
'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye,
The power exerts his attributes on high,
Your actions uses, nor controls your will,
And bids the doubting sons of men be still.

"What strange events can strike with more surprise
Than those which lately struck thy wondering eyes?
Yet taught by these, confess th' Almighty just,
And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust!

"The great, vain man, who fared on costly food,
Whose life was too luxurious to be good;
Who made his ivory stands with goblets shine,
And forced his guests to morning draughts of wine,
Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost,
And still he welcomes, but with less of cost.

"The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted door Ne'er moved in duty to the wandering poor;

With him I left the cup, to teach his mind
That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind.
Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl,
And feels compassion touch his grateful soul.
Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead,
With heaping coals of fire upon its head;
In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow,
And loose from dross, the silver runs below.

"Long had our pious friend in virtue trod, But now the child half-weaned his heart from God; (Child of his age,) for him he lived in pain, And measured back his steps to earth again. To what excesses had his dotage run? But God, to save the father, took the son. To all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go, (And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow.) The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust, Now owns in tears the punishment was just.

"But how had all his fortune felt a wrack,
Had that false servant sped in safety back!
This night his treasured heaps he meant to steal,
And what a fund of charity would fail!

"Thus Heaven instructs thy mind: this trial o'er, Depart in peace, resign and sin no more.”

On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew,
The sage stood wondering as the seraph flew.

Thus looked Elisha, when, to mount on high,
His master took the chariot of the sky;
The fiery pomp ascending left the view;
The prophet gazed, and wish'd to follow too.

The bending hermit here a prayer begun,
"Lord! as in heaven, on earth thy will be done!"
Then gladly turning, sought his ancient place,
And passed a life of piety and peace.

CXXI

THE BLIND BOY.

O say what is that thing called Light,
Which I must ne'er enjoy ;
What are the blessings of the sight,
O tell your poor blind boy!

You talk of wondrous things you see,
You say the sun shines bright;
I feel him warm, but how can he
Or make it day or night?

My day or night myself I make
Whene'er I sleep or play;
And could I ever keep awake

With me 'twere always day.

PARNELL.

With heavy sighs I often hear
You mourn my helpless woe;
But sure with patience I can bear
A loss I ne'er can know.

Then let not what I cannot have

My cheer of mind destroy, Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,

Although a poor blind boy.

COLLEY CIBBER.

CXXII

THE CHILD'S FIRST GRIEF.

"Oh, call my brother back to me !
I cannot play alone;

The summer comes with flower and bee-
Where is my brother gone?

"The butterfly is glancing bright

Across the sunbeam's track;

I care not now to chase its flight—
Oh, call my brother back!

"The flowers run wild-the flowers we sowed

Around our garden tree;

Our vine is drooping with its load—

Oh, call him back to me!"

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