Imagini ale paginilor
PDF
ePub

But lift the proud mantle which hides from thy view The things thou shouldst gaze on, the sad and true; Nor fear to survey what its folds conceal,

So must thy spirit be taught to feel!

F. Hemans.

CX.

A CONTRAST.

HY love thou sentest oft to me,
And still as oft I thrust it back;
Thy messengers I could not see
In those who every thing did lack,—
The poor, the outcast, and the black.

Pride held his hand before mine eyes,

The world with flattery stuffed mine ears;
I looked to see a monarch's guise,

Nor dreamed thy love would knock for years,
Poor, naked, fettered, full of tears.

Yet, when I sent my love to thee,

Thou with a smile didst take it in,

And entertain’dst it royally,

Though grimed with earth, with hunger thin,
And leprous with the taint of sin.

Now every day thy love I meet,

As o'er the earth it wanders wide,
With weary step and bleeding feet,
Still knocking at the heart of pride
And offering grace, though still denied.

F. R. Lowell.

CXI.

TO A MOUSE.

ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH.

1

¿EE,1 sleekit, cow'rin',3 timorous beastie,*

O, what a panic's in thy breastie !*
Thou need na start awa sa hasty,

Wi' bickerin' brattle !5

I wad be laith to rin7 an' chase thee,

Wi' murderin' pattle.R

I'm truly sorry man's dominion

Has broken Nature's social union,

An' justifies that ill opinion

Which makes thee startle

At me, thy poor earth-born companion,

An' fellow-mortal.

I doubt na, whiles' but thou may thieve;
What then? Poor beastie, thou maun 10 live!
A daimen icker" in a thrave 12

1 Little.

'S a sma'13

I'll get a blessing wi' the lave,14

request:

And never miss't.

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!

Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'! 15

2 Sleek.

4 Diminutives of 'beast' and 'breast.'

5 With scudding fury.

7 Run.

9 Sometimes.

12 A double shock.

3 Cowering.

6 Would (should) be loth. 8 With murderous ploughstaff. 11 An occasional ear of corn. 14 Remainder.

10 Must.

13 Is a small,

15 Its weak walls the winds are strewing.

An' naething, now, to big a new ane,1
O' foggage green!

An' bleak December's win's ensuin',

Baith snell' and keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin' fast,

An' cozie1 here, beneath the blast,

Thou thought to dwell,

Till, crash! the cruel coulter past

Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,"
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,?

To thole the winter's sleety dribble,

An cranreuch cauld!'

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane 10
In proving foresight may be vain :
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men,
Gang aft a-gley,"

An' leave us nought but grief and pain,
For promised joy.

Still thou art blest, compared wi' me!

The present only toucheth thee:

But, och! I backward cast my ee,12

On prospects drear!

[blocks in formation]

CXII.

ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL.

BOU Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,

And saw within the moonlight in his room,

Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold :—
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said,
'What writest thou?'-The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, 'The names of those who love the Lord.'
'And is mine one?' said Abou. Nay, not so,'
Replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, 'I pray thee then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.'

The angel wrote and vanished. The next night

It came again with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

Leigh Hunt.

CXIII.

BERNARDO AND ALPHONSO.

ITH some good ten of his chosen men, Bernardo
hath appeared

Before them all in the Palace hall, the lying
King* to beard;

* The king Alonzo, or Alphonso, of Spain, had promised to Bernardo his father's liberation, but the son received only his father's corpse, which had been arrayed in armour and set on horseback.

With cap in hand and eye on ground, he came in reverend

guise,

But ever and anon he frowned and flame broke from his

eyes.

'A curse upon thee,' cries the King, 'who com'st unbid to

me;

But what from traitor's blood should spring, save traitors like to thee?

His sire, Lords, had a traitor's heart; perchance our Champion brave

May think it were a pious part to share Don Sancho's grave.'

'Whoever told this tale the King hath rashness to repeat,' Cries Bernard, 'Here my gage I fling before THE LIAR'S

feet!

No treason was in Sancho's blood, no stain in mine doth lie

Below the throne what knight will own the coward calumny?

'The blood that I like water shed, when Roland* did advance,

By secret traitors hired and led, to make us slaves of France ;

The life of King Alphonso I saved at Roncesval,

Your words, Lord King, are recompense abundant for

it all.

'Your horse was down-your hope was flown-I saw the faulchion shine,

That soon had drank your royal blood, had I not ventured mine;

* The tradition is, that Roland, or Orlando, the celebrated peer of Charlemagne, fell by the hand of Bernardo in the battle of Roncesvalles.

« ÎnapoiContinuă »