The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme :: :: University of Virginia Library

“Two hundred years we fared alone.
Two hundred years my heart was stone,
So wicked hard I would not deign
To utter moan, nor even feign
Desire to holpen shipwrecked soul.

But yestereve, outworn with dole,
And yearning once again to walk
About my childhood's home, and talk
With men of hopeful, gladsome heart,
I called my kinsmen here apart,
Bemoaned my sin and prayed for grace
With weeping that from face to face
Ran burning hot and swelled apace
Till even rugged marineers,
Who heard us, melted into tears.

Then once again returned the low
Unearthly sigh of yore-ago,
No longer breathing threat and moan,
But loving sweet in word and tone.
It fell, I thought, from starry choirs,
And yet it frighted not the ear;
It had a sound of golden lyres,
And yet it whispered silver clear;
It seemed to bid me bend the knee,

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And yet it gently breathed to me
This word, as sweet as word can be:

‘To-morrow morning shalt thou find
A work befitting humbled mind;
Have mercy on thy fellow men,
And enter into peace agen.’”