 | Poems by Hartley Coleridge |  |
351
II. IN CONTINUATION.
What if the angry God hath made thy armDread as the thunderbolt or solid fire,
Or pest obedient to his vengeful ire,
Think'st thou thy oath was like a wizard's charm,
Or hadst thou need, with proffer'd blood, to farm
Jehovah's might? It proves thy faith unsure,
Thy creed idolatrous, thy heart impure;
Thy god a greedy trafficker in harm,
Not Israel's hope. But she, thy daughter, mild,
Whose eager love and over-hasty greeting,
Has made thee murderer of thy blameless child,
Loves not the less for that unhappy greeting;—
Guiltless she dies, to save thee from the guilt
Which must be thine, though her pure blood be spilt.
| Poems by Hartley Coleridge | |