 | THE ANTIDOTE. Water-drops |  |
THE ANTIDOTE.
10. THE ANTIDOTE.
Man press'd a cluster in his cup,
The grape, with ruby glow,—
How high its sparkling foam leaped up!
But ruin lurked below.
A direr draught a demon gave,
With fiercer venom fired,—
The tempted drank the burning wave,
Till reason's light expired
The weeping skies a crystal shed,
As pity's tears distil;
It mantled at the fountain's head
And in the gushing rill:
It bore a spell to heal his wound,
His fever-thirst to calm,—
And lured him with a silver sound
To taste its trickling balm.
In trembling penitence he bowed,
He laved the leprous stain,—
And those pure tear-drops from the cloud
Restored his health again.
The grape, with ruby glow,—
How high its sparkling foam leaped up!
But ruin lurked below.
A direr draught a demon gave,
With fiercer venom fired,—
The tempted drank the burning wave,
Till reason's light expired
The weeping skies a crystal shed,
As pity's tears distil;
It mantled at the fountain's head
And in the gushing rill:
It bore a spell to heal his wound,
His fever-thirst to calm,—
And lured him with a silver sound
To taste its trickling balm.
In trembling penitence he bowed,
He laved the leprous stain,—
And those pure tear-drops from the cloud
Restored his health again.
| THE ANTIDOTE. Water-drops | |