University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
The Christian Scholar

By the Author of "The Cathedral" [i.e. Isaac Williams]

collapse section 
  
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 XIX. 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
 XXII. 
 XXIII. 
 XXIV. 
 XXV. 
 XXVI. 
 XXVII. 
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VI. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 XIX. 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
 XXII. 
 XXIII. 
 XXIV. 
 XXV. 
 XXVI. 
 XXVII. 
 XXVIII. 
 XXIX. 
 XXX. 
 XXXI. 
 XXXII. 
 XXXIII. 
 XXXIV. 
 XXXV. 
collapse section 
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
collapse section 
  
collapse section 
  
collapse section 
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 IV. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
collapse sectionIII. 
  
  
 IV. 
 V. 
collapse sectionVI. 
  
  
  
 VII. 
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
collapse section 
  
  
collapse section 
 I. 
collapse sectionII. 
  
  
collapse sectionIII. 
  
  
  
  
 IV. 
 V. 
V. THE FOUNDLING ON EARTH.
 VI. 
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
collapse section 
  
collapse section 
collapse section 
  
  
collapse section 
collapse sectionI. 
  
  
 II. 
collapse section 
collapse section 
 I. 
  
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
collapse section 
  
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
collapse section 
collapse sectionI. 
  
  
 II. 
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 


197

V. THE FOUNDLING ON EARTH.

[_]

Olymp. Od. vi. 66.

“A silver pitcher laid aloof,
And a zone of purple woof,
'Neath a darkling hawthorn shade
The child of god-like soul was laid;—
inent=1Sent by the God of golden hair
Soft-counselling Eleutho there,
And the sister Fates stood near.
“Iamus thus saw light of birth,
Deserted left on lap of earth,
When by the counsels of the skies
Two dragons came with azure eyes,
And nurtur'd him beneath the trees
With the honey of the bees.
From rocky Pytho then with speed
Came the king on panting steed,
Of the household to enquire
For the child Evadne bore,
Destin'd amid those of yore
To rise a glorious bard, for Phœbus was his sire.
“Five days born he now had been,
Yet they ne'er had heard nor seen:
He within the pathless glade
'Mid the bulrushes was laid,

198

O'er his body, pearly-wet,
Many a glistening violet,
Hanging with the morning dews
In multiplicity of hues.
Therefore his mother gave his name
From violets for endless fame.”

THE FOUNDLING IN HEAVEN.
[_]

On the above.

From man's cradle for his tomb
May we thus a garland borrow,
With its hues of vernal bloom
In these regions of our sorrow,
Lightening up the morning gloom
In that world of the great morrow?
In that morn of Paradise
When the infant soul reposes,
Shrouded 'neath the glittering eyes
Of the violets and roses,
Angel-tended in surprise
Which eternity discloses.
In the shadow of the tomb
When our Mother Earth is leaving,
Shall not angel wings illume
With new lights our fears relieving,
O'er our slumbers in that gloom
Flowery canopies o'er-weaving?

199

In the silence of that morn
Hid from foes, of friends forsaken,
When the infant 'neath the thorn
To its destinies shall waken,
Terrors of the newly born
With divinest love o'ertaken.
When the soul all infant-wise
In that slumberous land rejoices,
And like birds in morning skies
Hears around angelic voices,
Brighter dreams in her arise
Conscious of celestial choices.
He Who watches infants sweet,
All their wants afar descrying,
Shall He not the soul then meet
In that sleep on Him relying,
While with honey at its feet
Serpents, harmless now, are lying?
Gently rest then, child of morning,
'Neath the mystic violets sleeping—
Crystal drops their heads adorning;
Or are these thy mother's weeping?
In that other wondrous dawning
Angels o'er thee watch are keeping.