Oliver Newman A New-England Tale (Unfinished): With Other Poetical Remains. By the late Robert Southey |
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| MISCELLANEOUS
POETICAL REMAINS. |
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 | Oliver Newman |  |
91
MISCELLANEOUS POETICAL REMAINS.
93
FRAGMENTARY THOUGHTS OCCASIONED BY HIS SON'S DEATH.
Thy life was a day, and sum it well, life is but a week of such days,—with how much storm, and cold, and darkness! Thine was a sweet spring holy-day,—a vernal Sabbath, all sunshine, hope, and promise.
and that nameIn sacred silence buried, which was still
At morn and eve the never-wearying theme
Of dear discourse.
playful thoughts
Turn'd now to gall and esel.
94
Life's wholesome wormwood, fears no bitterness when
From th' hand of Death he drinks the Amreeta cup.
Beauties of Nature,—the passion of my youth,
Nursed up and ripen'd to a settled love,
Whereto my heart is wedded.
Feeling at Westminster, when summer evening sent a sadness to my heart, and I sate pining for green fields, and banks of flowers, and running streams,—or dreaming of Avon and her rocks and woods.
No more great attempts, only a few autumnal flowers, like second primroses, &c.
They who look for me in our Father's kingdomWill look for Him also; inseparably
Shall we be so remember'd.
The Grave the house of Hope:
It is the haven whither we are bound
On the rough sea of life, and thence she lands
In her own country, on the immortal shore.
95
Pain and Infirmity—appointed guests,
My heart is ready.
My soul
Needed perhaps a longer discipline,
Or sorer penance, here.
A respite something like repose is gain'd
While I invoke them, and the troubled tide
Of feeling, for a while allay'd, obeys
A tranquillising influence, that might seem
By some benign intelligence dispensed,
Who lends an ear to man.
While I invoke them, and the troubled tide
Of feeling, for a while allay'd, obeys
A tranquillising influence, that might seem
By some benign intelligence dispensed,
Who lends an ear to man.
They are not, though,
Mere unrealities: rather, I ween,
The ancient Poets, in the graceful garb
Of fiction, have transmitted earliest truths,
Ill understood; adorning, as they deem'd,
With mythic tales things erringly received,
And mingling with primeval verities
Their own devices vain. For what to us
Scripture assures, by searching proof confirm'd,
And inward certainty of sober Faith,
Tradition unto them deliver'd down
Changed and corrupted in the course of time,
And haply also by delusive art
Of Evil Powers. —
Mere unrealities: rather, I ween,
The ancient Poets, in the graceful garb
Of fiction, have transmitted earliest truths,
Ill understood; adorning, as they deem'd,
With mythic tales things erringly received,
And mingling with primeval verities
Their own devices vain. For what to us
Scripture assures, by searching proof confirm'd,
And inward certainty of sober Faith,
Tradition unto them deliver'd down
Changed and corrupted in the course of time,
And haply also by delusive art
Of Evil Powers. —
Letter to Mr. W. Taylor, March, 1817. “I have begun a desultory poem in blank verse, pitched in a higher key than Cowper's, and in a wiser strain of philosophy than Young's; but as yet I have not recovered heart enough to proceed with it; nor is it likely that it will be published during my life.”
96
SHORT PASSAGES OF SCRIPTURE,
RHYTHMICALLY ARRANGED OR PARAPHRASED.
Jerem. vi. 4.
Woe unto us!For the day goeth down,
For the shadows of evening
Are lengthen'd out.
Jer. ix. 23–4.
Let not the wise man glory in his wisdom,Let not the rich man glory in his riches,
Let not the mighty glory in his might,
But in only this let him that glorieth, glory,
That he knoweth the Lord, the Lord of infinite mercy,
Who exerciseth on the earth
His loving-kindness and his righteousness.
97
Jer. xiii. 16.
Give glory to the Lord your God!Lest, while ye look for light,
He bring the darkness on,
And the feet that advanced
With haughty step,
Marching astray in their pride,
Stumble and fail
In the shadow of death.
Jer. xlvii. 6, 7.
Sword of the Lord! how longEre thou be quiet? O thou sword, how long?
Put up thyself
Into thy scabbard,
Rest and be still.
Jer. xlix. 7.
From the prudent hath counsel departed?Is wisdom no more in the land?
Hath it utterly perish'd?
Is it vanish'd and gone?
Jer. l. 25.
... the LordOpen'd his armoury, and brought forth
The weapons of his wrath.
98
Jer. l. 15.
Ye nations, shout against her round about;Take vengeance upon her.
It is the vengeance of the Lord,
As she hath done, do unto her.
Luke, iii. 5.
When every valley shall be filled,And every mountain be brought low;
The crooked be made straight,
The rough ways smooth.
Lamentations, iii. 44.
The LordCover'd himself with a cloud,
That the prayer should not pass through.
Hosea, x. 12, 13.
Break up your fallow-ground,Sow to yourselves in righteousness, and reap
In mercy; it is time to seek the Lord.
Ye have plough'd wickedness, and ye have reap'd
Iniquity: the fruit of lies hath been
Your harvest and your food.
99
Daniel, ix. 7, 8, 9. 18.
To Thee belongeth righteousness, O Lord!Confusion and shame to us;
To our kings and our princes,
Our priests and our rulers,
Ourselves and our children,
Because we have sinned against Thee.
[But mercies and forgivenesses belong]
But mercies and forgivenesses belongTo Thee, O Lord our God,
Rebellious though we be.
[Incline thine ear, and hear]
Incline thine ear, and hear;Open thine eyes, and pitifully see
Our sins, our miseries,
The impending punishment,
Too long, too much deserved.
Amos, v. 8.
Who calleth for the waters of the sea,And poureth them in seasonable rain
Upon the face of earth.
100
Nahum, i. 3–8.
The Lord hath his way in the whirlwind,The Lord hath his way in the storm,
The clouds are the dust of his feet,
And darkness shall pursue his enemies.
Nahum, iii. 15. 17.
There shall the fire devour thee,The sword shall cut thee off.
Make thyself many as the canker-worm,
As the locusts make thyself many.
Thou hast multiplied thy merchants
Above the stars of heaven!
But the canker-worm spoileth,
Then fleeth away,
And his place is not found.
1 Kings, viii. 23. 27. 30.
Lord God of Israel!There is no God like Thee,
In heaven above, or on the earth beneath,
Who keepest covenant
And mercy with thy servants, when with all
Their heart they walk before Thee.
101
[.... will God indeed]
.... will God indeedDwell on the earth? Behold, the heaven, and heaven
Of heavens, cannot contain Thee; how much less
This house that man hath builded!
[.... hear Thou in heaven, thy dwelling-place]
.... hear Thou in heaven, thy dwelling-place;And when Thou hearest, O Lord God, forgive!
Isaiah, xxv. 1. 4. 7.
Thy counsels, Lord, of old,Are faithfulness and truth.
[A strength to the weak hast thou been]
A strength to the weak hast thou been,A help to the poor in his need,
A refuge from the storm,
A shadow from the heat.
[The covering that is cast]
The covering that is castOver all people shall be then removed,
And the veil that is spread
Over all nations be taken away.
102
Isaiah, xxvi. 3. 5. 8.
Thou wilt keep him in perfect peaceWhose mind is stay'd on Thee.
[He bringeth down them that dwell on high]
He bringeth down them that dwell on high;The lofty city He layeth it low,
He layeth it low to the ground,
He bringeth it down to the dust:
The foot shall tread it down,
The feet of the poor and the needy.
[In the way of thy judgments]
In the way of thy judgments,O Lord, have we waited for Thee.
Isaiah, xxviii. 15. 17. 18.
They have made lies their refuge,And under falsehood have they hid themselves;
Their covenant is with death, with hell
The agreement wherein they trust.
O fools! O miserables!
The covenant shall be annull'd,
The agreement shall not stand.
By the storm shall their refuge be swept away,
Their hiding-place
By the flood be overflown.
103
Isaiah. xxviii. 16.
In Zion the foundation hath been laid,A precious corner-stone, a sure foundation.
Isaiah, xxxi. 3.
When the Lord shall put forth his anger,Then both he that helpeth shall fall, and he that is holpen.
Isaiah, lvii. 1.
The righteous perisheth,And none layeth it to heart!
The merciful man
Is taken away
From the evil to come.
Ezekiel, vii. 5, 6, 7. 12.
An evil, an only evil,Behold, is come! an end
Is come,—the end is come!
It watcheth for thee, behold it is come.
The time of trouble is near,
The morning is gone forth;
Behold the day is come.
Let not the buyer rejoice,
Nor let the seller mourn,
For wrath, the wrath of God,
Is upon all the multitudes thereof.
104
Ezekiel, xxii. 7, 8. 14.
In thee have they set lightBy venerable age,
By natural piety.
In thee God's holy things have they despised,
God's sabbaths have profaned.
Oh can thine heart endure,
Or can thine hand be strong,
When God shall deal with thee?
105
LITTLE BOOK, IN GREEN AND GOLD.
Little Book, in green and gold,
Thou art thus bedight to hold
Robert Southey's Album Rhymes,
Wrung from him in busy times:
Not a few to his vexation,
By importune application;
Some in half-sarcastic strain,
More against than with the grain;
Other some, he must confess,
Bubbles blown in idleness;
Some in earnest, some in jest,
Good for little at the best:
Yet, because his Daughter dear
Would collect them fondly here,
Little Book, in gold and green,
Thou art not unfitly seen
Thus apparell'd for her pleasure,
Like the casket of a treasure.
Other owner, well I know,
Never more can prize thee so.
Thou art thus bedight to hold
Robert Southey's Album Rhymes,
Wrung from him in busy times:
Not a few to his vexation,
By importune application;
Some in half-sarcastic strain,
More against than with the grain;
Other some, he must confess,
Bubbles blown in idleness;
Some in earnest, some in jest,
Good for little at the best:
Yet, because his Daughter dear
Would collect them fondly here,
Little Book, in gold and green,
Thou art not unfitly seen
Thus apparell'd for her pleasure,
Like the casket of a treasure.
Other owner, well I know,
Never more can prize thee so.
Little Book, when thou art old,
Time will dim thy green and gold.
Little Book, thou wilt outlive
The pleasure thou wert made to give:
Dear domestic recollections,
Home-born loves, and old affections,
Incommunicable they:
And when these have past away,
As perforce they must, from earth,
Where is then thy former worth?
Other value, then, I ween,
Little Book, may supervene,
Happily if unto some
Thou in due descent shouldst come,
Who would something find in thee
Like a relic's sanctity,
And in whom thou may'st awake,
For thy former owner's sake,
A pious thought, a natural sigh,
A feeling of mortality.
Time will dim thy green and gold.
Little Book, thou wilt outlive
The pleasure thou wert made to give:
106
Home-born loves, and old affections,
Incommunicable they:
And when these have past away,
As perforce they must, from earth,
Where is then thy former worth?
Other value, then, I ween,
Little Book, may supervene,
Happily if unto some
Thou in due descent shouldst come,
Who would something find in thee
Like a relic's sanctity,
And in whom thou may'st awake,
For thy former owner's sake,
A pious thought, a natural sigh,
A feeling of mortality.
When those feelings, and that race,
Have in course of time given place,
Little worth, and little prized,
Disregarded or despised,
Thou wilt then be bought and sold,
In thy faded green and gold.
Then, unless some curious eye
Thee upon the shelf should spy,
Dust will gather on thee there,
And the worms, that never spare,
Feed their fill within, and hide,
Burrowing safely in thy side,
Till transfigured out they come
From that emblem of the tomb:
Or, by mould and damp consumed,
Thou to perish may'st be doom'd.
Have in course of time given place,
Little worth, and little prized,
Disregarded or despised,
Thou wilt then be bought and sold,
In thy faded green and gold.
Then, unless some curious eye
Thee upon the shelf should spy,
Dust will gather on thee there,
And the worms, that never spare,
Feed their fill within, and hide,
Burrowing safely in thy side,
Till transfigured out they come
From that emblem of the tomb:
107
Thou to perish may'st be doom'd.
But if some collector find thee,
He will, as a prize, re-bind thee;
And thou may'st again be seen
Gayly drest in gold and green.
He will, as a prize, re-bind thee;
And thou may'st again be seen
Gayly drest in gold and green.
9th September, 1831.
108
LINES WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF ROTHA Q.
Rotha, after long delays,
Since thy book must cross the Raise,
Down I sit to turn a stave,
Be it gay or be it grave.
Since thy book must cross the Raise,
Down I sit to turn a stave,
Be it gay or be it grave.
Wiser wish than what thy name
Prompts for thee I cannot frame;
No where find a better theme
Than thy native namesake stream.
Lovelier river is there none
Underneath an English sun;
From its source it issues bright
Upon hoar Hellvellyn's height,
Flowing where its summer voice
Makes the mountain herds rejoice;
Down the dale it issues then;
Not polluted there by men;
While its lucid waters take
Their pastoral course from lake to lake,
Please the eye in every part,
Lull the ear, and soothe the heart,
Till into Windermere sedate
They flow and uncontaminate.
Rotha, such from youth to age
Be thy mortal pilgrimage;
Thus in childhood blithe and free,
Thus in thy maturity,
Blest and blessing, may it be;
And a course, in welfare past,
Thus serenely close at last.
Prompts for thee I cannot frame;
No where find a better theme
Than thy native namesake stream.
Lovelier river is there none
Underneath an English sun;
From its source it issues bright
Upon hoar Hellvellyn's height,
Flowing where its summer voice
Makes the mountain herds rejoice;
Down the dale it issues then;
Not polluted there by men;
While its lucid waters take
Their pastoral course from lake to lake,
Please the eye in every part,
Lull the ear, and soothe the heart,
Till into Windermere sedate
They flow and uncontaminate.
109
Be thy mortal pilgrimage;
Thus in childhood blithe and free,
Thus in thy maturity,
Blest and blessing, may it be;
And a course, in welfare past,
Thus serenely close at last.
110
IMAGINATION AND REALITY.
The hill was in the sunshine gay and green,The vale below could not be seen;
A cloud hung over it,
A thin white cloud, that scarce was seen to fly,
So slowly did it flit;
Yet cloud methinks I err in calling it,
It spread so evenly along the sky.
It gave the hills beyond a hue
So beautiful and blue,
That I stood loitering for the view:
Loitering and musing thoughtfully stood I,
For well those hills I knew,
And many a time had travell'd them all o'er;
Yet now such change the hazy air had wrought,
That I could well have thought
I never had beheld the scene before.
But while I gazed the cloud was passing by;
On the slow air it slowly travell'd on,
Eftsoon and that deceitful haze was gone,
Which had beguiled me with its mockery;
And all things seem'd again the things they were.
Alas! but then they were not half so fair
As I had shaped them in the hazy air!
111
MADRIGAL,
TRANSLATED FROM LUIS MARTIN.
On the green margin of the land,Where Guadalhorce winds his way,
My Lady lay.
With golden key Sleep's gentle hand
Had closed her eyes so bright,
Her eyes—two suns of light,
And bade his balmy dews
Her rosy cheeks suffuse.
The River God in slumber saw her laid
He raised his dripping head
With weeds o'erspread,
Clad in his watery robes approach'd the maid,
And with cold kiss, like Death,
Drank the rich perfume of the maiden's breath.
The maiden felt that icy kiss;
Her suns unclosed, their flame
Full and unclouded on the intruder came.
112
His frothy body melt,
And heard the radiance on his bosom hiss;
And, forced in blind confusion to retire,
Leapt in the water to escape the fire.
February, 1799.
113
MOHAMMED;
A FRAGMENT, WRITTEN IN 1799.
Cloak'd in the garment of green, who lies on the bed of Mohammed,Restless and full of fear, yet semblant of one that is sleeping?
Every sound of the feet at his door he hears, and the breathing
Low of inaudible words: he knows their meaning of murder,
Knows what manner of men await his outgoing, and listens
All their tread, and their whisp'ring, till even the play of his pulses
Disturbs him, so deep his attention. The men of the Koreish
Fix on the green-robed youth their eyes; impatiently watchful
Wait they the steps of his rising, the coming of him whom they hated.
He rises and makes himself pure, and turning towards the Caaba,
Loud he repeats his prayer; they hear, and, in eagerness trembling,
Grasp the hilts of their swords—their swords that are sworn to the slaughter.
But when the youth went forth, they saw, and, behold! it was Ali!
Steady the hero's face: it was pale, for his life was a blessing;
It was calm, for in death he look'd on to the crown of the martyr.
Dark as they were of soul, and goaded by rage disappointed,
They shed not the blood of the youth, but remember'd their chieftain his father,
Abu Taleb the good, and respected the virtue of friendship.
Baffled, and full of wrath, through Mecca they scatter the tidings:
“He has fled, has discover'd our plans, has eluded our vengeance.
114
“Now to the chase, to the chase; seize now the bow and the quiver;
“Now with the sword and the spear, ye stubborn of Mecca! pursue him;
“Seek him now to the north and the south, to the sunset and sunrise;
“Follow, follow the chosen one's flight!” They rush from the city:
Over the plain they pursue him, pursue him with cries and with curses—
Sounds that rung over the plain, and rung in the echoing mountains;
And Mecca received in her streets the din of their clamorous uproar.
But the voice of the Moslem, the silent prayer of the faithful,
Rose to the throne of God; and tears of the heart overflowing
Interceded for him whom they loved and believed his apostle.
“Where is the blasphemous fled?—the lying disturber of Mecca?
“Has he journey'd to Tayef? Under the shield of his uncle
“Lurks he for safety there?—or to Yathreb, the credulous city?
“Or seeks he the Ethiop's court, where the earlier runaways shelter?”
Lashing their steeds, they pursue; to the east and the dwelling of Abbas
Hasten the thirsty for blood; to the north they hurry, to Yathreb;
Some to the shore of the sea, lest haply a bark might await him,
And the waves should become his protectors; impetuously rushing,
Drive they in fury along; beneath the hoofs of their horses
Sparkles the rock of the valley, and rises the dust of the desert.
“Has he journey'd to Tayef? Under the shield of his uncle
“Lurks he for safety there?—or to Yathreb, the credulous city?
“Or seeks he the Ethiop's court, where the earlier runaways shelter?”
Lashing their steeds, they pursue; to the east and the dwelling of Abbas
Hasten the thirsty for blood; to the north they hurry, to Yathreb;
Some to the shore of the sea, lest haply a bark might await him,
And the waves should become his protectors; impetuously rushing,
Drive they in fury along; beneath the hoofs of their horses
Sparkles the rock of the valley, and rises the dust of the desert.
Others the while, more cool in wrath, and thoughtful in fury,
Over the town search sedulous: they in the Hashemites' dwellings
Seek for the man proscribed; in the dwellings of Hamza and Omar,
Ali, Abubeker, and Saad, and Abu Obeidah;
All whom the Prophet loved, who believed in the son of Abdallah.
Every house they search in the populous city, whose threshold
Ever his feet had trod; thus vainly through Mecca they seek him
Then, unassuaged of hate, of rancour and wrath unabated,
They to the mountains turn, to seek in their dens and retirings
If from the death he lurks: they enter the cavern of Hira,
Place of his fasting and prayer; the cavern of Hira is lonely.
Not in the depth of the cave, and not in the mountain retirings,
Not in their hollows and glens, can they track the steps of his going.
So through the day they sought; and still, when the sun was descending,
They were among the hills: then faint, disappointed, and weary,
Turning their faces homeward, they journey'd slowly and sullen
Down their rough mountain path; but often paused, and around them
Linger'd with prowling eyes: a little wide of their pathway,
Thus as they paused, they saw in the side of the stony mountain
A cave-mouth, narrow and high: the hill had the hue of the evening
Rich on its rugged sides, and the chasm was distinct in its blackness.
Thither turning, they sped; and one who forewent his companions
Came to the cavern's mouth: disturb'd by the noise of his footsteps,
From her nest, in the side of the chasm, a pigeon affrighted
Fled. The advancing pursuers heard the whirr of her pinions,
And he who was first exclaim'd, “There is none in the hole of the mountain;
“For lo! a pigeon fled from her nest at the sound of my coming,
“And the spider hath spread his network over the entrance.”
Then from the cave he turn'd.
Over the town search sedulous: they in the Hashemites' dwellings
Seek for the man proscribed; in the dwellings of Hamza and Omar,
Ali, Abubeker, and Saad, and Abu Obeidah;
All whom the Prophet loved, who believed in the son of Abdallah.
Every house they search in the populous city, whose threshold
Ever his feet had trod; thus vainly through Mecca they seek him
Then, unassuaged of hate, of rancour and wrath unabated,
They to the mountains turn, to seek in their dens and retirings
115
Place of his fasting and prayer; the cavern of Hira is lonely.
Not in the depth of the cave, and not in the mountain retirings,
Not in their hollows and glens, can they track the steps of his going.
So through the day they sought; and still, when the sun was descending,
They were among the hills: then faint, disappointed, and weary,
Turning their faces homeward, they journey'd slowly and sullen
Down their rough mountain path; but often paused, and around them
Linger'd with prowling eyes: a little wide of their pathway,
Thus as they paused, they saw in the side of the stony mountain
A cave-mouth, narrow and high: the hill had the hue of the evening
Rich on its rugged sides, and the chasm was distinct in its blackness.
Thither turning, they sped; and one who forewent his companions
Came to the cavern's mouth: disturb'd by the noise of his footsteps,
From her nest, in the side of the chasm, a pigeon affrighted
Fled. The advancing pursuers heard the whirr of her pinions,
And he who was first exclaim'd, “There is none in the hole of the mountain;
“For lo! a pigeon fled from her nest at the sound of my coming,
“And the spider hath spread his network over the entrance.”
Then from the cave he turn'd.
Was thy spirit shaken, Mohammed,
When in the depth of the rock thou heardest the voice of the Koreish?
He who was with thee trembled; the sweat on his forehead was chilly,
And his eyes in alarm were turn'd towards thee in the darkness.
Silent they sat in the rock; nor moved they, nor breathed they; but listen'd
Long to the tread of the feet, that, fainter and fainter sounding,
Died in the distance now: yet still they were silent, and listen'd.
Abubeker first, as his fear gave faith to the echo,
Fresh in his sense alarm'd—“Hark! hark! I hear them returning
“They are many, and we but two!” he whisper'd, in terror.
“There is a third!” aloud replied the son of Abdallah—
“God!”
When in the depth of the rock thou heardest the voice of the Koreish?
He who was with thee trembled; the sweat on his forehead was chilly,
And his eyes in alarm were turn'd towards thee in the darkness.
Silent they sat in the rock; nor moved they, nor breathed they; but listen'd
Long to the tread of the feet, that, fainter and fainter sounding,
Died in the distance now: yet still they were silent, and listen'd.
Abubeker first, as his fear gave faith to the echo,
Fresh in his sense alarm'd—“Hark! hark! I hear them returning
“They are many, and we but two!” he whisper'd, in terror.
“There is a third!” aloud replied the son of Abdallah—
“God!”
116
So the night came on, and they in the place of their refuge
Silently sat. And now in hope they listen'd, awaiting
Sound of approaching feet—of trusted friend or disciple,
Bringing them food and tidings, now that the darkness had settled.
Slow past the expectant hours: nearer the mouth of the cavern
Eagerly now they drew. The sound of the wind that was passing
Took from their hope its tone; and now in its distant murmurs
They heard the tread of feet; and now despairingly argued
Danger was yet abroad, and none could venture towards them.
Midnight came; and a step was heard—distinctly they heard it:
Heavier it comes,—and now in the rock—and a voice—it is Ali.
He in the cave laid down the water-skin that he carried,
And the figs wrapt under his robe: then told he his tidings.
Low was his voice, for he spake in fear: “The peril is pressing,
“Prophet of God, I saw thy foes return in the twilight:
“Sullen they came from their toil, and talk'd of the search on the morrow.
“The Idolaters joy in thy flight, and grieve at thy safety:
“God shall remember their joy, and that grief, in the day of his judgment.
“They shall feel in their evil load! A price is appointed
“His who shall shed thy blood: but keep thou close in the mountain;
“God will confound their plots.”
Silently sat. And now in hope they listen'd, awaiting
Sound of approaching feet—of trusted friend or disciple,
Bringing them food and tidings, now that the darkness had settled.
Slow past the expectant hours: nearer the mouth of the cavern
Eagerly now they drew. The sound of the wind that was passing
Took from their hope its tone; and now in its distant murmurs
They heard the tread of feet; and now despairingly argued
Danger was yet abroad, and none could venture towards them.
Midnight came; and a step was heard—distinctly they heard it:
Heavier it comes,—and now in the rock—and a voice—it is Ali.
He in the cave laid down the water-skin that he carried,
And the figs wrapt under his robe: then told he his tidings.
Low was his voice, for he spake in fear: “The peril is pressing,
“Prophet of God, I saw thy foes return in the twilight:
“Sullen they came from their toil, and talk'd of the search on the morrow.
“The Idolaters joy in thy flight, and grieve at thy safety:
“God shall remember their joy, and that grief, in the day of his judgment.
“They shall feel in their evil load! A price is appointed
“His who shall shed thy blood: but keep thou close in the mountain;
“God will confound their plots.”
He paused; so suddenly checking
Words on their way, as one who tells but half of his errand,
Loath to utter the worse remainder, that yet must be utter'd.
Sure if Mohammed had seen his eye, he had read in its trouble
Tidings of evil to come. At length to the son of Abdallah,
Telling his tale of woe, spake Ali the first of believers:
“Prophet, there is grief in thy dwelling: Cadijah in sickness
“Lies on her bed of pain: for death she is stricken, I fear me.’
Mohammed heard; and he bow'd his head, and groan'd for his exile.
Words on their way, as one who tells but half of his errand,
Loath to utter the worse remainder, that yet must be utter'd.
Sure if Mohammed had seen his eye, he had read in its trouble
Tidings of evil to come. At length to the son of Abdallah,
Telling his tale of woe, spake Ali the first of believers:
“Prophet, there is grief in thy dwelling: Cadijah in sickness
“Lies on her bed of pain: for death she is stricken, I fear me.’
Mohammed heard; and he bow'd his head, and groan'd for his exile.
THE END.
| Oliver Newman | |