 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
136
FENELON.
Yet are there, ev'n in thee, polluted church,A worthier chosen few to walk in white,
Some undefiled, whom Grace hath taught to search,
And seen their humble toil, and sent them light;
For, like a meteor dropt upon the night,
Thy faith, good priest, thy pure religion shone
Amid the moral darkness of thine age,
Shedding soft lustre round: nor this alone,
But the sweet pictures of thy graphic page,
Young Telemaque, and that enchanted isle,
The false fair wanton, and mysterious sage,
How well those pleasant tales our care beguile:
Nor only thus; a higher goal is won;
Thou lurest up to virtue with a smile.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |