In darkening, quivering tints, as stunning sound
Dies throbbing, ringing in the ear.
And blackest darkness. With intensest awe
The soldier's frame was filled; and many a thought
Of strange foreboding hurried through his mind,
As underneath he felt the fevered earth
Jarring and lifting—and the massive walls
Heard harshly grate and strain: yet knew he not,
While evils undefined and yet to come
Glanced through his thoughts, what deep and cureless wound
Fate had already given. Where, man of woe!
Where, wretched father! is thy boy? Thou callest
His name in vain :-he cannot answer thee.
Loudly the father called upon his child :No voice replied. Trembling and anxiously
He searched their couch of straw: with headlong haste
Trod round his stinted limits, and, low bent,
Groped darkling on the earth :-no child was there.
Again he called:-again at farthest stretch
Of his accursed fetters-till the blood
Seemed bursting from his ears, and from his eyes
Fire flashed-he strained with arm extended far,
And fingers widely spread, greedy to touch
Though but his idol's garment. Useless toil,
Yet still renewed:-still round and round he goes,
And strains and snatches-and with dreadful cries
Calls on his boy. Mad frenzy fires him now;
He plants against the wall his feet;-his chain
Grasps;-tugs with giant strength, to force away
The deep-driven staple ;-yells and shrieks with rage.
And, like a desert lion in the snare,
Raging to break his toils-to and fro bounds.
But see! the ground is opening;—a blue light
Mounts, gently waving - noiseless :—thin and cold
It seems, and like a rainbow tint, not flame;
But by its lustre, on the earth outstretched,
Behold the lifeless child!—his dress is singed,
And over his serene face a dark line
Points out the lightning's track.
And all his fury fled :—a dead calm fell
That instant on him :-speechless fixed hestood,
And with a look that never wandered, gazed
Those laughing eyes
Were not yet closed-and round those pouting lips
The wonted smile returned,
The father stands :-no tear is in his eye :—
The thunders bellow-but he hears them not :-
The ground lifts like a sea-he knows it not :-
The strong walls grind and gape :-the vaulted roof
Takes shapes like bubble tossing in the wind:-
See! he looks up and smiles ;-for death to him
Is happiness. Yet could one last embrace
Be given, 'twere still a sweeter thing to die.
It will be given. Look! how the rolling ground,
At every swell, nearer and still more near
Moves towards the father's outstretched arm his boy:-
Once he has touched his garment ;-how his eye
Lightens with love-and hope-and anxious fears!
Ha! See! he has him now!-he clasps him round-
Kisses his face ;-puts back the curling locks
That shaded his fine brow :-looks in his eyes-
Grasps in his own those little dimpled hands-
Then folds him to his breast, as he was wont
To lie when sleeping-and resigned awaits
Undreaded death.
And death came soon and swift,
The huge pile sunk down at once
Into the opening earth. Walls-arches-roof—
And deep foundation-stones-all mingling fell?
"ROOM for the leper! room!"—And as he came, The cry passed on—“ Room for the leper! room!" Sunrise was slanting on the city gates
Rosy and beautiful; and from the hills
The early-risen poor were coming in,
Duly and cheerfully, to their toil; and up
Rose the sharp hammer's clink, and the far hum
Of moving wheels, and multitudes astir,
And all that in a city murmur swells.
Room for the leper!" and aside they stood,
Matron, and child, and pitiless manhood-all
Who met him on the way-and let him pass.
And onward through the open gate he came,
A leper, with the ashes on his brow,
Sack-cloth about his loins, and on his lip
A covering, stepping painfully and slow,
And with a difficult utterance, like one
Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down,
Crying, "Unclean! unclean!"
When at the altar of the temple stood
The holy priest of God. The incense-lamp
Burned with a struggling light, and a low chaunt
Swelled thro' the hollow arches of the roof
Like an articulate wail; and there alone,
To ghastly thinness shrunk, the leper knelt
The echoes of the melancholy strain
Died in the distant aisles; and he rose up,
Struggling with weakness, and bowed down his head
Unto the sprinkled ashes, and put off
His costly raiment for the leper's garb,
Then, with his sack-cloth round him, and his lips
Hid in a loathsome covering, stood still
"Depart! depart, O child
"Of Israel from the temple of thy God!
'For He hath smote thee with His chastening rod, And to the desert wild,
"From all thou lov'st, away thy feet must flee,
'That from thy plague His people may be free."
And he went forth-alone; not one of all
The many whom he loved, nor she whose name
Was woven in the fibres of his heart,
Breaking within him now, to come and speak
Comfort unto him-yea, he went his way,
Sick and heart-broken, and alone.
The leper knelt beside a stagnant pool
In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow,
Hot with the burning leprosy, and touched
The loathsome water to his fevered lips,
Praying that he might be so blessed to die!
Footsteps approached, and, with no strength to flee,
He drew the covering closer to his lip,
Crying, "Unclean! unclean!" and, in the folds
Of the coarse sack-cloth, shrouding up his face,
He fell upon the earth till they should pass.
Nearer the stranger came, and bending o'er
The prostrate form, pronounced the leper's name ;
The voice was music, and disease's pulse
Beat for a moment with restoring thrill:
and stood;
The stranger gazed awhile,
As if his heart were moved, then stooping down,
He took a little water in his palm,
And laid it on his brow, and said, "Be clean !”
And lo! the scales fell from him, and his blood
Coursed with delicious coolness through the veins ;
His palms grew moist, the leprosy was cleansed
He fell and worshipped at the feet of Jesus.
THE PARTING OF HECTOR AND
ANDROMACHE.
Too daring prince, ah, whither dost thou run ?
Ah, too forgetful of thy wife and son !
And think'st thou not how wretched we shall be,
A widow I, a helpless orphan he!
For sure such courage length of life denies,
And thou must fall, thy virtue's sacrifice.
Greece in her single heroes strove in vain;
Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain.
O grant me, gods, ere Hector meets his doom,
All I can ask of Heaven, an early tomb!
So shall my days in one sad tenor run,
And end with sorrows, as they first begun.
No parent now remains, my griefs to share,
No father's aid, no mother's tender care.
The fierce Achilles wrapped our walls in fire,
Laid Thebè waste, and slew my warlike sire!
His fate compassion in the victor bred;
Stern as he was, he yet revered the dead;
His radiant arms preserved from hostile spoil,
And laid him decent on the funeral pile :
Then raised a mountain where his bones were burned:
The mountain nymphs the rural tomb adorned:
Jove's sylvan daughters bade their elms bestow
A barren shade, and in his honour grow.
By the same arm my seven brave brothers fell;
In one sad day beheld the gates of hell :
While the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed,
Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled!
My mother lived to bear the victor's bands,
The queen of Hippoplacia's sylvan lands;
Redeemed too late, she scarce beheld again
Her pleasing empire and her native plain,
When ah! oppressed by life-consuming woe,
She fell a victim to Diana's bow.
Yet while my Hector still survives, I see
My father, mother, brethren, all, in thee:
Alas! my parents, brothers, kindred, all,
Once more will perish, if my Hector fall.
Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share :
O prove a husband's and a father's care!
That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy,
Where yon wild fig-trees join the wall of Troy :
Thou from this tower defend the important post,
There Agamemnon points his dreadful host;
That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain,
And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train.
Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given,
Or led by hopes, or dictated from heaven:
Let others in the field their arms employ,
But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy.
The chief replied: That post shall be my care;
Not that alone, but all the works of war.
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