And chaining the rapt soul in breathless awe, He bows to bind you drooping to his breast, Inhales your spirit from the frost-winged gale, And freer dreams of heaven.
A Child's first Impression of a Star.-N. P. WILLIS
SHE had been told that God made all the stars That twinkled up in heaven, and now she stood Watching the coming of the twilight on, As if it were a new and perfect world, And this were its first eve. How beautiful Must be the work of Nature to a child In its first fresh impression! Laura stood By the low window, with the silken lash Of her soft eye upraised, and her sweet mouth Half parted with the new and strange delight Of beauty that she could not comprehend, And had not seen before. The purple folds Of the low sunset clouds, and the blue sky That looked so still and delicate above, Filled her young heart with gladness, and the eve Stole on with its deep shadows, and she still Stood looking at the west with that half smile, As if a pleasant thought were at her heart. Presently, in the edge of the last tint Of sunset, where the blue was melted in To the faint golden mellowness, a star Stood suddenly. A laugh of wild delight Burst from her lips, and, putting up her hands, Her simple thought broke forth expressively- "Father, dear father, God has made a star!"
"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, Unheard but by the watcher's weary ear, Aching with night's dull silence, or the sick Hailing the welcome light, and sounds that chase The death-like images of the dark away.
"Room for the leper!" And aside they stood, Matron, and child, and pitiless manhood-all Who met him on his way-and let him pass. And onward through the open gate he came, A leper with the ashes on his brow, Sackcloth 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!"
Of the Judean summer, and the leaves, Whose shadows lay so still upon his path, Had budded on the clear and flashing eye Of Judah's loftiest noble. He was young, And eminently beautiful, and life Mantled in eloquent fulness on his lip, And sparkled in his glance; and in his mien There was a gracious pride that every eye Followed with benisons-and this was he! With the soft airs of summer there had come A torpor on his frame, which not the speed Of his best barb, nor music, nor the blast Of the bold huntsman's horn, nor aught that stirs The spirit to its bent, might drive away. The blood beat not as wont within his veins; Diness crept o'er his eye; a drowsy sloth Fettered his limbs like palsy, and his port, With all its loftiness, seemed struck with eld. Even his voice was changed-a languid moan Taking the place of the clear, silver key; And brain and serse grew faint, as if the light, And very air, were steeped in sluggishness. He strove with it awhile, as manhood will, Ever too proud for weakness, till the rein Slackened within his grasp, and in its poise The arrowy jereed like an aspen shook.
Day after day he lay as if in sleep.
His skin grew dry and bloodless, and white scales, Circled with livid purple, covered him.
And then his nails grew black, and fell away From the dull flesh about them, and the hues Deepened beneath the hard, unmoistened scales, And from their edges grew the rank white hair, -And Helon was a leper!
When at the altar of the temple stood
The holy priest of God. The incense lamp Burned with a struggling light, and a low chant Swelled through the hollow arches of the roof Like an articulate wail; and there, alone, Wasted to ghastly thinness, Helon 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,
And, with the sackcloth round him, and his lip
Hid in a loathsome covering, stood still
Waiting to hear his doom :
Depart! depart, O child
Of Israel, from the temple of thy God; For He has 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.
Depart! and come not near The busy mart, the crowded city, more; Nor set thy foot a human threshold o'er, And stay thou not to hear Voices that call thee in the way; and fly From all who in the wilderness pass by.
Wet not thy burning lip
In streams that to a human dwelling glide; Nor rest thee where the covert fountains hide; Nor kneel thee down to dip
The water where the pilgrim bends to drink, By desert well, or river's grassy brink.
And pass not thou between The weary traveller and the cooling breeze, And lie not down to sleep beneath the trees Where human tracks are seen;
Nor milk the goat that browseth on the plain, Nor pluck the standing corn, or yellow grain.
And now depart! and when
Thy heart is heavy, and thine eyes are dim, Lift up thy prayer beseechingly to Him Who, from the tribes of men,
Selected thee to feel his chastening rod. Depart, O leper! and forget not God!
And he went forth-alone; not one, of all The many whom he loved, nor she whose name Was woven in the fibres of the heart
Breaking within him now, to come and speak Comfort unto him. Yea, he went his way, Sick and heart-broken, and alone, to die ;— For God hath cursed the leper!
And Helon 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 on his lip,
Crying "Unclean! Unclean!" and, in the folds Of the coarse sackcloth, shrouding up his face, He fell upon the earth till they should pass. Nearer the stranger came, and, bending o'er The leper's prostrate form, pronounced his name. -"Helon!"-the voice was like the master-tone Of a rich instrument-most strangely sweet; And the dull pulses of disease awoke,
And for a moment beat beneath the hot And leprous scales with a restoring thrill. "Helon, arise!" and he forgot his curse, And rose, and stood before him.
Mingled in the regard of Helon's eye
As he beheld the stranger. He was not In costly raiment clad, nor on his brow The symbol of a princely lineage wore; No followers at his back, nor in his hand Buckler, or sword, or spear;-yet in his mien Command sat throned serene, and, if he smiled, A kingly condescension graced his lips, The lion would have crouched to in his lair. His garb was simple, and his sandals worn; His stature modelled with a perfect grace; His countenance, the impress of a God, Touched with the open innocence of a child; His eye was blue and calm, as is the sky In the serenest noon; his hair, unshorn, Fell to his shoulders; and his curling beard The fulness of perfected manhood bore. He looked on Helon earnestly awhile,
As if his heart was moved, and, stooping down, He took a little water in his hand,
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 his veins, And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow The dewy softness of an infant's stole. His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down Prostrate at Jesus's feet, and worshipped him.
Versification of the Beginning of the Last Book of the Martyrs.-ALEXANDER H. EVERETT.
SWEET muse, that on my venturous voyage smiled, And kindly cheered the dangerous, doubtful way, No more, with dreams of youth and hope beguiled, I tempt thee from thy heavenly seats to stray. Soon shall my lyre its feeble descant close, And sad its parting strain-a funeral song; Nor needs a Frenchman aid for themes like those; Spontaneous rise the notes his lyre along,
And all he sings he feels, inured to grief and wrong.
Friend of my youth, indulge this parting lay, And then for age thy service I forego.
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