And die, for want of a wood-piler's help! Thus fades the flagging body, and the soul They are ruins! Trust me who am one of you! Ha, what? you spit at me, you grin and shriek God's accents once? you curse me? Why men, men Follow me sleeping, waking, praying God, And will not let me even die: spare, spare me. That horrible scorn; you thought I could support it But now you see what silly fragile creature . Listen, Aprile! I am very calm : • Be not deceived, there is no passion here, And now be merry-safe and sound am I, for me, Fest. Have you no thought, no memory Aureole? I am so wretched-my pure Michal gone, and you alone are left to me, Is And even you forget me: take my hand Lean on me, thus. Do you not know me, Aureole? Par. Festus, my own friend, you are come at last? As you say, 'tis an awful enterprise But you believe I shall go through with it: 'Tis like you, and I thank you; thank him for me, Dear Michal! See how bright St. Saviour's spire Flames in the sunset; all its figures quaint Gay in the glancing light: you might conceive them. Fest. Not that blest time-not our youth's time, dea: God! Par. Ha-stay! true, I forget-all is done since i And he is come to judge me: how he speaks, You know the obstacles which taught me tricks Bald ignorance-what wonder if I sunk To humour men the way they most approved? Fathers, sons, brothers, friends—not rich, nor wise, "He lived Nor gifted: lay me thus, then say "Too much advanced before his brother men : 66 'They kept him still in front; 'twas for their good, "But yet a dangerous station. It were strange "That he should tell God he had never ranked "With men: so, here at least he is a man!" Fest. That God shall take thee to his breast, dear Spirit Unto his breast, be sure! and here on earth • Shall splendour sit upon thy name forever! Sun! all the heaven is glad for thee: what care If lower mountains light their snowy phares At thine effulgence, yet acknowledge not The source of day? Men look up to the sun. And worship thee alone-the master-mind, The thinker, the explorer, the creator! Then, who should sneer at the convulsive throes With which thy deeds were born, would scorn as well The winding sheet of subterraneous fire Which, pent and writhing, sends no less at last Huge islands up amid the simmering sea! Behold thy might in me! thou hast infused I saw thee rise, I watched thee early and late, My homage thus no less I proffer it, Fest. I am for noble Aureole, God! I am upon his side, come weal or woe! His portion shall be mine! He has done well! Fest. Here, dear Aureole! ever by you Par. Nay, speak on, or I dream again. Speak on! Some story, any thing-only your voice. I shall dream else. Speak on! ay, leaning so! Fest. Softly the Mayne river glideth Close by where my love abideth; On through lawns, on through meads, Though the niggard pasture's edge Aught but weeds and waving grasses Save here and there a scanty patch |