Quite spent and out of breath he reached the tree, And, listening fearfully, he heard once more hand: Whereat he looked around him, but could see Naught but the deepening glooms beneath the oak. 130 Then sighed the voice, “O Rhocus! nevermore More ripe and bounteous than ever yet Filled up with nectar any mortal heart: But thou didst scorn my humble messenger, And sent'st him back to me with bruised wings. We spirits only show to gentle eyes. We ever ask an undivided love, And he who scorns the least of Nature's works Is thenceforth exiled and shut out from all. Farewell! for thou canst never see me more." 140 Then Rhocus beat his breast, and groaned aloud. And cried, "Be pitiful! forgive me yet This once, and I shall never need it more!" "Alas!" the voice returned, "'t is thou art blind, Not I unmerciful; I can forgive, But have no skill to heal thy spirit's eyes; With that again there murmured "Never- And Rhacus after heard no other sound, The city sparkled with its thousand lights, Deepened, and on his forehead smote the breeze: But from that eve he was alone on earth. 160 1843 James Russell Lowell. 64 THE BOY AND THE ANGEL MORNING, evening, noon and night, 'Praise God!" sang Theocrite. Then to his poor trade he turned, Hard he labored, long and well; But ever, at each period, He stopped and sang, "Praise God!" Then back again his curls he threw, Said Blaise, the listening monk, “Well done; I doubt not thou art heard, my son: "As well as if thy voice to-day Were praising God, the Pope's great way. "This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome Praises God from Peter's dome." Said Theocrite, “Would God that I Night passed, day shone, And Theocrite was gone. With God a day endures alway, A thousand years are but a day. 12 16 20 God said in heaven, "Nor day nor night 24 Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth, Spread his wings and sank to earth; Entered, in flesh, the empty cell, Lived there, and played the craftsman well; 28 And morning, evening, noon and night, And from a boy, to youth he grew : The man matured and fell away And ever o'er the trade he bent, (He did God's will; to him, all one If on the earth or in the sun.) God said, "A praise is in mine ear; "So sing old worlds, and so New worlds that from my footstool go. "Clearer loves sound other ways: I miss my little human praise." Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings, off fell 'T was Easter Day: he flew to Rome, And paused above Saint Peter's dome. In the tiring-room close by With his holy vestments dight, 32 36 40 44 48 52 And all his past career Came back upon him clear, Since when, a boy, he plied his trade, And in his cell, when death drew near, 56 And rising from the sickness drear, He grew a priest, and now stood here. 60 To the East with praise he turned, "I bore thee from thy craftsman's cell, And set thee here; I did not well. 64 "Vainly I left my angel-sphere, Vain was thy dream of many a year. "Thy voice's praise seemed weak; it dropped Creation's chorus stopped! "Go back and praise again The early way, while I remain. "With that weak voice of our disdain, Take up creation's pausing strain. 68 72 "Back to the cell and poor employ: Resume the craftsman and the boy!" |