From my high nest of penance here proclaim Show'd like fair seraphs. On the coals I lay, A vessel full of sin: all hell beneath Made me boil over. Devils pluck'd my sleeve; I smote them with the cross; they swarm'd again. Your flesh, like me, with scourges and with thorns; To make me an example to mankind, Which few can reach to. Yet I do not say Now, now, his footsteps smite the threshold stairs Of life I say, that time is at the doors When you may worship me without reproach; While I spake then, a sting of shrewdest pain. These heavy, horny eyes. The end! the end! That holds a crown? Come, blessed mother, come. And from it melt the dews of Paradise, Sweet! sweet! spikenard, and balm, and frankincense. That I am whole, and clean, and meet for Heaven. And climbing up into mine airy home, For by the warning of the Holy Ghost, But thou, O Lord, Aid all this foolish people; let them take THE TALKING OAK. I. ONCE more the gate behind me falls; Once more before my face I see the moulder'd Abbey-walls, That stand within the chace. II. Beyond the lodge the city lies, Beneath its drift of smoke; And ah! with what delighted eyes I turn to yonder oak. III. For when my passion first began, Ere that, which in me burn'd, The love, that makes me thrice a man, IV. To yonder oak within the field I spoke without restraint, And with a larger faith appeal'd Than Papist unto Saint. V. For oft I talk'd with him apart, Until he plagiarised a heart, And answer'd with a voice. VI. Tho' what he whisper'd under Heaven None else could understand; I found him garrulously given, A babbler in the land. VII. But since I heard him make reply Is many a weary hour; "Twere well to question him, and try If yet he keeps the power. |