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“We lived in sumptuous palaces —
Death seemed an idle tale; And to a sweet philosophy
We spread our silken sail.
“I thought not that the loved could die,
Nor that the fair could fade ;
To a young Athenian maid.
“We loved — we lived for seven short years
In a dream of wild delight;
Like sweet flowers, in our sight.
“I dreamed not that the fair could fade,
Nor that the loved could die ! But the whirlwind came when day was calm,
And swept in fury by!
“My children, those fair tender things,
Faded like summer-snow;
In a wild amaze of woe.
“I had not seen the pallid face
Of awful death before,
With new and solemn lore.
“The pestilence had done its work
The glory of my life was gone!
Lay dead before the set of sun!
“I was a man, and so I mourned;
And when they preached philosophy, In my great grief, I drove them forth,
And, as a child, lay down to die!
“Body and soul they both were weak,
And it was in the city said, That like a madman or a fool
I made my mourning for the dead.
“The young, the happy shunned my door ;
I sate alone from morn till night; And at my lean and drooping form
Men gazed as at a fearful sight.
“At length, by chance, I met a man,
Old and despised, and very poor; A man of a most righteous life,
Who yet asked alms from door to door.
“He was my comforter — from him
I learned a faith that saved my soul;The blessings of the Christian's hope
He gave me, and my mind grew whole.
“I saw that in God's righteous will
I had been smitten, and I bent
To Him for that great chastisement.
“ From that good time I spent my days
Among the' afflicted of man's race; To dungeons, and to battle-fields
I passed, a minister of grace.
“The blessing of the Holy One
Went with me to each distant land; And amid shipwreck, strife and foes,
My soul was strengthened by his hand.
“But ere my noon of life was o'er,
The Merciful saw meet to bless His servant with a peaceful death,
In the far Syrian wilderness;
“ Near a small church, that from the days
Of the Apostles had stood pure; Among their dead they laid my bones,
With all old rites of sepulture.
“But hark!—the third cock crows aloud !
Mother, thy race is well nigh run, And the palm in heaven grows green for thee!Farewell!--we meet at set of sun!”
BY THE AUTHOR OF “LILLIAN.”
Στένω, στένω σε, δισσα και τριπλά δορός
Lycophr. Cassandr, v. 69.
“ They hurried to the feast,
The warrior, and the priest,
The minstrel's harp and voice
Said • Triumph and rejoice!' One only mourned !-many are mourning now!
«« « Peace! startle not the light
With the wild dreams of night:'-
When I in their dull ears
Shrieked forth my tale of tears, • Woe to the gorgeous city, woe to Troy!'