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EDWIN MORRIS; OR, THE LAKE.
Nor cared to hear ? perhaps : yet long ago
I have pardon d little Letty; not indeed,
It may be, for her own dear sake but this,
She seems a part of those fresh days to me;
For in the dust and drouth of London life
She moves among my visions of the lake,
While the prime swallow dips his wing, or then While the gold-lily blows, and overhead
The light cloud smoulders on the summer crag.
Unfit for earth, unfit for heaven, scarce meet
For troops of devils, mad with blasphemy,
Let this avail, just, dreadful, mighty God,
This not be all in vain, that thrice ten years,
Thrice multiplied by superhuman pangs,
In hungers and in thirsts, fevers and cold,
In coughs, aches, stitches, ulcerous throes anut
A sign betwixt the meadow and the cloud,
And I had hoped that ere this period closed
O take the meaning, Lord : I do not breathe,
Than were those lead-like tons of sin, that crush'oi
My spirit flat before thee.
O Lord, Lord,
Thou knowest I bore this better at the first,
For I was strong and hale of body then;
And tho' my teeth, which now are dropt away,
Would chatter with the cold, and all my beard
Was tagg'd with icy fringes in the moon,
Of pious hymns and psalms, and sometimes saw
An angel stand and watch me, as I sang.
So that I scarce can hear the people hum
About the column's base, and almost blind,
And scarce can recognise the fields I know;
O Jesus, if thou wilt not save my soul, Who may be saved ? who is it may be saved ?
Who may be made a saint, if I fail here?
Show me the man hath suffer'd more than I.
For did not all thy martyrs die one death?
In twain beneath the ribs; but I die here
To-day, and whole years long, a life of death.
Bear witness, if I could have found a way
(And heedfully I sifted all my thought)
For not alone this pillar-punishment,
Not this alone I bore: but while I lived
In the white convent down the valley there,
For many weeks about my loins I wore