Some say his spirit haunts the "Crown,"
But that is only talk;
For after riding all his life,
His ghost objects to walk.
111. ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.-Oliver Goldsmith.
Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And, if you find it wondrous short,—
It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran,—
Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he haa,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad,-
When he put on his clothes.
And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.
This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad and bit the man.
Around from all the neighboring streets
The wondering neighbors ran,
And swore the dog had lost his wits
To bite so good a man.
The wound it seemed both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they lied;
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died.
112. TRUTH IN PARENTHESES.-Thomas Hood.
I really take it very kind,-
This visit, Mrs. Skinner;
I have not seen you such an age
(The wretch has come to dinner!)
Your daughters, too, what loves of girls!
What heads for painters' easels!
Come here, and kiss the infant, dears,-
(And give it, p'rhaps, the measles!)
Your charming little niece, and Tom,
From Reverend Mr. Russell's;
'Twas very kind to bring them both-
(What boots for my new Brussels!)
What! little Clara left at home!
Well, now, I call that shabby!
I should have loved to kiss her so
(A flabby, dabby babby!)
And Mr. S., I hope he's well,—
But, though he lives so handy,
He never drops once in to sup-
(The better for our brandy!)
Come, take a seat,- I long to hear
About Matilda's marriage;
You've come, of course, to spend the day
(Thank Heaven! I hear the carriage!)
What! must you go?-next time, I hope,
You'll give me longer measure:
Nay, I shall see you down the stairs-
(With most uncommon pleasure!)
Good-by! good-by! Remember, all,
Next time you'll take your dinners -
(Now, David, mind,—I'm not at home,
In future, to the Skinners.)
228. Pathos requires concrete tones (§ 87) and semitonic melody (§ 89), effusive, sustained force (§ 109), a frequent use of tremulous stress (§ 105), and pure (§ 131) or orotund (§ 135) quality.
113. THE LEPER.-N. P. Willis.
"Room for the leper! Room!" And as he came
The cry passed on,-"Room for the leper! Room!"
* * * And aside they stood,
Matron, and child, and pitiless manhood - all
Who met him on his way,- and let him pass.
And onward through the open gate he came,
A leper with the ashes on his brow,
Sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip
A covering, stepping painfully and slow,
And with a difficult utterance, like one
Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down,
Crying, "Unclean!-Unclean!"
* * * Day was breaking
When at the altar of the temple stood
The holy priest of God. The incense-lamp
Burned with a struggling light, and a low chant
Swelled through the hollow arches of the roof
Like an articulate wail, and there, alone,
Wasted to ghastly thinness, Helon knelt.
The echoes of the melancholy strain
Died in the distant aisles, and he rose up,
Struggling with weakness, and bowed down his head
Unto the sprinkled ashes, and put off
His costly raiment for the leper's garb,
And with the sackcloth round him, and his lip
Hid in a loathsome covering, stood still
Waiting to hear his doom:
"Depart! depart, O child
Of Israel, from the temple of thy God,
For he has smote thee with his chastening rod,
From all thou lov'st, away thy feet must flee,
That from thy plague his people may be free.
"Wet not thy burning lip
In streams that to a human dwelling glide,
Nor rest thee where the covert fountains hide,
Nor kneel thee down to dip
The water where the pilgrim bends to drink,
By desert well, or river's grassy brink.
"And pass not thou between
The weary traveler and the cooling breeze,
And lie not down to sleep beneath the trees
Where human tracks are seen;
Nor milk the goat that browseth on the plain,
Nor pluck the standing corn, or yellow grain.
"And now depart! and when
Thy heart is heavy, and thine eyes are dim,
Lift up thy prayer beseechingly to him
Who from the tribes of men
Selected thee to feel his chastening rod.
Depart, O leper! and forget not God!
And he went forth,-alone! not one of all
The many whom he loved, nor she whose name
Was woven in the fibers of the heart
Breaking within him now, to come and speak
Comfort unto him. Yea, he went his way,
Sick and heart-broken, and alone,— to die!
For God had cursed the leper!
And Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool
In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow,
Hot with the burning leprosy, and touched
The loathsome water to his fevered lips,
Praying that he might be so blest,—to die!
Footsteps approached, and with no strength to flee,
He drew the covering closer on his lip,
Crying, "Unclean! Unclean!" and in the folds
Of the coarse sackcloth shrouding up his face,
He fell upon the earth till they should pass.
Nearer the stranger came, and bending o'er
The leper's prostrate form pronounced his name.
"Helon!"-the voice was like the master-tone
Of a rich instrument,- most strangely sweet;
And the dull pulses of disease awoke,
And for a moment beat beneath the hot
And leprous scales with a restoring thrill.
"Helon! arise!" and he forgot his curse,
And rose and stood before him.
Mingled in the regard of Helon's eye
As he beheld the stranger. He was not
In costly raiment clad, nor on his brow
The symbol of a princely lineage wore;
No followers at his back, nor in his hand
Buckler, or sword, or spear, yet in his mien
Command sat throned serene, and if he smiled,
A kingly condescension graced his lips
The lion would have crouched to in his lair.
His garb was simple, and his sandals worn;
His stature modeled with a perfect grace;
His countenance, the impress of a God,
Touched with the open innocence of a child;
His eye was blue and calm, as is the sky
In the serenest noon; his hair unshorn
Fell to his shoulders, and his curling beard
The fullness of perfected manhood bore.
He looked on Helon earnestly awhile,
As if his heart was moved, and, stooping down,
He took a little water in his hand
And laid it on his brow, and said, "Be clean!"
And lo! the scales fell from him, and his blood
Coursed with delicious coolness through his veins,
|