Didst close my tongue in senseless clay, And me to mortal life betray. The death of Jesus set me free: Then what have I to do with thee? THE BOOK OF THEL. (ENGRAVED 1789.) Does the Eagle know what is in the pit, Or love in a golden bowl? THE I. HE Daughters of the Seraphim led round their sunny flocks All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air, To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day. Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard, And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew. r "O life of this our Spring! why fades the lotus of the water? Why fade these children of the Spring, born but to smile and fall? Ah! Thel is like a watery bow, and like a parting cloud, Like a reflection in a glass, like shadows in the water, Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infant's face, Like the dove's voice, like transient day, like music in the air. Ah! gentle may I lay me down, and gentle rest my head, And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle hear the voice Of Him that walketh in the garden in the evening time!" The Lily of the Valley, breathing in the humble grass, Answered the lovely maid, and said: "I am a watery weed, And I am very small, and love to dwell in lowly vales; So weak, the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head. Yet I am visited from heaven; and He that smiles on all Walks in the valley, and each morn over me spreads his hand, Saying, 'Rejoice, thou humble grass, thou newborn lily-flower, Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest brooks; For thou shalt be clothed in light, and fed with morning manna, Till summer's heat melts thee beside the fountains and the springs, To flourish in eternal vales.' Then why should Thel complain? Why should the mistress of the vales of Har utter a sigh ?" She ceased, and smiled in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine. Thel answered: "O thou little virgin of the peace ful valley, Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'ertired, Thy breath doth nourish the innocent lamb; he smells thy milky garments, He crops thy flowers, while thou sittest smiling in his face, Wiping his mild and meekin mouth from all contagious taints. Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume, Which thou dost scatter on every little blade of grass that springs, Revives the milkèd cow, and tames the firebreathing steed. But Thel is like a faint cloud kindled at the rising sun : I vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall find my place ?" Queen of the vales," the Lily answered, "ask the tender Cloud, |