An Idyl
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Excerpt from An Idyl: Some Sermons and a Song
Alexis and Mercedes
Deep in the tangled growth of world-old oaks,
Where twigs, that ages erst untrodden lay,
Crackled and smote his soul with lonesome songs,
Beside a spring, that rippled praise to God
The third mom of the universes birth.
Nor ever yet had broke thanksgivings hymn,
Alexis watched the twilight streak the west.
And raise red riot in a leaden sky
With arrow beams of an uneasy sun
Just setting on the hermits thirtieth year.
There is a melancholy in the death
Of each departing day, that presses light
The myriad hearts of men, for that they see.
Or think they see, at eve the morrows east
Dance with the splendor of the risen king,
Who slept against the night. Not so the sick.
Who scarce can hope five heavy breaths to draw.
These dread the dark, impatient cry the dawn.
To travel to the land of mystery,
Their path lit by the lamp God set in Heaven.
For death, like other beasts men reckon foes,
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