Sponged and made blank of crimeful record all My mortal archives. 0 my sons, my sons, I, Simeon of the pillar, by surname The watcher on the column till the end; Made me boil over. Devils pluck'd my sleeve; Abaddon and Asmodeus caught at me. I smote them with the cross; they swarm'd again. God only thro' his bounty hath thought fit, While I spake then, a sting of shrewdest pain That holds a crown? Come, blessed brother, come. Nay, draw, draw, draw nigh. So I clutch it. Christ! 'Tis gone 'tis here again; the crown! the crown! So now 'tis fitted on and grows to me, And from it melt the dews of Paradise, Sweet! sweet! spikenard, and balm, and frankincense. Speak, if there be a priest, a man of God, Among you there, and let him presently Approach, and lean a ladder on the shaft, And climbing up into my airy home, Deliver me the blessed sacrament; For by the warning of the Holy Ghost, I prophesy that I shall die to-night, A quarter before twelve. But thou, O Lord, Aid all this foolish people; let them take Example, pattern: lead them to thy light. THE TALKING OAK. ONCE more the gate behind me falls; Once more before my face I see the moulder'd Abbey-walls, That stand within the chace. Beyond the lodge the city lies, For when my passion first began, To yonder oak within the field I spoke without restraint, And with a larger faith appeal'à Than Papist unto Saint. For oft I talk'd with him apart, And answer'd with a voice. Tho' what he whisper'd, under Heaven None else could understand; I found him garrulously given, A babbler in the land. But since I heard him make reply 'Twere well to question him, and try If yet he keeps the power: Hail, hidden to the knees in fern, Whose topmost branches can discern The roofs of Sumner-place! Say thou, whereon I carved her name, If ever maid or spouse, As fair as my Olivia, came To rest beneath thy boughs. "O Walter, I have shelter'd here Whatever maiden grace The good old Summers, year by year Made ripe in Sumrer-chace: |