In harbour, when the tempest ceased to blow.Meanwhile his mighty spirit onward press'd
And so on, to the last.
XI. Book of the Parsees :--
What glow was in my bosom shrin'd!
To wait I scarce have powerThe garden's earliest flower,
Presently denser became the crowd. Round some of the waggons.Men in a passion were quarrelling, women also were screaming.Then of a sudden approach'd an aged man with firm footstepMarching straight up to the fighters; and forthwith was hush'd the contention,When he bade them be still, and with fatherly earnestness threaten'd."Are we not yet," he exclaim'd, "by misfortune so knitted together,As to have learnt at length the art of reciprocal patienceAnd toleration, though each cannot measure the actions of others?Prosperous men indeed may quarrel! Will sorrow not teach youHow no longer as formerly you should quarrel with brethren?Each should give way to each other, when treading the soil of the stranger,And, as you hope for mercy yourselves, you should share your possessions."
Scatter gently, lightly;To those friends, then, new or old,
Full early had he read the stern decree,
Dancers we see,Spreading themselves amain
1781.-----TO THE GRASSHOPPER.
In the air, as yet scarce warm;Mild, with glimmer soft tinged over,
Hath my courage moved;In the land of melody
THE YOUNGER ANGELS.
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