Nor kneel thee down to dip
The water where the pilgrim bends to drink, By desert well, or river's grassy brink.
pass thou not between
The weary traveller 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 fibres 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 modelled 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 fulness 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, And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow The dewy softness of an infant's stole. His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down Prostrate at Jesus' feet, and worshipped him.
"Parrhasius, a painter of Athens, amongst those Olynthian captives Philip of Macedon brought home to sell, bought one very old man; ard when he had him at his house, put him to death with extreme torture and torment, the better, by his example, to express the pains and passions of his Prometheus, whom he was then about to paint."-Burton's Anat. of Mel.
THERE stood an unsold captive in the mart, A gray-haired and majestical old man, Chained to a pillar. It was almost night, And the last seller from his place had gone, And not a sound was heard but of a dog Crunching beneath the stall a refuse bone, Or the dull echo from the pavement rung As the faint captive changed his weary feet. He had stood there since morning, and had borne From every eye in Athens the cold gaze Of curious scorn. The Jew had taunted him For an Olynthian slave. The buyer came And roughly struck his palm upon his breast,
And touched his unhealed wounds, and with a sneer Passed on, and when, with weariness o'erspent,
He bowed his head in a forgetful sleep,
Th' inhuman soldier smote him, and with threats
Of torture to his children summoned back The ebbing blood into his pallid face.
'Twas evening, and the half descended sun Tipped with a golden fire the many domes Of Athens, and a yellow atmosphere Lay rich and dusky in the shaded street
Through which the captive gazed. He had borne up With a stout heart that long and weary day, Haughtily patient of his many wrongs,
But now he was alone, and from his nerves The needless strength departed, and he leaned Prone on his massy chain, and let his thoughts Throng on him as they would. Unmarked of him, Parrhasius at the nearest pillar stood,
Gazing upon his grief. Th' Athenian's cheek Flushed as he measured with a painter's eye
The moving picture. The abandon'd limbs,
Stained with the oozing blood, were laced with veins Swollen to purple fulness; the gray hair, Thin and disordered, hung about his eyes, And as a thought of wilder bitterness
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