Glare in the darkness of that dreadful noon.—39, p. 90. In the ninth volume of the "Spectator" is an account of the total eclipse of the sun, Friday, April 22, 1715. It is in a strain of vile bombast; yet some circumstances are so fine. that even such a writer could not spoil them: "The different modifications of the light formed colors the eye of man has been five hundred years unacquainted with, and for which I can find no name; unless I may be allowed to call it a dark, gloomy sort of light, that scattered about a more sensible and genuine horror than the most consummate darkness. All the birds were struck dumb, and hung their wings in moody sorrow. Some few pigeons, that were on the wing, were afraid of being benighted even in the morn, alighted, and took shelter in the houses. The heat went away by degrees with the light; but, when the rays of the sun broke out afresh, the joy and the thanks that were in me, that God made to us these signs and marks of his power before he exercised it, were exquisite, and such as never worked upon me so sensibly before. With my own ears I heard a cock crow as at the dawn of day; and he welcomed with a strange gladness, which was plainly discoverable by the cheerful notes of his voice, the sun at its second rising, and the returning light." The paper is signed "B.," and is perhaps by Sir Richard Blackmore. THE FOURTH BOOK. Fas est quoque brutæ Telluri, docilem monitis cœlestibus esse. MAMBRUNI CONSTANTINUS 1. WHOSE is yon dawning form, Dim as the shadow of a fire at noon, 2. A moment, and the brightening image shaped His Mother's form and features. "Go," she cried, "To Babylon, and from the Angels learn What talisman thy task requires." 3. The Spirit hung toward him when she ceased, As though with actual lips she would have given A mother's kiss. His arms outstretched, His body bending on, His mouth unclosed and trembling into speech, He pressed to meet the blessing; but the wind Played on his cheek: he looked, and he beheld The darkness close. "Again! again!" he cried, "Let me again behold thee!" From the darkness His Mother's voice went forth, "Thou shalt behold me in the hour of death." 4. Day dawns, the twilight gleam dilates, The Sun comes forth, and like a god Rides through rejoicing heaven. Old Moath and his daughter, from their tent, Beheld the adventurous youth, Dark-moving o'er the sands, A lessening image, trembling through their tears. Visions of high emprise Beguiled his lonely road; And if sometimes to Moath's tent The involuntary mind recurred, Fancy, impatient of all painful thoughts, Pictured the bliss should welcome his return. In dreams like these he went ; And still of every dream Oneiza formed a part, And hope and memory made a mingled joy. 5. In the eve he arrived at a Well: An Acacia bent over its side, Under whose long light-hanging boughs He chose his night's abode. There, due ablutions made and prayers performed, His solitary meal. The silence and the solitude recalled Dear recollections; and with folded arms, Thinking of other days, he sate, till thought Had left him, and the Acacia's moving shade Upon the sunny sand Had caught his idle eye; 6. As thus in vacant quietness he sate, The mutual salutation past, He by the cistern, too, his garment spread, And friendly converse cheered the social meal. 7. The Stranger was an ancient man, Bore the fair characters of temperate youth: His beard was long and gray and crisp, Lively his eyes and quick, And reaching over them The large broad eyebrow curled. His speech was copious, and his winning words Enriched with knowledge, that the attentive youth Sate listening with a thirsty joy. 8. So, in the course of talk, The adventurer youth inquired The Old Man answered, "To Bagdad I go " "Am journeying thitherward; Let me become companion of thy way!" 9. OLD MAN. Son, thou art young for travel. THALABA. Until now I never passed the desert boundary. OLD MAN. It is a noble city that we seek. |