Page:The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell (1833).djvu/27

Rh Left all, and fled—fled to life's holier shade, Changing the sceptre for the peasant's spade. Perchance a monarch on his throne to-day, To-morrow, what? a hermit lone and grey, Asking of heaven in penitence to pray.

And such was he whom time could never wrong, (His name would sanctify the weakest song), Who left high Lambeth's venerable towers, For his small heritage and humble bowers, Conscience and faith his guide—and what if now, Taking the mitre from his aged brow, (Crowds round his knees, and many a furrow'd cheek, And glist'ning eye, that seem'd indeed to speak Better than language, seeing him depart, In the meek sorrows of a silent heart: Soft gentle deeds, blossoms of love, that hung Ever around him,—could they want a tongue? Tears too from childhood, and the words that call, ' Father and Friend'—were heard alike from all.) Gently he pass'd beside them, with a mien Temper'd with hope and fortitude serene; Nor deem him unattended with a train Of more sublime emotions, free from pain Of doubt or fear,—like an unclouded day Upon the golden hills in endless ray, A well-spring in his heart without decay; As one who knew that god a home had made For those he cherish'd, in the humblest shade. Now with his staff, on his paternal ground,