Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/42

42  Bold youth! whose bosom with pride had glowed
 * In a life of toil severe—

Did'st thou scorn to pass to thy last abode
 * In the ease of the slothful bier?

Must thy own good steed, which thy hands had drest,
 * In the fulness of boyhood's bliss,

By the load of thy lifeless limbs be prest,
 * On a journey so strange as this!

Yet still to the depths of yon rock-barred dell,
 * Where no ray from heaven hath glowed,

Where the thundering rush of the Markefoss fell, The trembling child doth point and tell,
 * How that fearful horseman rode.

 

of Earth's most polish'd clime!
 * Whose path of splendid care

Did touch the zenith-point of hope,
 * The nadir of despair,—

Here doth thy wrong'd, confiding heart
 * Resign its tortur'd thrill,

And slumber like the peasant's dust,
 * All unconcern'd and still?

