602 ANNUAL REGISTER, I8I7. 



Though, still, whene'er his eye by chance 

 Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance 



Met that unclouded, joyous gaze. 

 As torches, that have burnt all night 

 Through some impure and godless rite. 



Encounter morning's glorious rays. 



But hark ! the vesper call to prayer, 



As slow the orb of day-light sets, 

 Is rising sweetly on tl^e air. 



From Syria's thousand minarets ! 

 The boy has started from the bed 

 Of flowers, where he had laid his head, 

 And down upon the fragrant sod 



Kneels, with his forehead to the south, 

 Lisping th' eternal name of God 



From purity's own cherub mouth, 

 And looking, while his hands and eyes 

 Are lifted to the glowing skies. 

 Like a stray babe of Paradise, 

 Just lighted on that flowery plain, 

 And seeking for its home again ! 

 Oh 'twas a sight — that Heav'n — that Child— 

 A scene, which might have well beguil'd 

 Ev'n haughty Eblis of a sigh 

 For glories lost and peace gone by ! 



And how felt he, the wretched Man 

 Reclining there — while memory ran 

 O'er many a year of guilt and strife. 

 Flew o'er the dark flood of his life. 

 Nor found one sunny resting-place. 

 Nor brought him back one branch of grace ! 

 " There was a time," he said in mild. 

 Heart-humbled tones — ' ' thou blessed child 1 

 " When young and haply pure as thou, 

 " I look'd and pray'd like tliee — but now — " 

 . He hung his head — each nobler aim 



And hope and feeling, which had slept 

 From boyhood's liour, that instant came 



Fresh o'er him, and he wept — he wept ! 



Blest tears of soul-felt penitence ! 



In whose benign, redeeming flow 

 Is felt the first, the only sense 



Of guiltless joy that guilt can know. 

 " There's a drop," said the Peki, " that down from the 



" moon 

 " Falls through the withering airs of June 



" Upon 



