ng 'mid the roses lay,
She saw a wearied man dismount
From his hot steed, and on the brink 75
Of a small imaret's rustic fount
Impatient fling him down to drink.
Then swift his haggard brow he turned
To the fair child, who fearless sat,
Though never yet hath daybeam burned 80
Upon a brow more fierce than that.

But hark! the vesper call to prayer,
As slow the orb of daylight sets,
Is rising sweetly on the air,
From Syria's thousand minarets! 85
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 90
From purity's own cherub mouth.

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, 95
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!
When, young and haply pure as thou, 100
I looked and prayed like thee--but now--"
He hung his head--each nobler aim,
And hope, and feeling, which had slept
From boyhood's hour, that instant came
Fresh o'er him, and he wept--he wept! 105

And now, behold him kneeling there
By the child's side, in humble prayer,
While the same sunbeam shines upon
The guilty and the guiltless one,
And hymns of joy proclaim through Heaven 110
The triumph of a soul forgiven!

'Twas when the golden orb had set,
While on their knees they lingered yet,
There fell a light, more lovely far
Than ever came from sun or star, 115
Upon the tear that, warm and meek,
Dewed that repentant sinner's cheek:
To mortal eye that light might seem
A northern flash or meteor beam--
But well th' enraptured Peri knew 120
'Twas a bright smile the Angel threw
From Heaven's gate, to hail that tear--
Her harbinger of glory near!
"Joy, joy for ever! my task is done:
The Gates are passed, and Heaven is won!" 125

--_Thomas Moore_

PREPARA