48
CONSOLATION.
48
Strange unloved uproar[1]
Shrills round their portal;
Yet not on Helicon
Kept they more cloudless
Their noble calm.
Through sun-proof alleys
In a lone, sand-hemmed
City of Africa,
A blind, led beggar,
Age-bowed, asks alms.
No bolder robber
Erst abode ambushed
Deep in the sandy waste;
No clearer eyesight
Spied prey afar.
Saharan sand-winds
Seared his keen eyeballs;
Spent is the spoil he won.
For him the present
Holds only pain.
Two young, fair lovers,
Where the warm June-wind,
Fresh from the summer fields
Plays fondly round them,
Stand, tranced in joy.
With sweet, joined voices,
And with eyes brimming,
"Ah!" they cry, "Destiny,
Prolong the present!
Time, stand still here!"
- ↑ Written during the siege of Rome by the French, 1849.
