38
A low dead Thunder mutter'd thro' the night,
As 'twere a giant angry in his sleep—
Nature! sweet nurse, O take me in thy lap
And tell me of my Father yet unseen,
Sweet tales, and true, that lull me into sleep
And leave me dreaming.
1811. First published from an MS. in 1893.
39
His own fair countenance, his kingly forehead,
His tender smiles, Love's day-dawn on his lips,
Put on such heavenly, spiritual light,
At the same moment in his steadfast eye
Were Virtue's native crest, th' innocent soul's
Unconscious meek self-heraldry,—to man
Genial, and pleasant to his guardian angel.
He suffer'd nor complain'd;—though oft with tears
[[1006]] He mourn'd th' oppression of his helpless brethren,—
And sometimes with a deeper holier grief
Mourn'd for the oppressor—but this in sabbath hours—
A solemn grief, that like a cloud at sunset,
Was but the veil of inward meditation
Pierced thro' and saturate with the intellectual rays
It soften'd.
![[1006]](#6579338215793175221_stcvol2_1006.png.id-3942170643886632246.wrap-0.html.html){kind=link}
1812. First published (with many alterations of the MS.) in Lit. Rem., i. 277. First collected P. and D. W., 1887, ii. 364. Compare Teresa's speech to Valdez, Remorse, Act IV, Scene ii, lines [52-63] (ante, p. [866]).