So for the remnant of his days he served
The Lord of Goodness; a strong staff of right
Yet humble. Till the Pagan Governor
Bade him deny the Prince who succoured him,
And he refusing, gained a martyr's crown
In cruel death, and is Saint Christopher!
PICTURES—III.
The sad slow dawn of winter; frozen trees
And trampled snow within a lonely wood;
One shrouded form, which to the city flees;
And one, a masquer, lying in his blood.
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A full sun blazing with unclouded day,
Till the bright waters mingle with the sky;
And on the dazzling verge, uplifted high,
White sails mysterious slowly pass away.
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Hidden in a trackless and primæval wood,
Long-buried temples of an unknown race,
And one colossal idol; on its face
A changeless sneer, blighting the solitude.
——————
A fair girl half undraped, who blithely sings;
Her white robe poised upon one budding breast;
While at her side, invisible, unconfessed,
Love folds her with the shelter of his wings.