296 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE
Let it not be with that sad look
At which repentant Peter shook,
When the cock crew ! That awful glance,
Keen and piercing as a lance,
Might make even Satan leer askance,
Met while on wicked errand bent, —
Glance to strike dumb the irreverent,
And guilt make mad, as, blood-defiled,
From realm to realm, from wild to wild,
Fled Clytaemnestra's hapless child,
Remorse forever on his track
And all the Furies at his back.
Nor eye me with that gaze intent
Which can fright even the innocent.
And drive Dejection to despair,
When, deeming heaven disdains her prayer.
She vaguely wails some shadowy sin
That may no pitying pardon win.
��Ah, while thy face unveiled I see,
If thou shouldst speak, let it not be
With that stern voice which, like a knell,
On ears of traitor Judas fell.
When thou didst bid the wretch farewell, -
But with approving smile and speech,
Such as could suffering patience teach
To his mild Master, on that morn
Which saw him unresisting torn
With bloody scourge and crown of thorn ;
Such as, in Truth's great service, gave
To Socrates a soul to brave
Hate, persecution, and the grave ;
Such as sustained the steadfast mind
Of Belisarius, old and blind,
Who begged his bread with humble mien
�� �
