When He spake the sentence:--"Be!"And the All, with mighty throes,
THOU art confused, my beloved, at, seeing the thousandfold union
Vigorous bloom,Bees, softly bumming,
In his ancestral ball,In yonder sea-wash'd castle,
Because from thee he's torn?
Presently denser became the crowd. Round some of the waggons.Men in a passion were quarrelling, women also were screaming.Then of a sudden approach'd an aged man with firm footstepMarching straight up to the fighters; and forthwith was hush'd the contention,When he bade them be still, and with fatherly earnestness threaten'd."Are we not yet," he exclaim'd, "by misfortune so knitted together,As to have learnt at length the art of reciprocal patienceAnd toleration, though each cannot measure the actions of others?Prosperous men indeed may quarrel! Will sorrow not teach youHow no longer as formerly you should quarrel with brethren?Each should give way to each other, when treading the soil of the stranger,And, as you hope for mercy yourselves, you should share your possessions."
The cook's by him ador'd;He turns the spit round ceaselessly,
Teemeth with life; but to me, all is still silent and dead.Oh, who will whisper unto me,--when shall I see at the casement
GOD, SOUL, AND WORLD.Rhymed DistichsProoemionThe Metamorphosis of Plants
Would not alter, but would beStill an ass in his behavior.-----THE flood of passion storms with fruitless strife