SUNSET ON THE ALLEGHANY. 143
That, feebly eddying on the angry winds, Doth sweep thy base ? Say, is it meet for thee, Robing thyself in mystery, to impeach This nether sphere, from whence thy rocky root Draws depth and nutriment?
But lo ! a star,
The first meek herald of advancing night, Doth peer above thy summit, as some babe Might gaze with brow of timid innocence Over a giant's shoulder. Hail, lone star ! Thou friendly watcher o'er an erring world, Thine uncondemniug glance doth aptly teach Of that untiring mercy, which vouchsafes Thee light, and man salvation.
Not to mark
And treasure up his follies, or recount Their secret record in the court of heaven, Thou com'st. Methinks, thy tenderness would shroud, With trembling mantle, his infirmities : The purest natures are most pitiful. But they who feel corruption strong within Do launch their darts most fiercely at the trace Of their own image in another's breast. So the wild bull, that in some mirror spies His own mad visage, furiously destroys The frail reflector.
But thou, stainless star ! Shalt stand a watchman on creation's walls,
�� �
