Skip to content

William Blake

Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?

Or wilt thou go ask the Mole:

Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod?

Or Love in a golden bowl?

Read full poem →

noun

One who, or that which, accelerates.

Know more →

III.

41 lines
John Dryden·1631–1700
wondrous changes of a fatal scene,Still varying to the last!Heaven, though its hard decree was past,Seemed pointing to a gracious turn again:And death's uplifted arm arrested in its haste.Heaven half repented of the doom,And almost grieved it had foreseen,What by foresight it willed eternally to come.Mercy above did hourly pleadFor her resemblance here below;And mild forgiveness intercedeTo stop the coming blow.New miracles approached the etherial throne,Such as his wonderous life had oft and lately known,And urged that still they might be shown.On earth his pious brother prayed and vowed,Renouncing greatness at so dear a rate,Himself defending what he could,From all the glories of his future fate.With him the innumerable crowdOf armed prayersKnocked at the gates of heaven, and knocked aloud;The first well-meaning rude petitioners.[45]All for his life assailed the throne,All would have bribed the skies by offering up their own.So great a throng, not heaven itself could bar;'Twas almost borne by force, as in the giants' war.The prayers, at least, for his reprieve were heard;His death, like Hezekiah's, was deferred:Against the sun the shadow went;Five days, those five degrees, were lent,To form our patience, and prepare the event.[46]The second causes took the swift command,The medicinal head, the ready hand,All eager to perform their part;[47]All but eternal doom was conquered by their art:Once more the fleeting soul came backTo inspire the mortal frame;And in the body took a doubtful stand,Doubtful and hovering, like expiring flame,That mounts and falls by turns, and trembles o'er the brand.