And rising from the sickness drear
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o the East with praise he turned,And on his sight the angel burned. "I bore thee from thy craftsman's cellAnd set thee here; I did not well. "Vainly I left my angel-sphere, 65Vain was thy dream of many a year. "Thy voice's praise seemed weak; it dropped--Creation's chorus stopped! "Go back and praise againThe early way, while I remain. 70 "With that weak voice of our disdain,Take up creation's pausing strain. "Back to the cell and poor employ;Resume the craftsman and the boy!" Theocrite grew old at home; 75A new Pope dwelt in Peter's dome. One vanished as the other died;They sought God side by side. THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN;
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