Statio Septima

A poem by Thomas Edward Brown

The heavens are very blue
Above the western hill;
The earth is very still,
I will draw near, and view
The spot
Where he is . . . not.
But O dear cliff, O big, good-natured giant,
I think some delicate dint must still remain
On your broad surface, from the strain
Of limbs so sweetly pliant.
The lamb! the lamb! fallen from the very rock!
Cold! cold!
Dead! dead!
His little head
Rests on the very block
That Braddan trod,
Dear lambs! twin lambs of God!
Old cliff, such things
Might move some stubborn questionings,
But now I question not,
See, see! the waterfall
Is robed in rainbows, what!
Our lambs? My Braddan shall have charge
Of him, and lead him by the marge
Of some bright stream celestial.
Braddan shall be a happy shepherd boy;
No trouble shall annoy
That soft green pasture,
Ab, Murillo, saint!
Kind fiiend! that for all sorrowing hearts didst paint
John Baptist and the Lamb, those arms thrown round
That neck! Forgive me, God, that I have found
Some comfort in this little parable,
It gives me strength to climb the hill,
And humbly so return,
God bless the merry burn!
I have no will
But thine, O God! I know that Thou art true,
Be blue, O heavens, be blue!
Be still, O earth, be still!

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