79 SIMON PETER. BY THE REV. CHARLES B. TAYLER. "Jesus turned, and looked upon Peter."-LUKE xxii. 61. A LONELY fisher climbed the rocks that frown And by an aged palm-tree flung him down, Where the sweet mountain-air blew fresh and free. Screened was that little spot, with grass o'erspread, There, with dark leaves and flowers of rosy hue, The Oleander cast its grateful shade, Roses, and Gentian-bells of richest blue, And golden Lilies decked the lonely glade. The glowing sky, the mountains steep and dark, And moored among the rocks his empty bark There was a listless languor in his mien, A blaze of sunbeams, like a golden crown, And the cool freshness of the evening air, For in that genial and delightful clime, The breath of every flower that scents the spring, Comes wafted at the dewy evening time, Upon the playful zephyr's fluttering wing. Stretched at his length upon the grass he lay, And drank the freshness of the mountain-breeze; Whiling in thoughtless mood the hours away, In all the careless luxury of ease. He was a man of middle age, and yet But in that manly and athletic frame, And sometimes in a bright and sudden glance, It flashed from that dark earnest deep-set eye, Or knit with burning thought the calm expanse Of that majestic forehead broad and high. And in that bosom stern there lay concealed M Now the last streak of glowing sunset dies The moon comes forth, o'er all the quiet scene And rising up to gird his fisher's coat, He starts, he listens, and he looks around, A footstep in the stillness soundeth near, With his own name, the echoing rocks resound, And a familiar voice salutes his ear. "My brother comes," he cried, "the dreams are past That led the idle wanderer to roam With worn and wearied feet he seeks at last His honest labour, and his quiet home.” |