The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1869-12-30

n threatening cloud IN quick advance
O'ershadowed all his sunny glance.
In those sad hours he gan to grieve
That all ungathered he must leave
SO many honors cleaning,
Often he cursed. thus dreaming,
The lucklesn hour and day forlorn
When he into the world was born.
Yet somewhat he again reioiced
And by one comfort was enticed,
When some friends TO him betrayed
That the sickness on him laid
Would in quite different forms advance,
And even might be cured perchance.
Hence he began to think and dream,
And of hope TO catch gleam;
Believing he might cured be
And be well quite easily.
Thus he went and took the road,
As the doctors him had showed,
Towards Monpasihere;
But there he found little cheer
Or comfort for his i'll to dwell
They told him he would ne'er be we'll
lie heard this with little Joy,
Then he Salerno thought to try;
There, through her learned doctors lore,
BE cured of the disease he bore.
lie found her wisest masters there,
Who to him at once this rare
And strangest story did relate:
That he would be cured, and yet
That cured he could he nevermore.
'rHow can this be p he cried, heart-sore;
what you say cannot be. for sure,
Either there is or not a cure.
Since what you may impose on me,
OF wealth or labor suredly,
] shall perform most truly.
Now leave these hopes unruly,'
To him the master then reioined
Your sickness is of such a kind
But why should l let you know!
There is a medicine, trow,
Which would quickly cure you;
But no one, assure you,
Has wealth enough, or courage cen
TO obtain this medicine.
Hence you'll keep your disease, unless
God be your doctor in your distress"
Then spoke Sir Henry, the poor knight,
why rob me of all comforts, light?
Sure I've enough of riches store
Unless your mastership and lore
And Office you would breaker,
And moreover, forsaken
Both my silver and my gold
TO get upon you such a hold
That you viii gladly make me well.
''That I've the will need not tell,
Said the master in retort,
And if the drug were but a sort
Such as to be found readily,
Or purchasable in degree
By anything men cherish,
I'd never let you perish.
But this is not the case. alas,
And hence my help by yoa must pass.
Sore as with pain you're laden.
You must find maiden
Pure and of asavirgin mind,
And yet all willing, and inclined
For you death to suffer.
Now, thus life to offer
Is not the custom amongst men,
Else nothing more were needed then.
Such virgin maidens blood
Would make your body clean and good.
Then recognized poor Henry hew
'Twould be impossible now
To find one, ready to offer
For him death to suffer.
Hence was that comfort taken from him,
Which had brought him hope grew dim,
And ever since that time he thought
OF his cure no more, and sought
To give't no more attention.
And now his grief's expansion
Grew so strong and SO great.
That he began to curse his fate,
And wished his life were ended.
Home went he, and expended
The wealth wherewith ne had been blessed,
AS to him appeared best.
Quietly he then gan each
OF his poor friends to make rich
And the stranger poor t endow.
Moreoo or that God might mercy show
Unto his soul, of hope bereft,
He gave to churches what was left.
Thus did he Of all his pelf
Quietly divest himself,
And kept quiet farm alone,
There from men retired to moan.
Yet his pitiful misery
Not alone mourned he;
Twas mourned 10y men in the whole land
Wherein he was acquainted and
E en- in those countries where, unknown,
| They q heard of him through fame alone.