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It set but spurs unto his zeal:
His short-lived might sank with the light;
Black turned the red-hot day; He scarce could drag to Anselm's lair
His heavy limbs away.
He heard a sound; he felt a light;
A radiance brighter than the sun,
"Tis a God-granted boon, —
"A vision sent to cheer my soul, A glimpse of Paradise!
O, fade not yet! A moment more, Ere to my toil I rise."
A quivering fanned the air; and shapes
Like winged Joys stood round. "Arise!" they said. He rose and left
His body on the ground,
His weariness and age. Surprised With sudden buoyancy
And ease, he turned and saw aghast His ghastly effigy.
"Tis but a dream!" "Tis heaven." "For me?
Not yet! not yet!" he said; "I am a traitor! Give me time! O, let me not be dead!