The deformed transformed / by Ronald Ross.

  • Ronald Ross
Date:
1890
Catalogue details

Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: The deformed transformed / by Ronald Ross. Source: Wellcome Collection.

Provider: This material has been provided by Royal College of Physicians, London. The original may be consulted at Royal College of Physicians, London.

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    Zoz.— Yield not, yield not ! Ast.—Oh God, why hast Thou persecuted him ! Az.—Be thou the only one of all to pity me, Branded and hated, against whom the earth, The very brutal sod, is tongued to utter, And the improvident and light air to mock me. Be thou the only one. Feed me with pity; Redeem me with the glory of thy love ; Join all thy innocence with me in prayer, That thy clear virtue, buying out my guilt, May bribe Heaven for me. Let me soothe with thee Some little space the aching of my soul. Ast.—Youth is triumphant, but in age and death, Who will support my footsteps, close my eyes ? Will the immortal drop me medicines ? ‘ Az.—Ask not the future. At the latter end, When happy age shall dim those starry eyes, And love grow like the myrtle at the tomb, Hiding the horror of death, to me perchance Heaven may ordain to die with thee and walk Unto the easeful gloom and all-gathering grave At last. Ast.— Wilt thou resign so much for me, And all the immortal godhead of thy soul ? Az.—Better the fading than the tinsel rose ; Better the dying violet with her scent Than amethystine violets of stone. Blessed are they who die and slumber well, Whose childlike sport is finished with a sleep, Uncursed by memory and the voice that cries For ever ‘Was it well done what is done ? ’ Better the change of seasons, sweet surprise Of dawn and eve and breaking of the storm, Than the enduring commentless blank of day, Eternal and unvarying. Hear, who die,— Immortality is hell, and hell immortality. Zoz.—Yield not, yield not, for thus the evil cry. Ast.—Art thou so beautiful? Zoz.— Yield not, yield not ! By this my blood upon you that he shed And by my unhappy fate. Ast.— Oh God, behold ! Is he not wise and beautiful ? Why then Hast thou so persecuted him 1 The mists begin to fall. Az.— Come with me : Look on me: speak to me. Let thy shining hair Wrap me in light. Yield me these mortal hands
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