"
Said the other: "This soil is dry, you know.
I doubt if a spring can be found below;
"You had better consult, before you dig,
Some water-witch, with a hazel twig."
"No, wet or dry, I will dig it here,
Shallow or deep, if it takes a year.
"In the Arab desert, where shade is none,
The waterless land of sand and sun,
"Under the pitiless, brazen sky
My burning throat as the sand was dry;
"My crazed brain listened in fever dreams
For plash of buckets and ripple of streams;
"And opening my eyes to the blinding glare,
And my lips to the breath of the blistering air,
"Tortured alike by the heavens and earth,
I cursed, like Job, the day of my birth.
"Then something tender, and sad, and mild
As a mother's voice to her wandering child,
"Rebuked my frenzy; and bowing my head,
I prayed as I never before had prayed:
"Pity me, God! for I die of thirst;
Take me out of this land accurst;
"And if ever I reach my home again,
Where earth has springs, and the sky has rain,
"I will dig a well for the passers-by,
And none shall suffer from thirst as I.
"I saw, as I prayed, my home once more,
The house, the barn, the elms by the door,
"The grass-lined road, that riverward wound,
The tall slate stones of the burying-ground,
"The belfry and steeple on meeting-house hill,
The brook with its dam, and gray grist mill,
"And I knew in that vision beyond the sea,
The very place where my well must be.
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