Part 12 (1/2)

Dread hour! nearing, nearing fast.

Yet I cannot wish thee past.

Death! Oh! but a dream till nigh, With night cold from eternity.

That cold night doth around me creep In which immortals never sleep.

The cloud its mighty shade doth fling, Like a mantle for a king, On the mountain's awful form, Scarred through battles with the storm.

So thy darkness falls on me, Darkness, such as cannot be, But to those whose soul is life, To a nation in its strife, That its wrongs for ever crushed, The cries of slaves forever hushed, And every chain forever gone, Man tremble before G.o.d alone; That man's true right, so long betrayed, On truth and justice shall be laid; That Freedom's martyr's work begun In blood, and fire, and hidden sun, Shall culminate in triumphs won; And the world's changing channels trace A course of hope for all our race.

Oh! how they as the humblest die, Who part from kingly majesty To stand before Him!--nothing there But as His image we may bear; The image by the humblest borne; The kings of the eternal morn.

The lowliest man, most void of power, To stand the trial of that hour!

To come from life in quiet shade, From humble duties well obeyed.

Ah! if this be a solemn thing, What then for one in might a king!

To meet the trial of that day From gorgeous wrongs in false array, Where false praise gilds the every deed, Where few warn one that will not heed; The man whom Weird-like hands have shown The weary pathway to the throne.

Oh! thou gory-crowned head Haunting here my dying bed!

Was it not necessity?

Moulding deed that was to be!

Oh! king so false--away--away-- Leave me at least my dying day.

Is there no refuge? Hated face!

Come with the looks of thy cold race.

Look thou as when thy soiled hand gave The Earl, thy va.s.sal to the grave.

Gaze thou on me in that worst pride As kingly honor was defied.

Look thus on me--but not as now, That patient sorrow on thy brow.

I can but gaze. Forever near Thy dreaded form is my one fear.

A boy, I sit by running stream, The humble life my daily dream: Some lowly good--some wrongs redrest, A noiseless life, its peaceful rest.

As that stream calm my life shall be; As placid in its purity.

The humble stone shall tell the tale When life began--when strength did fail.

An humble race shall bear my name Blest by a few not rich in fame.

Oh! king, thine eye! It says, but then Thy hand had not the guilty stain.

Hark! how the marriage-bells are ringing!

Voices fill the air with singing.

Waves of light are now the beating Of my heart, and the repeating Seems no weariness of pleasure, Only increase of its treasure.

Ah! dear wife! thy look hath sped Many a sorrow. But this head!

E'en at the hearth, and by thy side This kingly blood-stained form doth glide.

The quiet house of G.o.d,--the prayer Rising as incense in the air.