Classic Poem

21.

" He hath escap'd, " the King-Priest said.
Then, turn'd he to the lifeless maid.
Nor armlet she, nor anklet wore,
But on her veiny wrist
A clasp of amethyst,
And on her right third finger fair
A relic, which he valu'd more;
A ring of gold-and-silver twist,
And Homer's auburn-silver'd hair.
He took the ring, and from her wrist
The nun its clasp of amethyst,
The mighty spell, by which, men knew,
She could o'ercome, far off, the foe
Who but in thought might work her woe;
And then the darkness-clad withdrew
The long rich robe of tyrian hue
Which, folded round her beauteous waist,
And underdrawn, her hips embrac'd;
Leaving her naked, where she lay,
To be of worms and wolves the prey.
Thus sternly Highest Love decided,
That not by death divided,
But side by side, like groom and bride,
Should lie, at last, His sternly tried;
And, lo, the pair are not alone,
Though priest, and nun, and guard are gone!
Above them bends
A form that godlike man's transcends,
When godlike most; a face of pride,
More mournful than a fallen king's
Whose world-wide realms are miseries,
Whose empire splendors fied!
And in his mien
Such majesty is seen,
That in heav'n's courts he might have borne
A demigod's regalities,
And on immortal shoulder's worn
Archangel's wings.
" These are but seeds of future weeds
Sown to replace our hated race, "
In thought, he sighs,
Contemplating the dead;
And to the skies
Raising his heav'n-reft eyes,
Adds, with serenely saddest brow,
" Will not the seed He soweth grow? "