Classic Poem

I

CLOTHO

How long, O sister, how long
Ere the weary task is done?
How long, O sister, how long
Shall the fragile thread be spun?

LACHESIS

'T is mercy that stays her hand,
Else she had cut the thread;
She is a woman too.
Like her who kneels by his bed!

ATROPOS

Patience! the end is come;
He shall no more endure:
See! with a single touch! —
My hand is swift and sure!

II

FIRST ANGEL

Listen! what was it fell
An instant ago on my ear —
A sound like the throb of a bell
From yonder darkling sphere!

SECOND ANGEL

The planet where mortals dwell!
I hear it not ... yes, I hear;
How it deepens — a sound of dole!

II

FIRST ANGEL

Listen! It is the knell
Of a passing soul —
The midnight lamentation
Of some stricken nation
For a Chieftain's soul!
It is just begun,
The many-throated moan ...
Now the clangor swells
As if a million bells
Had blent their tones in one!
Accents of despair
Are these to mortal ear;
But all this wild funereal music blown
And sifted through celestial air
Turns to triumphal paeans here!
Wave upon wave the silvery anthems flow;
Wave upon wave the deep vibrations roll
From that dim sphere below.
Come, let us go —
Surely, some chieftain's soul!