CHARLES sleeps, and feels no more the grinding cares, The perils and the doubts, that wait on POWER. For him no more the uneasy day, -- the night At war with sleep! for him are hush'd at last Loud Hate and hollow Love. Reverse thy law, O blind Compassion of the human heart! And let not Death, which feels not, sins not, weeps not, Rob Life of all that Suffering asks from Pity. -- Lo! what a slender barrier parts in twain The presence of the breathing and the dead, The vanquisher and victim; the firm foot Of lusty strength, and the unmoving mass Of that all strength must come to. Yet once more, Ere the grave closes on that solemn dust, Will I survey what men have fear'd to look on. 'Tis a firm frame; the sinews strongly knit, The chest deep-set and broad; save some gray hairs Saddening those locks of love, no sign of age! Had nature been his executioner, @3He would have outlived me!@1 And to this end -- This narrow empire -- this unpeopled kingdom -- This six feet realm -- the over lust of sway Hath been the guide! He would have stretch'd his will O'er that unlimited world which men's souls are! Fetter'd the earth's pure air -- for Freedom is That air to honest lips; -- and here he lies, In dust most eloquent -- to after-time A never silent oracle for Kings! -- Was this the hand that strain'd within its grasp So haught a sceptre? -- this the shape that wore Majesty like a garment? Spurn that clay, It can resent not: speak of royal crimes, And it can frown not: schemeless lies the brain Whose thoughts were sources of such fearful deeds. What things are we, O Lord, when at thy will A worm like this could shake the mighty world! A few years since, and in the port was moor'd A bark to far Columbia's forests bound; And I was one of those indignant hearts Panting for exile in the thirst of freedom; Then, that pale clay (poor clay that was a King!) Forbade my parting, in the wanton pride Of vain command, and with a fated sceptre Waved back the shadow of the death to come. Here stands that baffled and forbidden wanderer, Loftiest amid the wrecks of ruin'd empire, Beside the coffin of a headless King! He thrall'd my fate -- I have prepared his doom: He made me captive -- lo! his narrow cell! So hands unseen do fashion forth the earth Of our frail schemes into our funeral urns; So walking, dream-led in life's sleep, our steps Move blindfold to the scaffold, or the throne! -- Ay, to the THRONE! From that dark thought I strike The light which cheers me onward to my goal. Wild though the night, and angry though the winds, High o'er the billows of the battling sea My spirit, like a bark, sweeps on to fortune! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ASHURNATSIRPAL III by CARL SANDBURG TO SHAKESPEARE by DAVID HARTLEY COLERIDGE THE HEART OF A WOMAN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE CHILD ALONE: 1. THE UNSEEN PLAYMATE by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE PHOENIX TO MRS. BUTTS by WILLIAM BLAKE ON A VIOLA D'AMORE by MATHILDE BLIND |