FLY, son of Banquo! Fleance, fly! Leave thy guilty sire to die. O'er the heath the stripling fled, The wild storm howling round his head. Fear mightier through the shades of night Urged his feet, and winged his flight; And still he heard his father cry, Fly, son of Banquo! Fleance, fly! Fly, son of Banquo! Fleance, fly! Leave thy guilty sire to die. On every blast was heard the moan, The anguished shriek, the death-fraught groan; Loathly night-hags join the yell, And see—the midnight rites of hell. Forms of magic! spare my life! Shield me from the murderer's knife! Before me dim in lurid light Float the phantoms of the night— Behind I hear my father cry, Fly, son of Banquo—Fleance, fly! Parent of the sceptred race, Boldly tread the circled space: Boldly, Fleance, venture near— Sire of monarchs—spurn at fear. Sisters, with prophetic breath, Pour we now the dirge of death! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BONDAGE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE LIVING DEAD by RALPH CHAPLIN CINQUAIN: AMAZE by ADELAIDE CRAPSEY AN EPITAPH UPON HUSBAND AND WIFE WHO DIED AND WERE BURIED by RICHARD CRASHAW FARE WELL by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE WITH COLORS GAY by HOWARD S. ABBOTT |