Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/51

                  ——Years speed their silent course.
I see a palace, and a vassal train,
Proud chariots roll, and regal splendors glow,
And haughty guards surround the vaulted throne.
But is the glory of a land best told
By gaudes like these?—Or doth the crowned brow
Sleep sweeter than the labouring hind who steals
Weary, to his hard pallet?—
                 ——What hath dimm'd
The royal smile?—And stamp'd the darken'd seal
Of moody madness on that straining eye?—
There is a shepherd's harp in these high halls,
And the demoniac monarch loves its tone
Of tender minstrelsy,—yet hates the hand
That calls it forth. Oh King! the curse hath fallen
On thee, and on thy people. Thou dost writhe
Beneath the empoison'd purple.—
                 ——Look once more!—
There is another change. Proud hosts rush on
To battle, the bold war-horse spurns the ground,
Philistia's champions shake the glittering spear,
And Israel 'neath the banner of her king,
Frowns deep defiance.—Throng'd Gilboa quakes
At the dread onset.—Mid the thickest fight
I see the royal robe, the towering port
Of him, the crown'd at Mizpeh.—From the host
Of darkest dangers, from the direst foes
That lion-hearted monarch turns not back,
Nor his good sword declines.—
                         But lo! he stands
Alone, amid the slain.—One look he casts,
Accusing and despairing, up to Heaven,
Then rushes on his sword.—