Page:A Tale of the Secret Tribunal.pdf/48

The time will come, when thou, with me,
The judgment-throne of God wilt see.
Oh! by thy hopes of mercy, then,
By His blest love who died for men,
By each dread rite, and shrine, and vow,
Avenger! I adjure thee now!
To him who bleeds beneath thy steel,
Thy lineage and thy name reveal,
And haste thee! for his closing ear
Hath little more on earth to hear—
Haste for the spirit, almost flown,
Is lingering for thy words alone."

Then first a shade, resembling fear,
Pass'd o'er th' Avenger's mien austere;
A nameless awe his features cross'd,
Soon in their haughty coldness lost.

    "What wouldst thou? Ask the rock and wild,
And bid them tell thee of their child!
Ask the rude winds, and angry skies,
Whose tempests were his lullabies!
His chambers were the cave and wood,
His fosterers men of wrath and blood;
Outcasts alike of earth and heaven,
By wrongs to desperation driven!
Who, in their pupil, now could trace
The features of a nobler race?
Yet such was mine!—if one who cast
A look of anguish o'er the past,
Bore faithful record on the day,
When penitent in death he lay.