Lull'd by such perfume they slept
In the silent temple—
The temple of the god.
Lay they in that sleep enchanted,
On the marble floor,
Many things their slumber haunted,
Things that were no more.
'Twas the phantasm of life:
Fierce and rugged bands were crowding
Round their youthful king;
Shaggy hides their wild forms shrouding,
While the echoes ring
With the shouts that herald strife;
Such now wake the quiet temple—
The temple of the god.
Next, a southern noon is sleeping
On embattled lines,
There the purple robe is sweeping,
There the red gold shines.
That young chief his own has won—
He who when his warriors tasked him,
With his heart's free scope,
What was left himself, they ask'd him,
And he answer'd, "Hope."
What he said, that hath he done;
And his glory fills the temple—
The temple of the god.
Victory is like sunshine o'er him,
Wealth is at his side,
Crowns are in the dust before him,
Earth hath bow'd her pride
At the whisper of his breath.
But that laurell'd one is dying
On a fever'd bed:
"Leave him where he now is lying,
There the king is best," it said;
Such the oracle of death,
In that fated temple—
The temple of the god.
Such the moral of his story,
Such was heaven's reply;
Amid wealth, and power, and glory,
It is best to die,
Unto all that answer came.
From the highest to the lowest
Life draws deep a wasted breath:
Fate! thy best boon thou bestowest
When thou givest death.
Each that oracle may claim,
The words of that dark temple—
The temple of the god.
L. E. L.
