THE SPIRIT OF THE YEAR.
131
"Thou of the many diadems,
Before whose silent waves I stand,
My beautiful, my priceless gems,
I gave unto your jewelled hand.
The gladness that was wont to twine
Around my heart's wild minstrelsy,
Warm hearts that knelt before my shrine,
These were my offerings to Thee.
Before whose silent waves I stand,
My beautiful, my priceless gems,
I gave unto your jewelled hand.
The gladness that was wont to twine
Around my heart's wild minstrelsy,
Warm hearts that knelt before my shrine,
These were my offerings to Thee.
"I shook the blossoms from my wing,
To herald my departure hence;
And bade the fairest flow'rets sing,
My dirge of summer excellence.
I see them now beside the grave
That open waits for me the while;
They turn upon the silent wave,
And greet me with their solemn smile!
To herald my departure hence;
And bade the fairest flow'rets sing,
My dirge of summer excellence.
I see them now beside the grave
That open waits for me the while;
They turn upon the silent wave,
And greet me with their solemn smile!
"I come not as a captive comes,
Enchained, from dark, disastrous war,
Whose thoughts in tortured madness roam;
I am a kingly conqueror,
The hearts of millions are my own;
Whose brightness to the grave went down—
Their deep unchanging love my throne,
Their tears the jewels of my crown.
Enchained, from dark, disastrous war,
Whose thoughts in tortured madness roam;
I am a kingly conqueror,
The hearts of millions are my own;
Whose brightness to the grave went down—
Their deep unchanging love my throne,
Their tears the jewels of my crown.
'Ye shadowy sisters of the past,
Whose mighty love is o'er me spread,
I feel I am your own at last,
One numbered with the noble dead:
Whose mighty love is o'er me spread,
I feel I am your own at last,
One numbered with the noble dead:
