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ATLANTIS.
61
Woke all thy seers, of deepening light aware;Swift-falling flames thy crimson altars caught; Day crowned thy Ruler: he who, strong to dare,Had long with hell-born Slavery, grappling, fought,And hurled him down the pit, and thy salvation wrought.
VI.On Freedom's golden threshold mute he stood, And bore aloft the star-embroidered sign—His drooping brow bedewed with sweat of blood, His sad eyes steeped in tears of love divine; And sighing yet, "Thy will, O God, not mine,"His clinging crown of thorns half-snatched away, His wan lips wet with crucifixion-wine—He stood—pale herald of millennial day,While Judas paused afar and whispered, "Slay him—slay!"
VII.O people wailing for the first-born, dead! O morn transplendent, quenched in utter night!
