170
A PASSING YEAR.
"Mortals, I go, I go.
Yet, though we part, it is to meet again;
My ghost will come with noiseless step and slow
Along the twilights, whispering of my reign;
And, in the night-times, oft a mystic strain
Shall strike your sleep, and ye shall know my tone,
Singing remembered airs, not all in vain,
And chorus them with an unconscious moan;
And I must witness of you in the day
When earth and heaven shall melt in fire away."
Yet, though we part, it is to meet again;
My ghost will come with noiseless step and slow
Along the twilights, whispering of my reign;
And, in the night-times, oft a mystic strain
Shall strike your sleep, and ye shall know my tone,
Singing remembered airs, not all in vain,
And chorus them with an unconscious moan;
And I must witness of you in the day
When earth and heaven shall melt in fire away."
He drew the dark around
His ghastly face—the nations sighed farewell;
He staggered from his throne—an awful sound
Rolled down from every system's every bell,
That tolled together once to make his knell,
And the resplendent crown-star, that had flashed
On the lone Angel's brow, grew black and fell—
Shattering among six thousand more it crashed.
I asked: "How many stay for him to wear?"
I woke: and Midnight's silence filled the air.
His ghastly face—the nations sighed farewell;
He staggered from his throne—an awful sound
Rolled down from every system's every bell,
That tolled together once to make his knell,
And the resplendent crown-star, that had flashed
On the lone Angel's brow, grew black and fell—
Shattering among six thousand more it crashed.
I asked: "How many stay for him to wear?"
I woke: and Midnight's silence filled the air.
