Zinzendorff and Other Poems/Death of Wilberforce
DEATH OF WILBERFORCE.
I heard loud praise of heroes. But I saw
The blood-stain on their tablet. Then I marked
A torrent rushing from its mountain height,
Bearing the uptorn laurel, while its strength
Among the arid sands of Vanity
Did spend itself, and lo! a warning voice
Sighed o'er the Ocean of Eternity,
"Behold the warrior's glory."
History came,
Sublimely soaring on her wing of light,
And many a name of palatine and peer,
Monarch and prince on her proud scroll she bore,
Blazoned by fame. But, 'mid the sea of time,
Helmet, and coronet and diadem
Rose boastful up, and shone, and disappeared,
Like the white foam-crest on the tossing wave,
Forgotten, while beheld.
I heard a knell
Toll slow amid the consecrated aisles
Where slumber England's dead. A solemn dirge
Broke forth amid the tomb of kings, and said
That man was dust. And then a nation's tears
Fell down like rain, for it was meet to mourn.
But from the land of palm-trees, where doth flow
Sweet incense forth from grove, and gum, and flower,
Came richer tribute, breathing o'er that tomb
A prostrate nation's thanks.
Yes, Afric knelt,
That mourning mother, and throughout the earth
Taught her unfettered children to repeat
The name of Wilberforce, and bless the spot
Made sacred by his ashes. Yea, the World
Arose upon her crumbling throne, to praise
The lofty mind that never knew to swerve
Though holy truth should summon it to meet
The frown of the embattled universe.
And so I bowed me down in this far nook
Of the far West, and proudly traced the name
Of Wilberforce upon my country's scroll,
To be her guide, as she unchained the slave,
And the bright model of her sons who seek
True glory. And from every village-haunt
And school, where rustic Science quaintly reigns,
I called the little ones, and forth they came
To hear of Afric's champion, and to bless
The firm in purpose and the full of days.