Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/51

Rh Years speed their silent course. I see a palace, and a vassal train, Proud chariots roll, and regal splendors glow, And haughty guards surround the vaulted throne. But is the glory of a land best told By gaudes like these?—Or doth the crowned brow Sleep sweeter than the labouring hind who steals Weary, to his hard pallet?— What hath dimm'd The royal smile?—And stamp'd the darken'd seal Of moody madness on that straining eye?— There is a shepherd's harp in these high halls, And the demoniac monarch loves its tone Of tender minstrelsy,—yet hates the hand That calls it forth. Oh King! the curse hath fallen On thee, and on thy people. Thou dost writhe Beneath the empoison'd purple.— Look once more!— There is another change. Proud hosts rush on To battle, the bold war-horse spurns the ground, Philistia's champions shake the glittering spear, And Israel 'neath the banner of her king, Frowns deep defiance.—Throng'd Gilboa quakes At the dread onset.—Mid the thickest fight I see the royal robe, the towering port Of him, the crown'd at Mizpeh.—From the host Of darkest dangers, from the direst foes That lion-hearted monarch turns not back, Nor his good sword declines.— But lo! he stands Alone, amid the slain.—One look he casts, Accusing and despairing, up to Heaven, Then rushes on his sword.—