Page:Poets of John Company.djvu/97

Rh

But first, one rattle of that bony beak
 * Rings like a bell funereal through the air,

Saying, as plain as ominous sound can speak,
 * "Thou curious fool, of thine own doom beware.

Perchance the next grey tomb I make my throne. If thou stand'st chattering here—may be thine own."

Light of my faith! thy flame is quench'd
 * In this deep night of blood;

The sceptre from thy race is wrenched.
 * And of the brave who stood

Around thy Musnud, strong and true.
 * When this day's sunrise on the brow

Of yonder mountains glanced, how few
 * Are left to weep thee now!

Star of the battle! thou art set;
 * But thou didst not sink down.

As those who could their fame forget,
 * Before the tempest's frown;

As those crown'd dastards, who could crave
 * The mercy of their haughty foes.

Better to perish with the brave.
 * Than live and reign like those.

No! thou hast to thy battle-bed
 * Rush'd like thy native sun.

Whose fiercest, brightest rays are shed
 * When his race is nearest done;

Where sabres flash'd and vollies rang.
 * And quickest sped the parting breath.

Thou, from a life of empire, sprang
 * To meet a soldier's death.