Page:Tamerlane and other poems (1884).djvu/37

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 * TAMERLANE.
 * TAMERLANE.

I.

HAVE sent for thee, holy friar;(¹)

But 'twas not with the drunken hope,

Which is but agony of desire

To shun the fate, with which to cope

Is more than crime may dare to dream,

That I have call'd thee at this hour:

Such, father, is not my theme— Nor am I mad, to deem that power

Of earth may shrive me of the sin

Unearthly pride hath revelled in— I would not call thee fool, old man.

But hope is not a gift of thine;

If I can hope (O God! I can)

It falls from an eternal shrine.

II.

The gay wall of this gaudy tower

Grows dim around me—death is near.

I had not thought, until this hour

When passing from the earth, that ear
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