Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/83

ALICE OF MONMOUTH Clave unto him whose quickened breath

Came like a waft from the realm of Death,—

He felt what a secret, powerful tie

Bound them in one, mysteriously.

He studied her features, as she stood

Lighting the shades of that woful place

With the presence of her womanhood,

And thought—as the dying son had thought

When her beauty first his vision caught—

I never heard a sweeter voice!"

And a sad remembrance travelled fast

Through all the labyrinth of the past,

Till he said, as the scales fell off at last,

Then he looked upon the sword, which lay

At the headboard, under the night-lamp's ray;

He saw the coat, the stains, the dust,

The gilded eagles worn with rust,

The swarthy forehead and matted hair

Of the strong, brave hero lying there;

And he felt how gently Hugh held command,—

The life how gallant, the death how grand;

And with trembling lips, and the words that choke,

And the tears which burn the cheek, he spoke:

In the manhood of such a noble boy?

This life, which had being through my own,

Was a better life than I have known;

O that its fairness should be earth,

Ere I could prize it at its worth!"

He deemed you worthy to bear his name,

His spotless honor, his lasting fame:

I, who have wronged you, bid you live

To comfort the lonely—and forgive."

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