So sadly calm, so kingly, so serene?
No—all was chang'd! the monarch wept alone,
Between a ruin'd church and shatter'd throne!
Friendless and hopeless—like a lonely tree,
On some bare headland straining mournfully,
That all night long its weary moan doth make
To the vex'd waters of a mountain lake!
Still, as he gaz'd, the phantom's mournful glance
Shook the deep slumber of his deathlike trance;
Like some forgotten strain that haunts us still,
That calm eye follow'd, turn him where he will;
Till the pale monarch, and the long array,
Pass'd like a morning mist, in tears away!
Then all his dream was troubled, and his soul
Thrill'd with a dread no slumber could control;
On that dark form his eyes had gaz'd before,
Nor known it then;—but it was veil'd no more!
In broad clear light the ghastly vision shone,—
That form was his,—those features were his own!
The night of terrors, and the day of care,
The years of toil—all, all were written there!
Sad faces watch'd around him, and his breath
Came faint and feeble in the embrace of death.
The gathering tempest, with its voice of fear,
His latest loftiest music smote his ear!
That day of boundless hope and promise high,
That day that hail'd his triumphs, saw him die!
Then from those whitening lips, as death drew near,
The imprisoning chains fell off, and all was clear!
Like lowering clouds, that at the close of day,
Bath'd in a blaze of sunset, melt away;
And with its clear calm tones, that dying prayer
Cheer'd all the failing hearts that sorrow'd there!
