Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/235

He had breathed the dungeon damps,
    He had drank the draught of fame,
When the clime of his birth like a maniac rushed,
And the blood of kings from its fountain gushed,
    He had stood at his post the same.

By Memory's chart he sought
    For dell, and rock, and stream,
But a spell of magic had fallen around,
And cities arose where the forest frowned,
And the far, lone lake, with masts was crowned,
    Like the change of a fairy dream.

The exulting pulse beat high,
    In the heart of this western zone,
His home was the breast of the free and brave,
No sceptred king, with the world his slave,
    E'er sate on such a throne.

But there came a solemn knell,
    O'er the summer breeze it stole,
From town, and tower, and village bell
On our listening nation's ear it fell,
    And woke the mourner's soul.

The hero slept in dust,
    The mighty bore his pall,
The tears of love on his tomb were shed,
The glory of earth was around his head,
But from honor, and wealth, and bliss he fled
    To the highest joy of all.