Poems (Hooper)/Miserrimus

by Lucy Hamilton Hooper

MISERRIMUS.

I shaped a fair and stately sepulchreFrom pallid marble of Pentelicus,And on the door I graved a single word,       "Miserrimus."

And then I cried, "Whom shall I bid to restIn this fair tomb, that I have shapen thus?What dead man claims the crown of wretchedness,—       Miserrimus?"

I wandered forth amid the midnight graves,I called upon the sleepers to arise,And the long-buried dead came forth, and gazed       With dim, unseeing eyes.

I asked a youth, upon whose ashen lipsThe wine-cup stain yet lingered, "Is it thusThat those have died who name themselves in death       Miserrimus?"

A sudden tremor shook the shrouded form,And something like to life-breath heaved the breast:"Blest was the death that said, 'Go, sin no more.       God loveth us. We rest.'"

I passed to where a youthful lover lay,By death divided from his love. '"And thus,"I cried, "he slumbers who in death is named       Miserrimus."

And lo! a voice from out the stony lipsReplied, "O mortal, wherefore judge of Fate?We are but parted for a fleeting space.       God loveth us. We wait."

And then I lingered where a hero lay,One of the world's predestined rulers. "He,Who might have won a crown, yet lieth low,       Must taste death's misery."

And then I moaned, "Shall I no tenant findFor this fair tomb that I have shapen thus?God giveth His beloved sleep. Where lies       Miserrimus?"

And lo! an aged man, upon whose browThe life yet lingered, slowly came to me,And said, in broken accents, "Yonder word       Befits my misery.

"Mine are the days that bring no joy or hope,The grass is green above the lips I pressed;I have outlived all love and all delight,       And have not yet found rest.

"Yes, I, the living, well may claim to dwellBehind yon pale slab from Pentelicus.Who hopeth not, nor resteth, thou may'st name       Miserrimus."