Poems (Hooper)/Miserrimus

by Lucy Hamilton Hooper

MISERRIMUS.

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

And then I cried, "Whom shall I bid to rest
In 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 lips
The wine-cup stain yet lingered, "Is it thus
That 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 lips
Replied, "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 find
For this fair tomb that I have shapen thus?
God giveth His beloved sleep. Where lies
       Miserrimus?"

And lo! an aged man, upon whose brow
The 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 dwell
Behind yon pale slab from Pentelicus.
Who hopeth not, nor resteth, thou may'st name
       Miserrimus."