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The poetical works of Thomas Campbell/The Last Man

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THE LAST MAN.

All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,The Sun himself must die,Before this mortal shall assumeIts Immortality! I saw a vision in my sleep,That gave my spirit strength to sweepAdown the gulf of Time!I saw the last of human mould,That shall Creation's death behold,As Adam saw her prime!
The Sun's eye had a sickly glare,The Earth with age was wan,The skeletons of nations wereAround that lonely man!Some had expired in fight,—the brandsStill rusted in their bony hands;In plague and famine some!Earth's cities had no sound nor tread;And ships were drifting with the deadTo shores where all was dumb!
Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,With dauntless words and high,That shook the sere leaves from the woodAs if a storm passed by,Saying, We are twins in death, proud Sun,Thy face is cold, thy race is run.'Tis Mercy bids thee go.For thou ten thousand thousand yearsHast seen the tide of human tears,That shall no longer flow.
What though beneath thee man put forthHis pomp, his pride, his skill;And arts that made fire, flood and earth.The vassals of his will;— Yet mourn I not thy parted sway,Thou dim discrowned king of day:For all those trophied artsAnd triumphs that beneath thee sprang,Healed not a passion or a pangEntailed on human hearts.
Go, let oblivion's curtain fallUpon the stage of men,Nor with thy rising beams recalLife's tragedy again.Its piteous pageants bring not back,Nor waken flesh, upon the rackOf pain anew to writhe;Stretched in disease's shapes abhorredOr mown in battle by the sword,Like grass beneath the sithe.
Ev'n I am weary in yon skiesTo watch thy fading fire;Test of all sumless agonies,Behold not me expire.My lips that speak thy dirge of death—Their rounded gasp and gurgling breathTo see thou shalt not boast.The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall,—The majesty of Darkness shallReceive my parting ghost!
This spirit shall return to HimWho gave its heavenly spark;Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dimWhen thou thyself art dark! No! it shall live again, and shineIn bliss unknown to beams of thine,By Him recalled to breath,Who captive led captivity,Who robbed the grave of Victory,—And took the sting from Death!
Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me upOn Nature's awful wasteTo drink this last and bitter cupOf grief that man shall taste—Go, tell the night that hides thy face,Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race,On Earth's sepulchral clod,The darkening universe defyTo quench his Immortality,Or shake his trust in God!