| |
| HE sat in silence on the ground, | |
| The old and haughty czar; | |
| Lonely, though princes girt him round, | |
| And leaders of the war: | |
| He had cast his jewelled sabre, | 5 |
| That many a field had won, | |
| To the earth beside his youthful dead, | |
| His fair and first-born son. | |
| |
| With a robe of ermine for its bed, | |
| Was laid that form of clay, | 10 |
| Where the light a stormy sunset shed, | |
| Through the rich tent made way: | |
| And a sad and solemn beauty | |
| On the pallid face came down, | |
| Which the Lord of nations mutely watched, | 15 |
| In the dust, with his renown. | |
| |
| Low tones at last of woe and fear | |
| From his full bosom broke; | |
| A mournful thing it was to hear | |
| How then the proud man spoke! | 20 |
| The voice that through the combat | |
| Had shouted far and high, | |
| Came forth in strange, dull, hollow tones, | |
| Burdened with agony. | |
| |
| “There is no crimson on thy cheek, | 25 |
| And on thy lip no breath, | |
| I call thee, and thou dost not speak,— | |
| They tell me this is death! | |
| And fearful things are whispering | |
| That I the deed have done,— | 30 |
| For the honor of thy father’s name, | |
| Look up, look up, my son! | |
| |
| “Well might I know death’s hue and mien, | |
| But on thine aspect, boy! | |
| What, till this moment, have I seen, | 35 |
| Save pride and tameless joy? | |
| Swiftest thou wert to battle, | |
| And bravest there of all,— | |
| How could I think a warrior’s frame | |
| Thus like a flower should fall? | 40 |
| |
| “I will not bear that still, cold look,— | |
| Rise up, thou fierce and free! | |
| “Wake as the storm wakes! I will brook | |
| All, save this calm, from thee! | |
| Lift brightly up, and proudly, | 45 |
| Once more thy kindling eyes! | |
| Hath my word lost its power on earth? | |
| I say to thee, arise! | |
| |
| “Didst thou not know I loved thee well? | |
| Thou didst not! and art gone, | 50 |
| In bitterness of soul, to dwell | |
| Where man must dwell alone. | |
| Come back, young fiery spirit! | |
| If but one hour, to learn | |
| The secrets of the folded heart, | 55 |
| That seemed to thee so stern. | |
| |
| “Thou wert the first, the first fair child, | |
| That in mine arms I pressed; | |
| Thou wert the bright one, that hast smiled | |
| Like summer on my breast! | 60 |
| I reared thee as an eagle, | |
| To the chase thy steps I led, | |
| I bore thee on my battle-horse, | |
| I look upon thee,—dead! | |
| |
| “Lay down my warlike banners here, | 65 |
| Never again to wave, | |
| And bury my red sword and spear, | |
| Chiefs! in my first-born’s grave! | |
| And leave me!—I have conquered, | |
| I have slain,—my work is done! | 70 |
| Whom have I slain?—ye answer not,— | |
| Thou too art mute, my son!” | |
| |
| And thus his wild lament was poured | |
| Through the dark resounding night, | |
| And the battle knew no more his sword, | 75 |
| Nor the foaming steed his might. | |
| He heard strange voices moaning | |
| In every wind that sighed; | |
| From the searching stars of heaven he shrank,— | |
| Humbly the conqueror died. | 80 |
| |
