 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
129
THE MURDERED CZAR.
[“Paul caused the corpse of his father, Peter III., to be taken up and brought to the palace, to receive similar honors with that of the empress, his wife. Prince Baratinsky and Count Alexius Orloff, two of the murderers of the unfortunate czar, were fixed on to officiate as chief mourners.
The imperial crown was placed on the coffin of Peter; and in presence of the assembled court, and amidst sable hangings, lighted tapers, and all the solemnity of woe, the two mourners took their station. Orloff, whose nerves were strong, endured the scene, unshaken; but his companion fainted beneath his emotions.”]—
Mavor.
A dark procession from the tomb
The body of their monarch bore,
With blazing torch and sable plume,
Infolded in a shroud of gore.
From turret and from tower the toll
Of chiming bells rose on the air,
While, muffled in his dusky stole,
The holy priest knelt down in prayer.
The body of their monarch bore,
With blazing torch and sable plume,
Infolded in a shroud of gore.
From turret and from tower the toll
Of chiming bells rose on the air,
While, muffled in his dusky stole,
The holy priest knelt down in prayer.
A stately figure joined the train,
And slowly walked behind the bier—
Whose haughty spirit strove in vain
To check the unavailing tear.
No golden circlet graced his head,
Nor glittered on his breast the star;
But funeral garb, and lordly tread,
Proclaimed the mourner and the czar.
And slowly walked behind the bier—
Whose haughty spirit strove in vain
To check the unavailing tear.
No golden circlet graced his head,
Nor glittered on his breast the star;
But funeral garb, and lordly tread,
Proclaimed the mourner and the czar.
When nearer to the palace proud
The bearers drew in dark array,
To young and old they cried aloud—
“Room for the bier! make way, make way!”
Like flashing waves before the prow,
The mourners thronging round, divide;
And solemnly they enter now
The lofty dwelling-place of pride.
The bearers drew in dark array,
To young and old they cried aloud—
“Room for the bier! make way, make way!”
Like flashing waves before the prow,
The mourners thronging round, divide;
And solemnly they enter now
The lofty dwelling-place of pride.
130
The chandelier and lamp threw light
On every object in the hall;
And, darker than the wing of night,
Broad hangings rustled on the wall:
While nobles, in superb attire,
And prostrate serf, their homage paid,
Paul, on the coffin of his sire,
The diadem of empire laid.
On every object in the hall;
And, darker than the wing of night,
Broad hangings rustled on the wall:
While nobles, in superb attire,
And prostrate serf, their homage paid,
Paul, on the coffin of his sire,
The diadem of empire laid.
In presence of the courtiers then,
With downcast eye and timid look,
Reluctantly two noblemen
Their station by the coffin took.
A trembling thrilled each iron frame,
And bloodless waxed their “tell-tale” cheeks—
Oh! guilt and agony and shame
Are vultures with unsparing beaks!
With downcast eye and timid look,
Reluctantly two noblemen
Their station by the coffin took.
A trembling thrilled each iron frame,
And bloodless waxed their “tell-tale” cheeks—
Oh! guilt and agony and shame
Are vultures with unsparing beaks!
The taper shed a ruddy glare
On the bruised features of the dead,
And gory beard and clotted hair
In all awoke an icy dread.
Ah! fearfully the brow was still
Contorted by the pang of death,
And pomp with dust accorded ill,
Deprived of motion, mind and breath.
On the bruised features of the dead,
And gory beard and clotted hair
In all awoke an icy dread.
Ah! fearfully the brow was still
Contorted by the pang of death,
And pomp with dust accorded ill,
Deprived of motion, mind and breath.
Why sits that ghastly watcher by
The corse, with frenzy in his gaze?
The fearful wildness of his eye
A storm, at work within, betrays:
He looks upon the pall and shroud
With face, as stainless marble, pale,
Afraid the slumberer to the crowd
Would tell the heart-appalling tale.
The corse, with frenzy in his gaze?
The fearful wildness of his eye
A storm, at work within, betrays:
He looks upon the pall and shroud
With face, as stainless marble, pale,
Afraid the slumberer to the crowd
Would tell the heart-appalling tale.
The mystic pencil cannot paint
The frightful look his visage wore,
When, reft of consciousness and faint,
He sunk exhausted on the floor.
Awaking from the swoon, with hands
Outspread for aid, the ruffian cried:—
“Vengeful the sheeted victim stands,
With arm uplifted, by my side!”
The frightful look his visage wore,
131
He sunk exhausted on the floor.
Awaking from the swoon, with hands
Outspread for aid, the ruffian cried:—
“Vengeful the sheeted victim stands,
With arm uplifted, by my side!”
These startling words his guilt reveal,
His bosom wildly throbs with fear;
Loud shriek of death, and vain appeal
To stony hearts, ring in his ear;
The cup he bade the monarch drain,
With poison fraught, he now beholds,
And clenches in his hand again
The napkin with its bloody folds.
His bosom wildly throbs with fear;
Loud shriek of death, and vain appeal
To stony hearts, ring in his ear;
The cup he bade the monarch drain,
With poison fraught, he now beholds,
And clenches in his hand again
The napkin with its bloody folds.
Ah! phantoms, unallied to earth,
That other eyes cannot discern,
Are feeding, with their hellish mirth,
Fierce flames that in his bosom burn:
In vain the mind-destroying bowl
Was brought his anguish to allay,
No draught will ever from his soul
The stain of murder wash away.
That other eyes cannot discern,
Are feeding, with their hellish mirth,
Fierce flames that in his bosom burn:
In vain the mind-destroying bowl
Was brought his anguish to allay,
No draught will ever from his soul
The stain of murder wash away.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |