 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
132
LYING IN STATE.
“Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
And, live we how we can, yet die we must.”
And, live we how we can, yet die we must.”
The palace floors of marble
Resound to falling feet,
And in a vast apartment
A mighty concourse meet;—
From lamp and candelabra
Stream waves of golden light,
And martial plumage flutters
On helmets, tall and bright.
Resound to falling feet,
And in a vast apartment
A mighty concourse meet;—
From lamp and candelabra
Stream waves of golden light,
And martial plumage flutters
On helmets, tall and bright.
From vine-wreathed goblets quaff not
That bright and brilliant throng,
And absent is the merry laugh,
The breathing lute and song.
How ill comports with sorrow
That gayly lighted hall,
Where banner-fold and trophy
Hang on the sculptured wall.
That bright and brilliant throng,
And absent is the merry laugh,
The breathing lute and song.
How ill comports with sorrow
That gayly lighted hall,
Where banner-fold and trophy
Hang on the sculptured wall.
The sage and fawning courtier,
The mail-clad knight and chief,
And young and old have gathered
In all the pomp of grief;
The conqueror of conquerors
Hath thrown a deadly dart,
And stricken, in an evil hour,
An empire to the heart.
The mail-clad knight and chief,
And young and old have gathered
In all the pomp of grief;
The conqueror of conquerors
Hath thrown a deadly dart,
And stricken, in an evil hour,
An empire to the heart.
Pale on a couch of purple
A kingly form reposed—
His stalwart arm was motionless,
His eye forever closed;
The crimson wreath of victory
His brow encircled yet,
Though Glory's star, so radiant long,
In mournful night had set.
A kingly form reposed—
His stalwart arm was motionless,
His eye forever closed;
133
His brow encircled yet,
Though Glory's star, so radiant long,
In mournful night had set.
Of death in awful mockery
A gorgeous crown he wore,
As if the glittering symbol
Could old command restore—
As if his right hand powerless
Could grasp the truncheon still,
And make surrounding nations
The vassals of his will.
A gorgeous crown he wore,
As if the glittering symbol
Could old command restore—
As if his right hand powerless
Could grasp the truncheon still,
And make surrounding nations
The vassals of his will.
Pale pearls and sparkling diamonds
Bedecked his costly vest,
And a cross, with jewels studded,
Reposed upon his breast;
These proud words were upon it—
“By this thou wilt subdue!”
Once traced, in lightning characters,
On morning's arch of blue.
Bedecked his costly vest,
And a cross, with jewels studded,
Reposed upon his breast;
These proud words were upon it—
“By this thou wilt subdue!”
Once traced, in lightning characters,
On morning's arch of blue.
Slow, near him, waned the taper
With a still, unwavering flame,
And royal raiment shrouded
His soul-forsaken frame:
Lo! state and army officers
Kneel down beside the bed;
And yield, with mock solemnity,
Allegiance to the dead.
With a still, unwavering flame,
And royal raiment shrouded
His soul-forsaken frame:
Lo! state and army officers
Kneel down beside the bed;
And yield, with mock solemnity,
Allegiance to the dead.
Can pomp restore the spirit
To its death-corrupted shrine?
That ghastly wreck of majesty
To kindred dust resign!
On brow and wasted bosom
Let hiding dust be thrown;
The worms are waiting for their prey—
The grave must have its own!
To its death-corrupted shrine?
That ghastly wreck of majesty
To kindred dust resign!
On brow and wasted bosom
Let hiding dust be thrown;
The worms are waiting for their prey—
The grave must have its own!
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |