The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme The witch of Shiloh, the last of the Wampanoags, the gentle earl, the enchanted voyage |
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 | The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme |  |
XXX
The morning wrestled with the moon
Before he wakened from his swoon,
And thought it slumber, but again
Remembered all his troopers slain,
And found his breath a feeble sigh,
And knew himself anear to die.
Before he wakened from his swoon,
And thought it slumber, but again
Remembered all his troopers slain,
152
And knew himself anear to die.
A moment's prayer; again he drowsed,
Or fainted; but anon he roused
Because a shadow veiled the skies;
And, lifting up his glassy eyes,
He saw a giant-moulded man,
Of rustic visage dark with tan,
Attired in careless martial gear,
Who knelt and murmured words of cheer.
Or fainted; but anon he roused
Because a shadow veiled the skies;
And, lifting up his glassy eyes,
He saw a giant-moulded man,
Of rustic visage dark with tan,
Attired in careless martial gear,
Who knelt and murmured words of cheer.
He knew the bony face and frame;
He knew the man; he called his name.
He whispered low with painful breath
His love, triumphant over death.
He sighed, “I saved her; is she dead?”
And hearing, “No,” was comforted.
He knew the man; he called his name.
He whispered low with painful breath
His love, triumphant over death.
He sighed, “I saved her; is she dead?”
And hearing, “No,” was comforted.
Then came a change upon his face,
A thankful, gladdened, yearning grace,
A look that told of saintly sights
Suddenly seen through morning's lights.
So, gripping fast the foeman's palm,
As though he found its touch a balm,
He died, forgiving, loving, meek,
With Downing's tears upon his cheek.
A thankful, gladdened, yearning grace,
A look that told of saintly sights
Suddenly seen through morning's lights.
So, gripping fast the foeman's palm,
As though he found its touch a balm,
He died, forgiving, loving, meek,
With Downing's tears upon his cheek.
| The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme | |