The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan In Two Volumes. With a Portrait |
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The Last Look. |
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 | The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan |  |
VIII. The Last Look.
To the bedside, white and quaking,
Came Eureka, with a groan,
Conscience-stricken now, and taking
Her thin hand into his own.
At the touch she kindled, rallied,
With a look of gentle grace;
Clung about him deathly pallid,
And, uplooking in his face,
Smiled! Ah, God! that smile of parting
From her soul's dim depths upstarting!
'Twas a smile of awful beauty,
Full of fatal love and duty;
Such a smile as haunts for ever
Any being but a beaver.
Ev'n Eureka's stolid spirit
Was half agonized to bear it.
Smiling thus, and softly crooning
Words he could not understand,
Sank she on the pillow, swooning,
Clutching still her hero's hand.
Came Eureka, with a groan,
Conscience-stricken now, and taking
Her thin hand into his own.
At the touch she kindled, rallied,
With a look of gentle grace;
Clung about him deathly pallid,
And, uplooking in his face,
Smiled! Ah, God! that smile of parting
From her soul's dim depths upstarting!
'Twas a smile of awful beauty,
Full of fatal love and duty;
Such a smile as haunts for ever
Any being but a beaver.
Ev'n Eureka's stolid spirit
Was half agonized to bear it.
423
Words he could not understand,
Sank she on the pillow, swooning,
Clutching still her hero's hand.
Silent Spirits, shapes that love her,
Is she resting? is all over?
Nay; for while Eureka, quaking,
Heart-sick, soul-sick to behold her,
From the bed her worn form taking,
Leans her head upon his shoulder;
Once again, the spirit flying,
With a last expiring ray,
Waves a message, dimly dying,
From its tenement of clay.
Those great eyes upon him looking.
Not reproaching, not rebuking,
Brighten into bliss—perceiving
Nought of shame or of deceiving:
Only for the last time seeing
Her great Chief, a god-like being;
Only happy, all at rest,
To be dying—on his breast.
Is she resting? is all over?
Nay; for while Eureka, quaking,
Heart-sick, soul-sick to behold her,
From the bed her worn form taking,
Leans her head upon his shoulder;
Once again, the spirit flying,
With a last expiring ray,
Waves a message, dimly dying,
From its tenement of clay.
Those great eyes upon him looking.
Not reproaching, not rebuking,
Brighten into bliss—perceiving
Nought of shame or of deceiving:
Only for the last time seeing
Her great Chief, a god-like being;
Only happy, all at rest,
To be dying—on his breast.
See! her hand points upward, slowly,
With an awful grace and holy,
And her eyes are saying clearly,
‘Master, lord, beloved so dearly,
We shall meet, with souls grown fonder,
In God's happy prairies yonder;
Where no Snow falls; where, for ever,
Flows the shining Milky River,
On whose banks, divinely glowing,
Shapes like ours are coming, going,
In the happy star-dew moving,
Silent, smiling, loved, and loving!
Fare thee well, till then, my Master!’
Hark, her breath comes fainter, faster,
While, in love man cannot measure,
Kissing her white warrior's hand,
Shesinks, with one great smile of pleasure—
Last flash upon the blackening brand!
With an awful grace and holy,
And her eyes are saying clearly,
‘Master, lord, beloved so dearly,
We shall meet, with souls grown fonder,
In God's happy prairies yonder;
Where no Snow falls; where, for ever,
Flows the shining Milky River,
On whose banks, divinely glowing,
Shapes like ours are coming, going,
In the happy star-dew moving,
Silent, smiling, loved, and loving!
Fare thee well, till then, my Master!’
Hark, her breath comes fainter, faster,
While, in love man cannot measure,
Kissing her white warrior's hand,
Shesinks, with one great smile of pleasure—
Last flash upon the blackening brand!
| The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan | |