Teresa and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Dead Emperor, loved where'er thy name is heard,
Tried captain, foremost when great fields were won,
And—meeker, loftier title, self-conferred—
Servant of God, sleep well; thy task is done.

Brief task! But what is time to such as thou,
Though years of promise yield but fruit of days?
No length of empire gilds a tyrant's brow;
Three months have crowned thee with thy people's praise.

O dauntless heart, which yet for suffering bled,
And in the hour of conquest sought to save!
Peace held her breath above thy dying-bed,
And the world trembles lest she share thy grave.

The lust of power, ambition's lurid stream,
That would a world in conflagration roll,
More insignificant than weakness seem,
Matched with the gentle greatness of thy soul.

O high example of heroic will,
That, doomed to battle with a dumb disease,
Could to the last of ebbing life fulfil
The burden of a nation's destinies!

Heroic patience, that in those dark hours,
Without a murmur of mistrust, resigned,
Ev'n at the height of manhood's noblest powers,
Their glorious use, the service of mankind!

All Europe, gazing, seemed to understand
That mute pathetic eloquence of eye,
Which helped thee, passing to the silent land,
Though silent, not without farewell, to die.

All Europe mourns thee; England more than all,
Sad for her daughter, mourns thee as a son:—
Now close the curtain: let the silence fall:
Thy task is o'er; servant of God, well done!