THE SLEEPER.
WRITTEN THE DAY AFTER THE FUNERAL OF BYRON.
I stood above the sea. I heard the roar
Of waters far below me. On the shore
A warrior-ship, with all her banners torn,
Her broad sails flying loose, lay overborne
By tumbling surges. She had swept the main,
Braved the loud thunder—stood the hurricane;
To be, when all her danger was o'erpast,
Upon her native shore, in wreck and ruin cast.
I thought of Greece—the proud one dead;
Struck—with his heart in flower;
Wreck'd—with his bright wings all outspread,
In his descent,
From that forbidden firmament,
O'er which he went,
Like some Archangel in his power:
The everlasting ocean lay
Below my weary eyes;
While overhead there roll'd away
The everlasting skies:
A thousand birds around me flew,
Emerging from the distant blue,
Like spirits from the summer deep,—
Then, wheeling slowly, one by one,
All disappearing in the sun,
They left me—and I fell asleep:
But soon a loud, strong trumpet blew,
And by, an armed angel flew,
With tresses all on fire, and wings of color'd flame:
And then the thunder broke
About me, and I woke—
And heard a voice above proclaim
The warrior-poet's name!
The island bard! that came
Far from his home, to die
In martyrdom to Liberty:
I started—wonder'd—where was I?—
Above me roll'd a Grecian sky;
Around me Grecian isles were spread,
O'erpeopled with great shadowy dead,
Assembled there to celebrate
Some awful rite:
Again the iron trump was blown
With overpowering might;
And lo! upon a rocky throne,
Appear'd a dead man that I knew;
His hair unbound, his forehead wet with dew,
And then the angel, standing o'er him, said
This incantation, with her wings outspread.
