 | Romance and revery |  |
147
MASTER AND SLAVE.
On his rotting old throne sat Death, in a cave where the black dews fell.
Near by stood his beautiful awful slave, the angel Azraël.
Near by stood his beautiful awful slave, the angel Azraël.
“Have you served me true,” said Death, “in your work of tears, to-day?”
And Azraël answered, “Live the King! I hearken and I obey.
And Azraël answered, “Live the King! I hearken and I obey.
“A bride on her bridal morn; a lover that dreamed of bliss;
A child, last left in a widow's home,—these stiffened beneath my kiss.
A child, last left in a widow's home,—these stiffened beneath my kiss.
“These and the numberless more: yea, Master, my work of tears
To-day has sped as in other days, for years, for years and for years.”
To-day has sped as in other days, for years, for years and for years.”
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Death smiled with his dark sad mouth, with his hard grave passionless eye.
“And what of the souls that sought your kiss? Did you pass these proudly by?
“And what of the souls that sought your kiss? Did you pass these proudly by?
“When the mourners moaned your name with their longing lips and wan,
When a wild hand signalled you to pause, did you then pass proudly on?”
When a wild hand signalled you to pause, did you then pass proudly on?”
And the angel Azraël said, in lowly and loyal way:
“Even so, dark Master. Live the King! I hearken and I obey.”
“Even so, dark Master. Live the King! I hearken and I obey.”
| Romance and revery | |