University of Virginia Library

ON THE BUST OF THE LATE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA, IN THE KING'S CHAMBER AT BERLIN, 1812.

Thy day of agony is o'er!
Thou'rt angel, and shalt weep no more:
In fortune's last extremity,
Princess, 'twas well for thee to die.
Death calms the wretched, frees the slave;
Can insult follow to the grave?
The tyrant now may taunt and scorn,
Thy spirit can no more be torn.
Oh, for the hour a Prussian's steel
Shall teach his callous heart to feel!
Thy cheek is still before me—pale
As the last leaf on Autumn's gale;
Then lit with one, swift, burning tinge,
As o'er it, from thine eyes' dark fringe,
Fell, drop by drop, the tears of pain,
At some new galling of thy chain;
Some slighting, sullen courtesy
Of him who could not honour thee.
And this the end of birth and bloom;
Tears, terrors, exile, and the tomb!—
And there is One, who, hour by hour,
Has wept upon thee, broken flower!
Pierced to the soul with every sting
That Fate could point against a King.
The Man had one more misery
To meet—and met it, losing thee.
Image of beauty, breathing stone,
Here shrined so lovely, and so lone;
Comes he not here from restless sleep
To weep, as hearts alone can weep!
Thy spell is on me too:—my eye
Is caught, fix'd, fill'd, unconscious why;
'Tis not thy more than regal brow;
Thy more than beauty; more than woe;
'Tis the deep grace, that seems to wind
O'er all,—the relique of thy mind!
But the dark heart that dug thy grave
Shall die a recreant and a slave:
Not where his routed legions lie;
He must not die, as brave men die!
But weary, wither'd, lost,—his name
Earth's scorn, the common mark for shame;
From fame, hope, empire, mankind driven,
As sure as there's a Power in Heaven.
That sin's not made to be forgiven!