 | Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell |  |
IN THE ESCURIAL.
Dec. 10, 1885.
King Death, who plants a thorn in every joy,
Who tramples crown and laurel under feet;
Who treats the sceptre as it were a toy,
And drags the proudest hero from his seat,—
King Death, who over other kings holds reign,
Entered the palace of the king of Spain.
Who tramples crown and laurel under feet;
Who treats the sceptre as it were a toy,
And drags the proudest hero from his seat,—
King Death, who over other kings holds reign,
Entered the palace of the king of Spain.
11
Love wept and knelt, but could not bar the door
Against the presence of the arch-despair;
Nor could a nation, tho' it fondly bore
Its sovereign on its heart to God in prayer;
So Death, inexorable, forced his way
Into the chamber where Alfonso lay.
Against the presence of the arch-despair;
Nor could a nation, tho' it fondly bore
Its sovereign on its heart to God in prayer;
So Death, inexorable, forced his way
Into the chamber where Alfonso lay.
A widowed queen in tears—an orphan's wail,—
The muffled bells,—the cannon's deep-mouthed boom,
Told to a waiting people the sad tale,
And o'er each household threw a sombre gloom.
With face all white and still, upon his bed,
The royal majesty of Spain lay dead.
The muffled bells,—the cannon's deep-mouthed boom,
Told to a waiting people the sad tale,
And o'er each household threw a sombre gloom.
With face all white and still, upon his bed,
The royal majesty of Spain lay dead.
For days and nights he lay in kingly state,
The silent watchers stood around his bier;
And then they bore him from the palace gate
With measured tread, while dropp'd full many a tear.
Princes and nobles followed in a train,
Worthy the old magnificence of Spain.
The silent watchers stood around his bier;
And then they bore him from the palace gate
With measured tread, while dropp'd full many a tear.
Princes and nobles followed in a train,
Worthy the old magnificence of Spain.
The dark procession slowly climbed the hill
By grey Escurial's ancient splendours crown'd,
Wound past the monastery, dark and still,
From whose old walls rose burial chant profound,
Holding within it passionate gusts of pain,
That surged and swell'd, then, dying, sank again.
By grey Escurial's ancient splendours crown'd,
Wound past the monastery, dark and still,
From whose old walls rose burial chant profound,
Holding within it passionate gusts of pain,
That surged and swell'd, then, dying, sank again.
12
The funeral car, its trapping black as night,
Approached the church with solemn pomp and state,
And every head bent lowly at the sight,
As pass'd the line of mourners to the gate,
Whose massive doors were shut against the bier,
For which was entrance sought in accents clear.
Approached the church with solemn pomp and state,
And every head bent lowly at the sight,
As pass'd the line of mourners to the gate,
Whose massive doors were shut against the bier,
For which was entrance sought in accents clear.
For loudly knock'd a courtier at the door,
Demanded that the portals be thrown wide,
To whom one from the consecrated floor—
“Who asks admission?”—Gravely he replied:
“The King, the twelfth Alfonso makes this claim.”
The gates flew back like magic at the name.
Demanded that the portals be thrown wide,
To whom one from the consecrated floor—
“Who asks admission?”—Gravely he replied:
“The King, the twelfth Alfonso makes this claim.”
The gates flew back like magic at the name.
The holy prior came forth to meet the king,
And bid him welcome to the sacred place,
Where white-robed priests the solemn masses sing,
And lift their voice to God in hymns of grace.
And now the coffin, borne by reverent hands,
Is laid in silence where the altar stands.
And bid him welcome to the sacred place,
Where white-robed priests the solemn masses sing,
And lift their voice to God in hymns of grace.
And now the coffin, borne by reverent hands,
Is laid in silence where the altar stands.
Four nobles then advanced. Each took a cloak
Which to the bier they reverently bore,
And placed them on the coffin lid; while broke
A thousand lamps in flame from roof to floor;
And all at once the sombre church grew bright,
And nave and chancel glowed with dazzling light.
Which to the bier they reverently bore,
And placed them on the coffin lid; while broke
A thousand lamps in flame from roof to floor;
And all at once the sombre church grew bright,
And nave and chancel glowed with dazzling light.
13
Rich hangings, blazoned with the arms of Spain,
Clothed the tall pillars, draped the stately walls,
And lent a splendour to the holy fane,
While priests a requiem chanted in their stalls;
A mass was said, the music, sweetly sung,
Thrilled in a silver cadence from each tongue.
Clothed the tall pillars, draped the stately walls,
And lent a splendour to the holy fane,
While priests a requiem chanted in their stalls;
A mass was said, the music, sweetly sung,
Thrilled in a silver cadence from each tongue.
The coffin now was lifted from its stand,
And carried with a solemn step and slow
Unto the entrance of that silent land
Where lie in state ranks of dead kings below,
Far from the life of man, the light of day,
In gloom unbroken by a single ray.
And carried with a solemn step and slow
Unto the entrance of that silent land
Where lie in state ranks of dead kings below,
Far from the life of man, the light of day,
In gloom unbroken by a single ray.
But no one followed to the solemn place
Where kings unthroned lay in untroubled rest,
Except the priest, the minister of grace,
With the grand chamberlain, upon whose breast
His hands were cross'd,—he, too, with lowered head,
Entered the silent presence of the dead.
Where kings unthroned lay in untroubled rest,
Except the priest, the minister of grace,
With the grand chamberlain, upon whose breast
His hands were cross'd,—he, too, with lowered head,
Entered the silent presence of the dead.
There, in that vault where, placed the walls around,
In tombs of marble sleep the kings of Spain,
They laid the twelfth Alfonso, now discrown'd,—
The gallant monarch, tender, quick of brain,—
Who erst had been a nation's hope and pride,
Whose praise was blown thro' kingdoms far and wide.
In tombs of marble sleep the kings of Spain,
They laid the twelfth Alfonso, now discrown'd,—
The gallant monarch, tender, quick of brain,—
Who erst had been a nation's hope and pride,
Whose praise was blown thro' kingdoms far and wide.
14
Then the grand chamberlain with silver key
Unlocked the coffin, raised the glassy lid,
So that the dead king's face all there might see,
No longer 'neath its gold-wrought coverings hid;
And kneeling down 'mid silence still and deep,
Called three times loud,—called as to one asleep.
Unlocked the coffin, raised the glassy lid,
So that the dead king's face all there might see,
No longer 'neath its gold-wrought coverings hid;
And kneeling down 'mid silence still and deep,
Called three times loud,—called as to one asleep.
Placing his mouth to King Alfonso's ear:
“Señor! Señor! Señor!” This thrice his cry;
And all above, within the church, did hear
That sharp despairing note of agony;
For from the Duke of Sexto rose the wail,—
Alfonso's friend,—hence every cheek grew pale.
“Señor! Señor! Señor!” This thrice his cry;
And all above, within the church, did hear
That sharp despairing note of agony;
For from the Duke of Sexto rose the wail,—
Alfonso's friend,—hence every cheek grew pale.
All slowly rose the Duke, and weeping said:
“His majesty replies not to my call;
'Tis true! 'tis true! Alas, the king is dead!”
And big tears dropp'd upon the purple pall;
Then softly he replaced the lid again,
And lock'd the coffin with a look of pain.
“His majesty replies not to my call;
'Tis true! 'tis true! Alas, the king is dead!”
And big tears dropp'd upon the purple pall;
Then softly he replaced the lid again,
And lock'd the coffin with a look of pain.
Now gave he to the prior the silver keys,
Took up the rod of office in his hand,
Broke it in twain across his trembling knees,
And at the coffin's foot laid down his wand;
Then as the guns came sounding thro' the gloom,
And bells toll'd solemnly, he left the tomb.
Took up the rod of office in his hand,
Broke it in twain across his trembling knees,
And at the coffin's foot laid down his wand;
Then as the guns came sounding thro' the gloom,
And bells toll'd solemnly, he left the tomb.
15
The pageantry is past. Alfonso sleeps;
Death-still he sleeps in monumental gloom,
While hot tears burn the cheek of her who weeps,
That love lies buried in that royal tomb.
She lives and weeps; he dies and is at rest;
Angels, who clearly see, know which is best.
Death-still he sleeps in monumental gloom,
While hot tears burn the cheek of her who weeps,
That love lies buried in that royal tomb.
She lives and weeps; he dies and is at rest;
Angels, who clearly see, know which is best.
| Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell | |