 | Ellen Fitzarthur |  |
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STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF THE KING.
And he is gone at last — the father, friend,
And sovereign of his people is no more:—
Destroying angel! hast thou made an end
Of thy dread task? is thy commission o'er
Towards that royal house, or hast thou still
Some awful dispensation to fulfil?
And sovereign of his people is no more:—
Destroying angel! hast thou made an end
Of thy dread task? is thy commission o'er
Towards that royal house, or hast thou still
Some awful dispensation to fulfil?
The youngest, loveliest, first became thy prey,
— Ah, woe for England! — next the full of years
By ling'ring agony was called away:—
Now, to receive at once two kindred biers
The hall of death prepares its marble bed,
Its cells of state, yet thinly tenanted.
— Ah, woe for England! — next the full of years
By ling'ring agony was called away:—
Now, to receive at once two kindred biers
The hall of death prepares its marble bed,
Its cells of state, yet thinly tenanted.
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Mourn, England! the extinction of a ray
Quenched in full light, by that untimely pall,
But o'er that second bier, that sacred clay,
Let not a tear of human weakness fall;
The veil that shuts him out from earth and thee,
Ends the long night of his captivity.
Quenched in full light, by that untimely pall,
But o'er that second bier, that sacred clay,
Let not a tear of human weakness fall;
The veil that shuts him out from earth and thee,
Ends the long night of his captivity.
Oh! 'tis our eyes are dim, our spirits blind,
Or we might track his spirit in its flight,
Up to that region where it dwells enshrined
And diadem'd with empyrean light.
Crowns of the earth and sceptres! what are ye
To him whose crown is immortality?
Or we might track his spirit in its flight,
Up to that region where it dwells enshrined
And diadem'd with empyrean light.
Crowns of the earth and sceptres! what are ye
To him whose crown is immortality?
Kingdoms and dynasties may rise and fall,
Princes be born and die, and monarch's reign
Revered and loved — yet, “take him all in all,”
Eye “shall not look upon his like again,”
Whom the tongue blest whene'er his name was heard,
'Twas the heart's blessing, “God save George the Third!”
Princes be born and die, and monarch's reign
Revered and loved — yet, “take him all in all,”
Eye “shall not look upon his like again,”
Whom the tongue blest whene'er his name was heard,
'Twas the heart's blessing, “God save George the Third!”
Those prayers are hushed on earth—but they have found
Acceptance doubtless with th' Eternal King—
Sweeter than seraphs' harps, e'en now they sound
In Heav'n, perhaps, his joyful welcoming,
Who loosened slavery's fetters, and set free
The pagan from his blind idolatry.
Acceptance doubtless with th' Eternal King—
Sweeter than seraphs' harps, e'en now they sound
In Heav'n, perhaps, his joyful welcoming,
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The pagan from his blind idolatry.
Departed saint! in thy dark house of clay
While still benighted, often didst thou hold
In visions — if unreal who may say?
Converse with beings of celestial mould.
Now from thy Heav'n departed saint look down,
Upon the land and people once thine own,
While still benighted, often didst thou hold
In visions — if unreal who may say?
Converse with beings of celestial mould.
Now from thy Heav'n departed saint look down,
Upon the land and people once thine own,
And mingle — if permitted, to the blest—
A portion of thy spirit into theirs
Who rule in England — so the land shall rest
From all her troubles, and thy latest heirs,
Serving the Lord, and loving truth like thee,
Sit on thy throne to late posterity.
A portion of thy spirit into theirs
Who rule in England — so the land shall rest
From all her troubles, and thy latest heirs,
Serving the Lord, and loving truth like thee,
Sit on thy throne to late posterity.
| Ellen Fitzarthur | |