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 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
He was not buried where he died, although
The dust of kings reposed, in earth, below.
Nor was he ta'en to royal York, where he
Had wielded long the power of sovereignty,
And where, in the old King's declining day,
His Son had ruled with delegated sway.
For his soul—wandering in the hour of death—
With words like these had occupied his breath:
“To Newton's churchyard bear my corpse away,
That when I rise at the great Judgment-day,
There will my dearest friends rise with me!—there
My own Rowena with her shining hair;
There little Edith, whom we lost a child,
With her sweet aspect, and her ringlets wild,
So like her Mother's; little Alfred, too,
Will wake beside me, with his eyes of blue!
There Eric, Hengist, will return to life;
And Bertha there—reluctantly his wife,
But ever true and tender to the last;—
All roused up by the Angel's trumpet-blast,
And all at once to consciousness restored,
Will mount the air with me, and meet the Lord!”
His wish they reverenced, wild though deemed to be,
And laid the King in Newton's cemet'ry;
Where his rude Tomb successive races saw
With less and less of wonder, and of awe,
Until inscription, sculpture, even stone
Had disappeared, and left the spot unknown!
The dust of kings reposed, in earth, below.
Nor was he ta'en to royal York, where he
Had wielded long the power of sovereignty,
And where, in the old King's declining day,
His Son had ruled with delegated sway.
For his soul—wandering in the hour of death—
With words like these had occupied his breath:
“To Newton's churchyard bear my corpse away,
That when I rise at the great Judgment-day,
401
My own Rowena with her shining hair;
There little Edith, whom we lost a child,
With her sweet aspect, and her ringlets wild,
So like her Mother's; little Alfred, too,
Will wake beside me, with his eyes of blue!
There Eric, Hengist, will return to life;
And Bertha there—reluctantly his wife,
But ever true and tender to the last;—
All roused up by the Angel's trumpet-blast,
And all at once to consciousness restored,
Will mount the air with me, and meet the Lord!”
His wish they reverenced, wild though deemed to be,
And laid the King in Newton's cemet'ry;
Where his rude Tomb successive races saw
With less and less of wonder, and of awe,
Until inscription, sculpture, even stone
Had disappeared, and left the spot unknown!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Story | |