Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A TRAGEDY, by MARCUS S. C. RICKARDS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A TRAGEDY, by                    
First Line: O king darius! Well I knew
Last Line: One whom I glorify.
Subject(s): Beauty; Love; Nature; Spring; Tragedy


O KING Darius! well I knew
Last night what thou did'st feel
When on one doomed to death a crew
Of fiends had set the seal:
While thou, unblest by lute and song,
Did'st mourn thy rashness and his wrong,
And thro' the dreamless hours did'st long
The sentence to repeal.

But there resemblance ends, alas!
No Daniel did I mourn;
A jealous lad whom a gay lass
Had jilted, wild and lorn
Had shot her down with ripe intent;
A sheer black murder, that had lent
No plea why Justice should relent
With glance of Mercy born.

An oft-told tale, but I had heard
This tragedy played out:
The Jury weighed each act and word,
Yet seemed convinced throughout:
The Prosecution, like a hawk,
In nearing zones of cogent thought,
Swooped down with aim that none could baulk,
And slew each lingering doubt.

The verdict, who could question? Yet
They dared to plead his youth:
Poor heart! I shall not soon forget
Thy look of utter ruth:
I hoped awhile, but no -- just men
Reprieved him not -- and from our ken
He passed to be a denizen
Of the dread Realm of Truth.

At dawn he suffered, and I tossed
In hot unrest meanwhile;
That face my every vision crossed;
"The moonlight, does it smile
On his last sleep? the risen sun,"
I mused, "would mock his course full run!
Grey morn! till the dark deed be done
Day's waiting charms beguile."

I started suddenly -- a screen
Flew back, and I surveyed
In grim detail the ghastly Scene,
To watch the last Act played:
I tried to veil it, but my will
Seemed impotent, my blood ran chill
With sympathetic horror, till
I rose, and knelt, and prayed.

The sense-illusion vanished,
Yet to Almighty Power
I prayed on till his soul had fled
At the appointed hour.
I hear that ere he died, despair
Yielded to calm, and courage rare;
Perchance a virtue from my prayer
Won some absolving dower.

Ah! Righteous Love, why this twin lot?
Why leave weak souls such scope?
Was Beauty born for that vile shot,
Strength, for that shameful rope?
Why fashioned thus, if thus to end?
Why bid them for a sweet hour blend,
Yet swift Love's fragrant trammels rend
In utter wreck of Hope?

The fair Spring flowers I ever see
Fade at sweet Summer's call;
But ah! these blossoms on Life's tree,
That thus the twain should fall!
Not yielding to kind Nature's laws,
But victims to some awful Cause
That made to ruin -- yet I pause,
For can I fathom all?

"Thou could'st not," murmurs a still voice,
"Yet hear what thou can'st know,
Forgetting not the while that choice
Is left to all below!
Eternal Past and Future chime
In that dread crisis of dark Time;
They reap but what in bygone Clime
Their spirit hands did sow.

"And for the rest, they might not win
A nobler destiny,
Save through this agency of sin
To lift their souls on high.
Who dreamed that he should grace a throne,
That night of old to lions thrown?"
I heard -- and, like Darius, own
One whom I glorify.





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