Classic and Contemporary Poetry
A TRAGEDY, by MARCUS S. C. RICKARDS 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CLASSICAL PROPORTIONS OF THE HEART; FOR FONTAINE by ELEANOR WILNER THE ROLE OF ELEGY by MARY JO BANG COUNTESS LAURA by GEORGE HENRY BOKER THE PRISONER OF CHILLON by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE SACK OF BALTIMORE by THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS BEFORE SEDAN by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON A DREAM OF PERFECTION by MARCUS S. C. RICKARDS |
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