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HE sat in silence on the ground, | |
The old and haughty czar; | |
Lonely, though princes girt him round, | |
And leaders of the war: | |
He had cast his jewelled sabre, | 5 |
That many a field had won, | |
To the earth beside his youthful dead, | |
His fair and first-born son. | |
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With a robe of ermine for its bed, | |
Was laid that form of clay, | 10 |
Where the light a stormy sunset shed, | |
Through the rich tent made way: | |
And a sad and solemn beauty | |
On the pallid face came down, | |
Which the Lord of nations mutely watched, | 15 |
In the dust, with his renown. | |
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Low tones at last of woe and fear | |
From his full bosom broke; | |
A mournful thing it was to hear | |
How then the proud man spoke! | 20 |
The voice that through the combat | |
Had shouted far and high, | |
Came forth in strange, dull, hollow tones, | |
Burdened with agony. | |
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There is no crimson on thy cheek, | 25 |
And on thy lip no breath, | |
I call thee, and thou dost not speak, | |
They tell me this is death! | |
And fearful things are whispering | |
That I the deed have done, | 30 |
For the honor of thy fathers name, | |
Look up, look up, my son! | |
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Well might I know deaths hue and mien, | |
But on thine aspect, boy! | |
What, till this moment, have I seen, | 35 |
Save pride and tameless joy? | |
Swiftest thou wert to battle, | |
And bravest there of all, | |
How could I think a warriors frame | |
Thus like a flower should fall? | 40 |
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I will not bear that still, cold look, | |
Rise up, thou fierce and free! | |
Wake as the storm wakes! I will brook | |
All, save this calm, from thee! | |
Lift brightly up, and proudly, | 45 |
Once more thy kindling eyes! | |
Hath my word lost its power on earth? | |
I say to thee, arise! | |
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Didst thou not know I loved thee well? | |
Thou didst not! and art gone, | 50 |
In bitterness of soul, to dwell | |
Where man must dwell alone. | |
Come back, young fiery spirit! | |
If but one hour, to learn | |
The secrets of the folded heart, | 55 |
That seemed to thee so stern. | |
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Thou wert the first, the first fair child, | |
That in mine arms I pressed; | |
Thou wert the bright one, that hast smiled | |
Like summer on my breast! | 60 |
I reared thee as an eagle, | |
To the chase thy steps I led, | |
I bore thee on my battle-horse, | |
I look upon thee,dead! | |
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Lay down my warlike banners here, | 65 |
Never again to wave, | |
And bury my red sword and spear, | |
Chiefs! in my first-borns grave! | |
And leave me!I have conquered, | |
I have slain,my work is done! | 70 |
Whom have I slain?ye answer not, | |
Thou too art mute, my son! | |
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And thus his wild lament was poured | |
Through the dark resounding night, | |
And the battle knew no more his sword, | 75 |
Nor the foaming steed his might. | |
He heard strange voices moaning | |
In every wind that sighed; | |
From the searching stars of heaven he shrank, | |
Humbly the conqueror died. | 80 |
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