Poems (Blake)/The Last Bulletin
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FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS.
THE LAST BULLETIN.
GARFIELD, SEPTEMBER, 1881.
Day after day as morning skies did flame,—
"How fares our Liege?" we cried with eager breath,—
"How fares our Liege, who fights the fight with death?"
And ever with fresh hope the answer came.
"How fares our Liege?" we cried with eager breath,—
"How fares our Liege, who fights the fight with death?"
And ever with fresh hope the answer came.
Until that solemn midnight when the clang
Of woful bells tolled out their tale of dread,
That he, the good and gifted one, was dead,
And through his weeping land the message rang!
Of woful bells tolled out their tale of dread,
That he, the good and gifted one, was dead,
And through his weeping land the message rang!
Then in the darkness every heart was bowed:
While thinking on the direful ways of Fate,
Where Love could thus be overthrown by Hate,—
"So wrong hath conquered right!" we said aloud:
While thinking on the direful ways of Fate,
Where Love could thus be overthrown by Hate,—
"So wrong hath conquered right!" we said aloud:
"If this be life, what matter how it flies;
What strength or power or glory crowns a name;
What noble meed of honesty or fame,
Since all these gifts were his,—and there he lies
What strength or power or glory crowns a name;
What noble meed of honesty or fame,
Since all these gifts were his,—and there he lies
Blighted by malice! Woe's the day! and dead
While yet the fields of his most golden prime
Are rich in all the pomp of summer time,
With all their ripening wealth unharvested!"
·······
Thus fares it with our Liege? Nay, doubting soul,
Not thus; but grandly raised to nobler height
Of strength and power and most divine delight,—
At one swift breath made beautiful and whole!
While yet the fields of his most golden prime
Are rich in all the pomp of summer time,
With all their ripening wealth unharvested!"
·······
Thus fares it with our Liege? Nay, doubting soul,
Not thus; but grandly raised to nobler height
Of strength and power and most divine delight,—
At one swift breath made beautiful and whole!
Nor mocked by broken hope or shattered plan,
By some pale ghost of duty left undone,
By haunting moments wasted one by one,
But crowned with that which best becometh man.
By some pale ghost of duty left undone,
By haunting moments wasted one by one,
But crowned with that which best becometh man.
Holding with brimming hands his heart's desire;
While the fierce light of these last glorious days,
Blazing on each white line of thought and ways,
Touches his record with immortal fire!
While the fierce light of these last glorious days,
Blazing on each white line of thought and ways,
Touches his record with immortal fire!