BELISARIUS.

The trumpet’s voice had stirred the sky,

And rustling banners waved on high;

The shouts of victory went up,

And wreaths of laurel crowned the cup

That flowed amid the festal halls,

Within the crowded city’s walls;

Stern warriors came in long array

To grace the conqueror’s pageant day:

Triumphant peeled the clarion’s tone

And spears and glancing armor shone,

Mid the dust of thousands sweeping by,

Like meteors in a midnight sky.

They’d left behind their hosts of slain

Upon the far-off battle plain,

And brought the marks of conquest back;

Proud trophies glittered on their track:

Rich armor from the vanquished won,

Bright jewels glancing in the sun;

A captive monarch’s golden throne,

And heaps of countless treasure shone;

But prouder, nobler spoils and high,

Adorned that mighty pageantry.

Reluctantly, with lofty form,

Like strong oaks blasted by the storm

But not bowed down, the captives came,

Their dark brows flushed with grief and shame;

And he, their sovereign, king no more,

In mockery the purple wore.

His the proud step, majestic mien,

The lip compressed and look serene

That mark a spirit strong and high,

A soul that smiles on destiny.

As surges breaking on the shore,

Or like the distant torrents roar,

The shouts of victory rolled afar.

And shook the hills, as the victor’s car

Gorgeous and bright was borne along

By the swift rush of the gathered throng.

A glorious sight on his haughty way,

With laurel crown, and mail-clad breast,

With waving plume and princely crest,

Was the conqueror on that day.

·····

An old man paced the guarded room,

With quivering lip and brow of gloom,

And his silver hair in the moonlight shone

Like the grayish front of a time-worn stone;

Nor voice, nor sound the still air woke,

Till his burning words the silence broke:

I.

‘Where is the shining car

And where the gorgeous train?

Fled as the falling star

That sunk behind the main!

II.

‘Where is the victor’s crown?

The pageant sweeping past?

Gone with the thistle-down,

Swept by the hurrying blast.

III.

‘Where is the trump of Fame

That woke the startled air?

’Tis like my branded name,

And like my dying prayer.

IV.

‘I’ve braved the din and strife

Of many a battle-plain,

And lavished strength and life;

My guerdon is a chain!

V.

‘I brought a true heart brave,

A spirit bold and free,

Free as the ocean wave;

My country! unto thee.

VI.

‘I had not thought to start

Before thy stinging frown;

Wo for the trusting heart!

Wo for the laurel crown!’

Shelter Island. Mary Gardiner.