I have sway'd the rushing elements—but still and strong is Death
I quit my throne, yet leave I not my vassal-spirits free—
Thou hast brave and high aspirings, youth!—my Sceptre is for thee!
Now listen! I will teach thee words whose mastery shall compel
The viewless ones to do thy work, in wave, or blood, or hell!
But never, never mayst thou breathe those words in human ear,
Until thou'rt laid, as I am now, the grave's dark portals near."
His voice in faintness died away—and a sudden flush was seen,
A mantling of the rapid blood o'er the youth's impassion'd mien,
A mantling and a fading swift—a look with sadness fraught—