Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again,—
The eternal years of God are hers;
But Error, wounded, writhes in pain,
And dies among his worshippers.
KING HACON’S LAST BATTLE
Lord Dufferin
All was over; day was ending
As the foemen turned and fled.
Gloomy red
Glowed the angry sun descending;
While round Hacon’s dying bed
Tears and songs of triumph blending
Told how fast the conqueror bled.
“Raise me,” said the king. We raised him—
Not to ease his desperate pain;
That were vain!
“Strong our foe was, but we faced him—
Show me that red field again.”
Then with reverent hands we placed him
High above the battle plain.
Sudden, on our startled hearing,
Came the low-breathed, stern command—
“Lo! ye stand?
Linger not—the night is nearing;
Bear me downwards to the strand,
Where my ships are idly steering
Off and on, in sight of land.”
Every whispered word obeying,
Swift we bore him down the steep,
O’er the deep,
Up the tall ship’s side, low swaying
To the storm-wind’s powerful sweep,
And his dead companions laying
Round him—we had time to weep.
But the king said, “Peace! bring hither
Spoil and weapons, battle-strown—
Make no moan;
Leave me and my dead together;
Light my torch, and then—begone.”
But we murmured, each to other,
“Can we leave him thus alone?”