Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
The King
By Charles Lotin Hildreth (1856–1896)A
That sits with with stony eyes, unmoved and cold,
While round about the people curse and groan:
An old, wan, withered shape, brow-bound with gold.
Long live the king!
Last of a race defiled by shame and crime
And stained with centuries of blood and tears,
Abhorrèd in the searching eye of time.
Long live the king!
Thy fathers’ heavy deeds are on thy head;
They load thee down as with a leaden weight,
They cry upon thee from the nameless dead.
Long live the king!
They mock thy greatness with a secret fear;
They write upon the wall in fiery gleams—
“Belshazzar, thou art weighed, thy doom is near!”
Long live the king!
What place hast thou among the sons of men?
Pass on and give the warring nations peace;
The like of thee shall not be seen again.
Long live the king!
Thy power is broken in thy feeble hands;
Behold! the long night lifts along the sky,
The new day rises fair in many lands.
Long live the king!
And thunder of the world’s advancing tread,
The heir of time, thy strong successor comes
To pluck the crown from thy dishonored head.
Long live the king!
Whose birthright is the broad, unbarriered earth,
Whose chariot is the plough, whose sword the pen,
Whose crown the majesty of truth and worth.
Long live the king!
Back-bent with burdens, beaten with sharp rods,
Self-sold to vice and fear, creed-crucified,
Patient of power and prostrate to false gods.
Long live the king!
Fire-purified, baptized in agony;
Behold! this is indeed the king and heir,
Wise, great, and good, well worthy to be free!
Long live the king!