James and Mary Ford, eds. Every Day in the Year. 1902.
May 22The Death of King Bomba
By Anonymous
C
Through the aloe-bordered entries,
Up the sweep of squalid stair,
On through chamber after chamber,
Where the sunshine’s gold and amber
Turn decay to beauty rare,—
I should reach a guarded portal,
Where, for strife of issue mortal,
Face to face two kings are met:
One the grisly King of Terrors;
One a Bourbon, with his errors,
Late to conscience-clearing set.
And the priests their mass may mutter
With such fervor as they may;
Cross and chrism and genuflection,
Mop and mow and interjection,
Will not frighten Death away.
By the dying despot sitting,
At the hard heart’s portals hitting,
Shocking the dull brain to work,
Death makes clear what life has hidden,
Chides what life has left unchidden,
Quickens truth life tried to burke.
After Holy Church’s orders,
Did what Austria bade him do,—
By their guidance flogged and tortured
High-born men, and gently nurtured
Chained with crime’s felonious crew.
What if summer fevers gripped them,
What if winter freezings nipped them,
Till they rotted in their chains?
He had word of Pope and Kaiser—
None could holier be or wiser;
Theirs the counsel, his the reins.
Clutching with his fingers meagre
At the bed-clothes as he speaks:
But King Death sits grimly grinning
At the Bourbon’s cobweb-spinning,
As each cobweb-cable breaks.
And the poor soul from life’s islet,
Rudderless, without a pilot,
Drifteth slowly down the dark;
While ’mid rolling incense vapor,
Chanted dirge, and flaring taper,
Lies the body, stiff and stark.