DEDICATION. xi
Master, the night is falling yet again.
I hear dim tramplings of unholy forces :
I see the assembly of the foully slain :
The scent of murder steams: riderless horses
Gallop across the earth, and seek the inane:
The sun and moon are shaken in their courses :
The kings are gathered, and the vultures fall
Screaming, to hold their ghastly festival.
Master, the sons of Freedom are but few—
Yea, but as strong as the storm-smitten sea,
Their forehead consecrated with the dew,
Their heart made mighty: let my voice decree,
My spirit lift their standard: clear and true
Bid my trump sound, “ Let all the earth be free!”
With thine own strength and melody made strong,
And filled with fire and light of thine own song.
Only a boy’s wild songs, a boy’s desire, ,
I bring with reverent hands. The task is ended—
The twilight draws on me: the sacred fire
Sleeps: I have sheathed my sword, my bow un-
bended : ,
So for one hour I lay aside the lyre,
And come, alone, unholpen, unbefriended,
As streams get water of the sun-smit sea,
Seeking my ocean and my sun in thee.
Yea, with thy whirling clouds of fiery light
Involve my music, gyring fuller and faster! -
Yea, to my sword lend majesty and might
To dominate all tumult and disaster,