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Oliver Wendell Holmes - The Last Prophecy Of CassandraOliver Wendell Holmes - The Last Prophecy Of Cassandra
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THE sun is fading in the skies, And evening shades are gathering fast; Fair city, ere that sun shall rise, Thy night hath come,-thy day is past! Ye know not,-but the hour is nigh; Ye will not heed the warning breath; No vision strikes your clouded eye, To break the sleep that wakes in death. Go, age, and let thy withered cheek Be wet once more with freezing tears; And bid thy trembling sorrows speak, In accents of departed years. Go, child, and pour thy sinless prayer Before the everlasting throne; And He, who sits in glory there, May stoop to hear thy silver tone. Go, warrior, in thy glittering steel, And bow thee at the altar`s side; And bid thy frowning gods reveal The doom their mystic counsels hide. Go, maiden, in thy flowing veil, And bare thy brow, and bend thy knee; When the last hopes of mercy fail, Thy God may yet remember thee. Go, as thou didst in happier hours, And lay thine incense on the shrine; And greener leaves, and fairer flowers, Around the sacred image twine. I saw them rise, the buried dead, From marble tomb and grassy mound; I heard the spirits` printless tread, And voices not of earthly sound. I looked upon the quivering stream, And its cold wave was bright with flame; And wild, as from a fearful dream, The wasted forms of battle came. Ye will not hear, ye will not know, Ye scorn the maniac`s idle song; Ye care not! but the voice of woe Shall thunder loud, and echo long. Blood shall be in your marble halls. And spears shall glance, and fire shall glow; Ruin shall sit upon your walls, But ye shall lie in death below. Ay, none shall live, to hear the storm Around their blackened pillars sweep; To shudder at the reptile`s form, Or scare the wild bird from her sleep.
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