But to what? What nameless deed shall
desecrate this hand? It must not be: the royal blood of twice two
thousand years, it must not die, die like a dream. Oh! my heart is full
of care, and my soul is dark with sorrow!
'Hark! the trumpets that sound our dishonour. Oh, that they but sounded
to battle! Lord of Hosts, let me conquer or die! Let me conquer like
David; or die, Lord, like Saul!
'Why do I live? Ah! could the thought that lurks within my secret heart
but answer, not that trumpet's blast could speak as loud or clear.
The votary of a false idea, I linger in this shadowy life, and feed on
silent images which no eye but mine can gaze upon, till at length they
are invested with all the terrible circumstance of life, and breathe,
and act, and form a stirring world of fate and beauty, time, and death,
and glory. And then, from out this dazzling wilderness of deeds, I
wander forth and wake, and find myself in this dull house of bondage,
even as I do now. Horrible! horrible!
'God, of my fathers! for indeed I dare not style thee God of their
wretched sons; yet, by the memory of Sinai, let me tell thee that some
of the antique blood yet beats within these pulses, and there yet is one
who fain would commune with thee face to face, commune and conquer.
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