To Prince Adam Czartoriski

The house of mourning in a foreign land
I have no privilege to enter now;
When all were happy there, I entered it,
A not unhonoured nor ungrateful guest.
By bad men hated and by good beloved,
I have lived on, not unconcern'd, amid
The struggles and uprisings of our world,
The shattered hopes of nations, which their God
Calls with his trumpet to unite again,
And to embody in more glorious form.
I panted to be present on that day,
And may yet see it.
Down, usurpers, down
Ye perjurers, ye blasphemers! Down, false Gods,
Who made earth hell! in hell be now adored.
One like yourselves shall smite you, that the blow
May fall the heavier on your abject heads.
Shalt not thou, Czartoriski, live to see
The justice thy beloved land implores
Of those her valour rescued from the sword?
Perhaps thou mayest not; for years and cares
Have weigh'd upon thee sorely: but whoe'er
Hath lived as thou hast lived may look behind
And hear the plaudits of a noble race
Bursting thro' light and darkness from afar.
Is there no solace in the gentle voice
Of that brave man whose brow was gasht with swords,
But before sword or sceptre never bent?
The shameless were ashamed: his prison-door
Flew open: he went forth, and breath'd free air
In other lands than those which celebrate
His natal day in sadness and despair.
To such Death's portal opens not in gloom,
But its pure chrystal hinged on solid gold
Shows avenues interminable, shows
Amaranth and palm, quivering in sweet accord
Of human mingled with angelic song.