The Brothers

'Tis midnight ; falls the lamp-light dull and sickly
On a pale and anxious crowd,
Through the court, and round the judges, thronging thickly,
With prayers they dare not speak aloud.
Two youths, two noble youths, stand prisoners at the bar—
You can see them through the gloom —
In the pride of life and manhood's beauty there they are;
Awaiting their death-doom.

All eyes an earnest watch on these are keeping,
Some, sobbing, turn away,
And the strongest men can hardly see for weeping,
So noble and so loved were they.
Their hands are locked together, these young brothers,
As before the judge they stand ;
They feel not the deep grief that moves the others ;
For they die for Fatherland.

They are pale, but it is not fear that whitens
On each proud high brow ;
For the triumph of the martyr's glory brightens
Around them even now.
They sought to free their land from thrall of stranger-
Was it treason ? Let them die ;
But their blood will cry to heaven — the Avenger
Yet will hearken from on high.

Before them, shrinking, cowering, scarcely human,
The base informer bends,
Who, Judas-like, could sell the blood of true men,
While he clasped their hands as friends.
Ay, could fondle the young children of his victim,
Break bread with his young wife,
At the moment that, for gold, his perjured dictum
Sold the husband and the father's life.

There is silence in the midnight — eyes are keeping
Troubled watch, till forth the jury come ;
There is silence in the midnight — eyes are weeping-
Guilty ! is the fatal doom.
For a moment o'er the brothers' noble faces
Came a shadow sad to see,
Then silently they rose up in their places,
And embraced each other fervently.

O the rudest heart might tremble at such sorrow,
The rudest cheek might blush at such a scene ;
Twice the judge essayed to speak the word — to-morrow-
Twice faltered, as a woman he had been.
To-morrow ! Fain the elder would have spoken,
Prayed for respite, though it is not death he fears ;
But thoughts of home and wife his heart have broken,
And his words are stopped by tears.

But the youngest — O he speaks out bold and clearly :
" I have no ties of children or of wife ;
Let me die — but spare the brother, who more dearly
Is loved by me than life."
Pale martyrs, ye may cease ; your days are numbered ;
Next noon your sun of life goes down ;
One day between the sentence and the scaffold ;
One day between the torture and the crown.

A hymn of joy is rising from creation ;
Bright the azure of the glorious summer sky ;
But human hearts weep sore in lamentation,
For the brothers are led forth to die.
Ay ; guard them with your cannon and your lances —
So of old came martyrs to the stake ;
Ay ; guard them — see the people's flashing glances,
For those noble two are dying for their sake.

Yet none spring forth their bonds to sever —
Ah ! methinks, had I been there,
I'd have dared a thousand deaths ere ever
The sword should touch their hair/-'
It falls ! — there is a shriek of lamentation
From the weeping crowd around ;
They are stilled— the noblest hearts within the nation —
The noblest heads lie bleeding on the ground.

Years have passed since that fatal scene of dying,
Yet life-like to this day
In their coffins still those severed heads are lying,
Kept by angels from decay.
O they preach to us, those still and pallid features ;
Those pale lips yet implore us from their graves
To strive for our birthright as God's creatures,
Or die, if we can but live as slaves.