Illustrated poems / by L. H. Sigourney ; with designs by Felix O.C. Darley [electronic text]

THE CLOCK AT VERSAILLES.

In the palace of Versailles, a clock, during the whole life of the reigning monarch, pointed with its motionless hands to the hour when his predecessor died, and was only to be again moved at the moment of his own death.

WHERE the halls with splendour glow, Where the gorgeous fountains throw Fullest flood, There a chronicler of time, Wrapp'd in mystery sublime, Mutely stood.

Like the finger on the wall That Belshazzar's festival Dash'd with dread, Stern it bore the doom of fate, While the crowd with joy elate Check'd their tread.

Fix'd as adamantine chain, Wilt thou never move again?

Then methought an inward strain Murmer'd low, "Blind with pomp or folly's chase Call the king! He can trace The true answer in my face, He doth know.

"When he struggleth long and sore, When he links to earth no moreHate or love, When his eye hath lost its light, When his hands grow stiff and white, Mine shall move.

"When his crown availeth not, And the death-hues blear and blot Brow and cheek, When his tongue no more can frame Vaunt of power or moan of shame, Mine shall speak.

"I shall speak-—I shall move, While his fickle courtiers roveFar away; With my doom of fate and fear

For the new-made monarch's ear I shall stay."

Slow the murmur in the breast Died away, and there at rest, Still and stern, Stood that monitor sublime, Teaching truths that power and prime Shrink to learn.