Aurangazeb

The monarch lay upon his bier,

Censers were burning low,

As through the loft arches streamed

The setting sun's red glow.

Still grasped he in his hand the blade

Which well-fought fields had won,

And Aurungzebe beside him knelt,

Usurper proud and son!

Remorse had stricken his false heart

And quenched his wonted fire,

With gloomy brow and look intent

He gazed upon his sire:

Can tyrant death make him afraid?

Hot tears burst from his eyes

As thus his grief found vent in words

To the warrior-train's surprise

"Father, thou wert the goodliest king

That e'er the sceptre swayed,

How could I then lift up my arm

Against thee undismayed,

How could I send thee here to pine

Usurp the peacock-throne

O had I perished in the womb

That deed were left undone.

See, all is changed that was estranged,

Awake my sire, my king,

See, soldiers in their war array

Thy son in fetters bring!

Thy rebel son who will abide

Thy word whate'er it be,

And fearless meet the wrack or steel

Rise up once more and see!

Thou wilt not hear, thou wilt not speak,

It is the last long sleep.

And am I not a king myself?

What means these stirrings deep?

O foolish eyes, what means this rheum?

I will not call them tears;

My heart that nothing e'er could daunt

Is faint with boding fears.

The past appears! a checkered field

Of guilt and shame and war,

What evil influence ruled my birth,

What swart malignant star?

Why did I barter peace of mind

For royal pomp and state?

Mad for the baleful meteor’s gleam

With worldly joys elate.

Remembered voices speak my name

And call me parricide,

The murdered Dara beckons me -

He was thy joy and pride:

And thus I fling the dear-bought crown,

But whither can I fly?

The awful thought still follows me

That even kings will die.