Thou whose spell can raise the dead, <br />Bid the prophet's form appear. <br />"Samuel, raise thy buried head! <br />"King, behold the phantom seer!" <br />Earth yawn'd; he stood the centre of a cloud: <br />Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud. <br />Death stood all glassy in the fixed eye: <br />His hand was withered, and his veins were dry; <br />His foot, in bony whiteness, glitterd there, <br />Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare; <br />From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame, <br />Like cavern'd winds the hollow acccents came. <br />Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak, <br />At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke. <br /> <br />"Why is my sleep disquieted? <br />"Who is he that calls the dead? <br />"Is it thou, Oh King? Behold <br />"Bloodless are these limbs, and cold: <br />"Such are mine; and such shall be <br />"Thine, to-morrow, when with me: <br />"Ere the coming day is done, <br />"Such shalt thou be, such thy son. <br />"Fare thee well, but for a day, <br />"Then we mix our mouldering clay. <br />"Thou, thy race, lie pale and low, <br />"Pierced by shafts of many a bow; <br />"And the falchion by thy side, <br />"To thy heart, thy hand shall guide: <br />"Crownless, breathless, headless fall, <br />"Son and sire, the house of Saul!"<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thou-whose-spell-can-raise-the-dead/
