MIDNIGHT, JANUARY 25, 1886.
Reading edition
To-morrow is a year since Gordon died! A year ago to-night, the Desert still Crouched on the spring, and panted for its fill Of lust and blood. Their old art statesmen plied, And paltered, and evaded, and denied; Guiltless as yet, except for feeble will, And craven heart, and calculated skill In long delays, of their great homicide.
A year ago to-night ’twas not too late. The thought comes through our mirth, again, again; Methinks I hear the halting foot of Fate Approaching and approaching us; and then Comes cackle of the House, and the Debate! Enough; he is forgotten amongst men.