By Dyce

A new day born with sun's rising

And I greet it here, triumphant,

For to have seen another day

Is for me the greatest triumph,

That I may now hope to achieve.

Ev'n as I close my eyes upon,

The gloried gold that fires the east,

To better feel its tender warmth-

I feel Death's cold fingers clutching

Cheated at my heel, begrudging,

The day that I have I have wrested from

His grasp; the golden blooming day

That I have seized, in which to live.

He will have me soon enough, too soon,

For I leave much as yet undone

And unprovided for. Not by choice,

Or careless disregard, for the care

Of kin and worldly goods is long arranged.

But now, within my heart, I find

Some few things left within my keeping.

The first, a heart no longer mine,

And yet still dear, friend once lover

And e'er since truest, faithful friend.

I leave ye, Charles, to those who love ye best,

Loyal students and alien em'press both,

I leave to them a friend and teacher, but

Also a man, with faults and flaws,

And requirement of understanding.

My Rahne, the daughter of my heart,

And dear as any flesh could be,

I now consign, reluctantly,

To her own care and recognizance,

For she is a woman grown, but

Also to her dear friends and mine

Who love her as I do myself,

And to the Lord she loves and trusts

Still, despite all that has befallen

Her nearest and her dearest; she

Has still such faith, in innocence,

I pray that it be not in vain.

All the work I leave undone, shall

Be to a surer hand entrusted.

A gentle Beast, with poet's soul,

A heart as tender as a child,

And courage fit to furnish forth,

A dozen lions - his broad shoulders

Must needs take up my load, for I

Am worn and weary with its bearing,

And dare not trust it to another.

To Kitty (though she'll thank me not),

I leave a rasping English heathen,

With heart of gold all marked and marred,

Hid snug away beneath a coaly mask,

Yet hid not well enough that it

Were not shattered by her loss.

Aye, and yet not shattered quite,

That it could not return full soon,

To this isle's bare and rocky heights

To offer hard-voiced comfort and

Such slight compassion as remains

Within the shivered vessel of his soul.

Ah, last and hardest to release

One I love as life itself, the

soft-spoken keeper of my heart

Whose voice may shatter tempered steel

As easy as to whisper fair

And tender words of love's caress.

I would fain hold him unto death

But dare not chance to bring away

His dear heart with me to the grave,

Lest here on earth he be alone

And alone remain, unloving.

For his dear sake, and his alone

Will I release my own true love.

Into the care of Winter's Queen

Of seeming cold as very frost

And pray that 'neath her harsh defense

There beats a heart of passing warmth

Enough to love the man I leave

Of Necessity to her care.

These final treasures I release,

And loose my failing grasp at last,

For in the losing, I may keep

Them close unto my heart until

At last gives way, and I may rest,

Free of pain and sickness cruel,

In the endless, glowing gold, of

The first and final dawning.

End

NB: Yes, I know Pete has not (in the comics) gone back to Muir, but somehow, no matter how much they argued, he'd leave Moira all but alone when she died.