A Legend of Old Persia and Other Poems | Page 9

me,?Rest in the ever-restless,?The huge, unquiet sea,?That the brain may be freed from toil?Which has toiled to a luckless end?When it touched its highest powers?And shaped my milk-white friend.
IX
For a dream is only a dream,?(My best and my last stands there)?And a stone is only a stone,?Be it carven beyond compare,?And the veriest hind of the field?Who sweats for his hungry brood,?Has a deeper knowledge than I?Of our mortal evil and good.?Oh! gods, if ever I sought you,?And found you, terrible lords,?Zeus in the rattling thunder,?Ares in din of swords;?And thou, wise grey-eyed lady,?Who lovest the sober mean,?Reason and grave discourses,?A tempered mind and serene,?You have I duly honoured--?Yet one have I kept apart,?(Lean, misshapen, and ugly?No toy for a maiden's heart).?"Oh! foam-begotten and smiling,?Oh, perilous child of the sea--?Forgive--ere too late--and befriend me!?What am I--what is life without thee?"?And his prayer went up like a vapour?To the palace above the snows,?Where the shining gods held revel,?And deathless laughter arose.?But Hupnos swiftly descended?Like a noiseless bird of the night?And brushed his eyes with pinions?Downy and thick and light,?Circled dimly about him,?And brushed his eyes as he prayed?Laying a drowsy mandate,?And the watcher drooped and obeyed.
X
In at the workshop windows?Peacefully stole the dawn;?Tinting the marble figures?Of wood-nymph, goddess and faun,?Broadening in a streamer?Which touched with a rosy glow?The still white form of the statue,?The sleeper kneeling below.?... She moved as the red light touched her?And life stirred under her hair,?A little shiver ran over?Her glorious limbs all bare.?Thro' arms and breasts and thighs?The warm blood pulsed and ran:?And she stepped down from the pedestal--?A woman unto a man;?Saying in tender accents?Of low and musical tone:?"Oh! sleeper, wake from thy slumber?No longer art thou alone...."
Alexis.
Who slew Alexis? Some one smote?Right thro' the white and tender throat?(And scarce gave time for fear)?The jewelled doll, who sprang from kings,?With farded cheek and flashing rings,?And left him lying here.
He sat upon a throne, pardye,?The ancient throne of Muscovy,?Smiling a harlot's smile,?And gave--the painted popinjay--?The word which no man might gainsay,?Tossing his curls the while.
And savage warriors, steel on hips,?Muttered between their bearded lips,?And spat upon the floor,?To see a thing so debonnaire?Enthroned upon a conqueror's chair,?And find their King half-whore.
Or in a gallery all aflare,?Approached by some dark palace stair,?He lay in languid mood,?And naked women, mad with wine,?Did cruelty and lust combine?To stir his tainted blood.
So plunged, half woman and half devil,?In many a foul and roaring revel,?By some fierce craving fanned,?Alexis, with the girlish face?And swaying movements full of grace,?The Ruler of this Land.
So, hunted by a mind diseased,?By those fierce orgies unappeased,?He thirsted after new;?And monstrous things he did (they say)?Which never saw the light of day,?Shared by a chosen few.
The rocks were cleft to bring him treasure,?The mothers mourned to give him pleasure,?The whole land writhed in pain,?All night the secret chambers flared,?All night the horrid deeds were dared?Which made him thirst again.
And pampered Turks lived by his side,?With gobbling negroes bloodshot-eyed,?And hags with mouths impure.?And day and night the warders tall?Stood watching on his castle wall?That he might dwell secure.
Strange visions did upon him throng?With shapes confused which held him long,?A riot in his brain.?Unbridled lust, unbounded power?So worked upon him in that hour....?I think he was insane.
And I--who had no God to please,?And nursed him crowing on my knees--?I waited by the stair,?And as he gave a joyous note,?Passed this bright iron thro' his throat?And left him lying there.
The King's Cloak.
There was a King in Norroway?Who loved a famous sport,?He followed it in the sun and snow?With the nobles of his Court.?In all his kingdom mountainous?Was none so swift as he?(For so they said who ate his bread)?At running on the ski.
His black heart swelled with pride?As the acorn swells with the tree,?And from all his kingdom mountainous?He called the men of the ski.?From fir-pricked crag and gloomy gorge?Where the lonely log-huts cling,?And till the King's word bade them cease?They raced before the King.
So raced they down a spear-broad track,?Where never tree did grow,?Between the mountains and the sea?A thousand feet below?Till sundip in a cold pearl sky?And a west of ageless pink?From a withered pine to the King enthroned?With his nobles by the brink.
There ran one with the racers?Straight-fashioned as a sword,?With sail-brown cheek and eyes as deep?As water in a fiord?And till the King's word bade them cease?None passed or touched him near,?He leapt as frightened chamois leap?And ran like a stricken deer.
Dusk threw a hateful shadow?On the King's countenance?"The guerdons of thy skill," cried he,?"Or, boy, thy luck, perchance??This figured ivory drinking horn!?This turquoise-hilted sword!?But ... shall I see no marvel?Ere day dips in the fiord?"
"There is not in fair Norroway?My master on the ski?One bolder or more skilful....?A marvel wouldst thou see?"?--Bold and high was the answer--?"'Twas skill not luck, Oh! King,?I am the swiftest....