Music and Other Poems | Page 8

to seek
The third and last to
whom God bade him speak,
Scarce twenty steps away whom should
he meet
But Fermor, hurrying cheerful down the street,
With ready
heart that faced his work like play,
And joyed to find it greater every
day!
The angel stopped him with uplifted hand,
And gave without
delay his Lord's command:

"He whom thou servest here would have
thee go
"Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow,
"To serve Him
there." Ere Asmiel breathed again
The eager answer leaped to meet
him, "WHEN?"

The angel's face with inward joy grew bright,
And all his figure
glowed with heavenly light;
He took the golden circlet from his brow

And gave the crown to Fermor, answering, "Now!
"For thou hast
met the Master's bidden test,
"And I have found the man who loves
Him best.
"Not thine, nor mine, to question or reply
"When He
commands us, asking 'how?' or 'why?'
"He knows the cause; His
ways are wise and just;
"Who serves the King must serve with perfect
trust."
February, 1902.
THE VAIN KING
In robes of Tyrian blue the King was drest,
A jewelled collar shone
upon his breast,
A giant ruby glittered in his crown--
Lord of rich
lands and many a splendid town.
In him the glories of an ancient line

Of sober kings, who ruled by right divine,
Were centred; and to
him with loyal awe
The people looked for leadership and law.
Ten
thousand knights, the safeguard of the land,
Lay like a single sword
within his hand;
A hundred courts, with power of life and death,

Proclaimed decrees of justice by his breath;
And all the sacred
growths that men had known
Of order and of rule upheld his throne.
Proud was the King: yet not with such a heart
As fits a man to play a
royal part.
Not his the pride that honours as a trust
The right to rule,
the duty to be just:
Not his the dignity that bends to bear
The
monarch's yoke, the master's load of care,
And labours like the
peasant at his gate,
To serve the people and protect the State.

Another pride was his, and other joys:
To him the crown and sceptre
were but toys,
With which he played at glory's idle game,
To please
himself and win the wreaths of fame.
The throne his fathers held from
age to age,
To his ambition, seemed a fitting stage
Built for King
Martin to display at will,
His mighty strength and universal skill.

No conscious child, that, spoiled with praising, tries
At every step to
win admiring eyes,--
No favourite mountebank, whose acting draws

>From gaping crowds loud thunder of applause,
Was vainer than
the King: his only thirst
Was to be hailed, in every race, the first.

When tournament was held, in knightly guise
The King would ride
the lists and win the prize;
When music charmed the court, with
golden lyre
The King would take the stage and lead the choir;
In
hunting, his the lance to slay the boar;
In hawking, see his falcon
highest soar;
In painting, he would wield the master's brush;
In high
debate,--"the King is speaking! Hush!"
Thus, with a restless heart, in
every field
He sought renown, and found his subjects yield
As if he
were a demi-god revealed.
But while he played the petty games of life
His kingdom fell a prey to
inward strife;
Corruption through the court unheeded crept,
And on
the seat of honour justice slept.
The strong trod down the weak; the
helpless poor
Groaned under burdens grievous to endure.
The
nation's wealth was spent in vain display,
And weakness wore the
nation's heart away.
Yet think not Earth is blind to human woes--
Man has more friends
and helpers than he knows;
And when a patient people are oppressed,

The land that bore them feels it in her breast.
Spirits of field and
flood, of heath and hill,
Are grieved and angry at the spreading ill;

The trees complain together in the night,
Voices of wrath are heard
along the height,
And secret vows are sworn, by stream and strand,

To bring the tyrant low and liberate the land.
But little recked the pampered King of these;
He heard no voice but
such as praise and please.
Flattered and fooled, victor in every sport,

One day he wandered idly with his court
Beside the river, seeking
to devise
New ways to show his skill to wondering eyes.
There in
the stream a patient fisher stood,

And cast his line across the rippling
flood.
His silver spoil lay near him on the green:
"Such fish," the

courtiers cried, "were never seen!
"Three salmon longer than a
cloth-yard shaft--
"This man must be the master of his craft!"
"An
easy art!" the jealous King replied:
"Myself could learn it better, if I
tried,
"And catch a hundred larger fish a week--
"Wilt thou accept
the challenge, fellow? Speak!"
The fisher turned, came near, and bent
his knee:
"'T is not for kings to strive with such as me;
"Yet if the
King commands it, I obey.
"But one condition of the strife I pray:

"The fisherman who brings the least to land
"Shall do whate'er the
other may command."
Loud laughed the King: "A foolish fisher thou!

"For I shall win and rule thee then as now."
So to Prince John, a sober