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 | The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton |  |
227
'Twas strange to see how upon different minds
The Syrian's tale with different meanings fell.
One moralised of the vicissitudes
Of mortal greatness, how the spider's web
Is just as safe from harm and violence
As the bright-woven destiny of kings.
Another cursed the Merchant for his deed:
And a third laughed aloud and laughed again,
Considering the strange contrast of the pomp
Of that departure from a regal throne
And grand commission of so many powers,
With the condition of a kennelled slave;
For true it is, that nothing moves to mirth
More than the gap that fortune often leaps,
Dragging some wretched man along with her.
The Syrian's tale with different meanings fell.
One moralised of the vicissitudes
Of mortal greatness, how the spider's web
Is just as safe from harm and violence
As the bright-woven destiny of kings.
Another cursed the Merchant for his deed:
And a third laughed aloud and laughed again,
Considering the strange contrast of the pomp
Of that departure from a regal throne
And grand commission of so many powers,
With the condition of a kennelled slave;
For true it is, that nothing moves to mirth
More than the gap that fortune often leaps,
Dragging some wretched man along with her.
To an Egyptian soldier, scarred and bronzed,
The duty of narration came the next:
Who said, “that soldiers' tales were out of place
Told in calm places and at evening hours:
His songs required the music of the gun:
He could recount a thousand desperate feats,
Hair-breadth escapes and miracles of war,
Were he but cowering round a low watch-fire
Almost in hearing of the enemy;
But now his blood was cold, and he was dull,
And even had forgot his own wild past.
They all had heard—had East and West not heard
Of Mehemet Ali and of Ibrahim?
It might be that the Great Pasha was great,
But he was fond of trade—of getting gold,
Not by fair onslaught and courageous strength,
But by mean interchange with other lands
Of produce better in his own consumed;
This was like treason to a soldier's heart;
And all he hoped was that when Ibrahim
Sat in his father's seat, he would destroy
That flight of locusts—Jew, and Greek, and Frank,
Who had corrupted Egypt and her power,
By all their mercenary thoughts and acts,
And sent him there, brave soldier as he was,
To go beg service at the Sultan's hand.
Yet Ibrahim's heart was still a noble one;
No man could contradict him and not fear
Some awful vengeance;—was this story known?”
The duty of narration came the next:
Who said, “that soldiers' tales were out of place
Told in calm places and at evening hours:
His songs required the music of the gun:
He could recount a thousand desperate feats,
Hair-breadth escapes and miracles of war,
Were he but cowering round a low watch-fire
Almost in hearing of the enemy;
But now his blood was cold, and he was dull,
And even had forgot his own wild past.
They all had heard—had East and West not heard
228
It might be that the Great Pasha was great,
But he was fond of trade—of getting gold,
Not by fair onslaught and courageous strength,
But by mean interchange with other lands
Of produce better in his own consumed;
This was like treason to a soldier's heart;
And all he hoped was that when Ibrahim
Sat in his father's seat, he would destroy
That flight of locusts—Jew, and Greek, and Frank,
Who had corrupted Egypt and her power,
By all their mercenary thoughts and acts,
And sent him there, brave soldier as he was,
To go beg service at the Sultan's hand.
Yet Ibrahim's heart was still a noble one;
No man could contradict him and not fear
Some awful vengeance;—was this story known?”
| The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton | |