Records and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

The famous Duke of Brunswick, he surely must be blest,
With the richest hoard of diamonds that ever man possest:
So rich and rare, so bright and fair, were never known before—
I almost feel it wealth enough to tell of such a store.—

There's one of curious history traced back to a Turkish sabre,
Another, supposed invaluable, belong'd to the Emperor Baber;
And a solitaire of twelve rich gems, whose chronicles reveal
That they button'd the vest of Pedro, the Emperor of Brazil.
There's one of surpassing lustre, but of a blackish dye,
That served for many centuries as an Indian idol's eye.
There's one that blazed on a German throne, and one of the purest sheen
That upon the lily finger shone of Mary, the Scottish queen,
Diamonds bright as the starry spheres, and diamonds dark as the jet,
And two that have dangled at the ears of Marie Antoinette.

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In short, the rarest collection of ancient or modern time;
But to give the merest catalogue is beyond the province of rhyme.
You must see the Duke's own volume for their histories, lustre and rate,
Which he gives in quarto—pages two hundred and sixty-eight.

Now surely the Duke is the happiest man that lives this side o' the grave!
Alas! he is chain'd by his diamonds, he is, body and soul, their slave.
In a Bastille house at Paris he lives, shut up from the sun and the breeze,
By a great dead wall surrounded, and a warlike chevaux de frise:
So that when a scaler touches a prong, he touches a secret spring,
And raises the larum loud and long as the bells of the Bastille ring.
Deep sunk in these dark defences lies the bed-room of the Duke,
Into which the honest light of heaven is scarcely permitted to look—
A room with one clink for a window, and a door with wonderful guards,
Which opens to one alone who knows the secret of the wards;
And into the strong thick wall of this room, in a double-ribb'd iron chest,

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Like cats' eyes gleaming in the gloom, the precious diamonds rest.
Before them lies the happy Duke with a dozen loaded pistols,
That he, without leaving his bed, may enjoy and defend his beloved crystals.—
But, grant that a burglar scales the wall, vaults over the chevaux de frise,
Breaks open the doors and slays the Duke—What then? Is the treasure his?
Not yet; for the Duke had closed the safe ere the thief to his chamber got;—
If he force the lock, four guns go off and batter him from the spot!

Now is not the Duke the happiest man that lives this side o' the grave?
Alas! he is chain'd by his diamonds, he is, body and soul, their slave!
He dares not leave his diamonds, he dares not go from home;
O'er the cloud-capt heights, through the lowly vales, he has no heart to roam.
Beside the diamond's costly light all other light is dim;
Winter and summer, day and night, can take no hold on him.
Methinks he would be a richer man were he as poor as I,
Who have no gems but yon twinkling stars, the diamonds of the sky.

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Could he the dewy daisies love, those diamonds of the sod,
Methinks he were a happier man, and a little nearer God.
I also think, could he sell all and give it to the poor,
The famous Duke of Brunswick's name would famously endure.