Multatuli Remoulded
Once lived a Man who from a Rock broke stone—
For little wage, great labour. Hear him groan,
“O to be rich, and lounging on a bed
With sleepy silken curtains at my head!”
And there came an Angel, saying, Be it so!
And he was rich, and on a bed at rest
Of silk as soft as roses. From the west
The King came by with horsemen and patrolled
That land, beneath his canopy of gold.
And the Newly Rich gazed from his lattice:“Why
Have I no kingdom and no canopy?
Happy I were with just one little thing:
I would have honour! I would be a King!”
And there came an Angel, saying, Be it so!
And he was King, with horsemen for a screen
And cloth of gold to fringe his palanquin.
But one day, riding in a desert place,
The King grew angry. The Sun scorched his face.
“What is this Sun that doth my face devour—
Heedless of princes at their height of power?
Had I his room, and the arrows of his pride
Vast as the air, I should be satisfied!”
And there came an Angel, saying, Be it so!
And he became the Sun. Jovial he sent
Arrows abroad to search the firmament
And bake the fields. Everywhere did they pass
And scorched the brows of Princes like the grass,
Till came a Cloud, that darkly overmisted
The plains, and all his sheen of rays resisted.
Long, long he battled, but at last avowed,
“My light is conquered; I would be that Cloud!”
And there came an Angel, saying, Be it so!
And he became a Cloud of gloom and rain
That cooled and made green pastures of the plain,
Till the floods rose. Houses and herds were swept
Away in rivers, and the homeless wept.
And the Earth became a wholly flooded field,
Save for one Rock therein that would not yield.
Wildly the streams beat; it withstood their shock.
Then the Cloud, sullen, yearned to be that Rock.
And there came an Angel, saying, Be it so!
And the Cloud became a Rock. Stark he remained
Still, whether summer riped or winter rained.
And there came a Man into his solitude
With pickaxe and with hammer; one that hewed
Stones from the Rock. And the Rock groaned oppressed,
“Whose heavy Hammer strikes so sore my Breast?”
And prayed at length, “Deliver me who can!
Make me a hammer-wielder—make me Man!”
And there came an Angel, saying, Be it so!
And he became a Man, old, feeble, bent,
Who for small wages and long labour spent
Broke stones under a Rock, and was content.
Then the Earth-Spirit, an Enchanter wise,
Charmed at complete success of his device,
Approached, rubbing his hands in genial wise:
“See now the empty Bubbles that enamour
You, the Enactor of my Fable, Man!
Since you have ended just where you began
Confess how futile was the wish to rise!”. . .
And the Stone-breaker pushed up, in mild surprise,
His spectacles, that Questioner to scan:
“Not so! The World's a Bubble, and mere Glamour;
But just to have been the round, and learned the grammar,
Contents me with my Sitting-pad and Hammer!”
