 | The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard |  |
TWO KINGS.
“Two kings are dead.”—
Thomas Goffe.
Thomas Goffe.
I saw, but whether it was in a dream,
Where Present, Future, Past
Blend and bewilder us, and strange things seem
Familiar—while they last;
Where Present, Future, Past
Blend and bewilder us, and strange things seem
Familiar—while they last;
Or in the flesh, as walking in the street
We see a friend or foe—
Who knows? I saw a man with faltering feet
Who down a hill did go.
We see a friend or foe—
Who knows? I saw a man with faltering feet
Who down a hill did go.
The bleak and barren hill like iron rang
Beneath his fitful tread;
The trees had shed their leaves, and no bird sang—
The birds were flown, or dead.
Beneath his fitful tread;
The trees had shed their leaves, and no bird sang—
The birds were flown, or dead.
The time of the year was autumn, and the hour
The last that leaves the light;
For in the sullen West like a great flower
Day faded into Night.
The last that leaves the light;
For in the sullen West like a great flower
Day faded into Night.
429
What could be more forlorn than that hill-side,
Where, through the withered leaves,
That wrinkled, bent old creature walked and sighed,
That mournfulest of eves?
Where, through the withered leaves,
That wrinkled, bent old creature walked and sighed,
That mournfulest of eves?
The grief that looked out of his hollow eyes
Refused to be consoled
By tears, that still would come, with heavy sighs—
Piteous in one so old!
Refused to be consoled
By tears, that still would come, with heavy sighs—
Piteous in one so old!
He wrung his trembling hands, and tore his hair,
Then stood as carved in stone,
And stared behind him—there was no one there,
For he was all alone.
Then stood as carved in stone,
And stared behind him—there was no one there,
For he was all alone.
“Why are you here in such a woful plight?
Why do you turn your head,
And stare so backward through the glimmering light?”
“Because my Kings are dead.”
Why do you turn your head,
And stare so backward through the glimmering light?”
“Because my Kings are dead.”
“Clearly,” I thought, “his wits have gone astray.”
And then to him I said,
“Your Kings—what Kings? There are none hereto-day—”
“Because the Kings are dead.”
And then to him I said,
“Your Kings—what Kings? There are none hereto-day—”
“Because the Kings are dead.”
I thought it best to humor this old man,
Who like another Lear
Went wandering down the hill side, weak and wan,
As if his end were near.
Who like another Lear
Went wandering down the hill side, weak and wan,
As if his end were near.
“Tell me about them, Sire, for I perceive
That you are kingly, too.
I will go downward with you, by your leave.”
He smiled, and said, “You do.”
That you are kingly, too.
I will go downward with you, by your leave.”
He smiled, and said, “You do.”
430
I scanned him closer, and, to my surprise,
He was not as before;
There was a wild light in his laughing eyes,
And he was old no more!
He was not as before;
There was a wild light in his laughing eyes,
And he was old no more!
“O Prince! O King!” he cried; but not to me
His greeting was addressed,
Nor any person there whom I could see.
“My master, and my guest!
His greeting was addressed,
Nor any person there whom I could see.
“My master, and my guest!
Most beautiful art thou of all thy race,
Most gracious and benign;
The right to rule is in thy royal face,
And in those lips of thine.
Most gracious and benign;
The right to rule is in thy royal face,
And in those lips of thine.
No robe is rich enough for thee to wear,
What earthly robe could be?
The bright abundance of thy golden hair
Is crown enough for thee.
What earthly robe could be?
The bright abundance of thy golden hair
Is crown enough for thee.
All things that thou dost look on are made fair.
The eagle's eye sees far;
But thy soft eye sees farther—everywhere
It lights upon a star.
The eagle's eye sees far;
But thy soft eye sees farther—everywhere
It lights upon a star.
The feet of the mountain does are swift in flight—
Off like the wind they go;
Thou art before them on the mountain height,
And thou art first below.
Off like the wind they go;
Thou art before them on the mountain height,
And thou art first below.
This to the eye thou art; but to the heart
Whose pulses beat with thine,
Who can declare what happiness thou art?
Declare, O Heart of mine!
Whose pulses beat with thine,
Who can declare what happiness thou art?
Declare, O Heart of mine!
431
Dear is the pressure of a woman's hand,
And woman's lips are sweet;
Weak men by her caresses are unmanned,
And grovel at her feet.
And woman's lips are sweet;
Weak men by her caresses are unmanned,
And grovel at her feet.
But she is not the best of all good things,
For, when I am with thee,
I love thee better, O my King of Kings!
And dost not thou love me?
For, when I am with thee,
I love thee better, O my King of Kings!
And dost not thou love me?
His presence honors my poor house again,
I give him of my best;
Who would not give his all to entertain
So beautiful a guest?”
I give him of my best;
Who would not give his all to entertain
So beautiful a guest?”
“I do not see the King you speak of, Sire.”
The old man shook his head:
“Nor I, for I have lost my heart's desire,
My dear, young King is dead!”
The old man shook his head:
“Nor I, for I have lost my heart's desire,
My dear, young King is dead!”
“But where, pray, tell me, have they buried him?”
“I know not, but I guess
That somewhere in a chamber, hushed and dim,
He lies in loveliness.
“I know not, but I guess
That somewhere in a chamber, hushed and dim,
He lies in loveliness.
Wrapped in a purple pall, as if asleep,
His hands upon his breast;
And fair, sad women watch, but do not weep,
Lest they disturb his rest.
His hands upon his breast;
And fair, sad women watch, but do not weep,
Lest they disturb his rest.
Right royally his brother filled his place,
And glorious to behold
Was his tall form, broad chest, and bearded face,
And his great crown of gold.
And glorious to behold
Was his tall form, broad chest, and bearded face,
And his great crown of gold.
432
No yellow locks for him, he wears the crown,
And can the helmet wear;
He bears a sword that smites his foemen down,
Who angers him, beware!
And can the helmet wear;
He bears a sword that smites his foemen down,
Who angers him, beware!
For this great King is swift as he is stern,
Nor pity knows, nor fear;
He can see thousands fall, and cities burn,
And never shed a tear.
Nor pity knows, nor fear;
He can see thousands fall, and cities burn,
And never shed a tear.
But war delights him not, for he is wise,
And knows that peace is best.
There is a kindly humor in his eyes,
And he can laugh and jest.
And knows that peace is best.
There is a kindly humor in his eyes,
And he can laugh and jest.
What his dead brother only had begun,
(What rare beginnings those!)
Taken up by his strong will, was straightway done,
Cities and ramparts rose.
(What rare beginnings those!)
Taken up by his strong will, was straightway done,
Cities and ramparts rose.
This masterful great man, who was my King,
And who was full of cares,
Had time to hear his merry minstrels sing,
And hear his people's prayers.
And who was full of cares,
Had time to hear his merry minstrels sing,
And hear his people's prayers.
But he is gone, the strong, the good, the just,
And gone his golden crown;
His sceptre and his sword are in the dust,
His kingdom has gone down.
And gone his golden crown;
His sceptre and his sword are in the dust,
His kingdom has gone down.
Low lies that mighty form that filled the throne,
Low lies that royal head;
The race is ended: I am here alone
Because the King is dead!”
Low lies that royal head;
The race is ended: I am here alone
Because the King is dead!”
433
“Thou strange old man,” I said, “if man thou art,
That growest so thin and pale,
I feel a chillness creeping round my heart
At thy accursèd tale.
That growest so thin and pale,
I feel a chillness creeping round my heart
At thy accursèd tale.
Who art thou? Speak!” He spoke not—was not there,
If ever there, had flown,
And left me talking to the empty air,
On the dark hill alone!
If ever there, had flown,
And left me talking to the empty air,
On the dark hill alone!
“I am the man whom I have seen,” I said,
“I have my story told;
I have a wrinkled face and a gray head,
And I am growing old.
“I have my story told;
I have a wrinkled face and a gray head,
And I am growing old.
I have outlived my youth, that was so dear,
Seen manhood pass away,
And now have reached the autumn of my year,
The evening of my day.
Seen manhood pass away,
And now have reached the autumn of my year,
The evening of my day.
For lo, in the far West, so lately red,
There is no spark of light;
Darkness below, and darkness overhead—
Alone, alone at night!”
There is no spark of light;
Darkness below, and darkness overhead—
Alone, alone at night!”
| The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard | |