 | Fra Dolcino, and other poems |  |
183
THE RIVER'S FATE.
By Gyndes' sweeping stream the Persian host
Stood like a lion panting ere the spring,—
Who first hath tried it? whose the wanton boast
Life like a toy amidst its whirls to fling,
As conqueror or as victim? 'T is a steed
Milk-white, the noblest of Nyseia's breed.
Stood like a lion panting ere the spring,—
Who first hath tried it? whose the wanton boast
Life like a toy amidst its whirls to fling,
As conqueror or as victim? 'T is a steed
Milk-white, the noblest of Nyseia's breed.
And well awhile the proud one clove its tide,
His swan-like neck swelling above the surge!
But mountain-born, it arched with equal pride,
And he has vanished ere he reached the verge.
Foaming with triumph, the god-hated wave
Towers up, a sacred charger's eddying grave.
His swan-like neck swelling above the surge!
But mountain-born, it arched with equal pride,
And he has vanished ere he reached the verge.
Foaming with triumph, the god-hated wave
Towers up, a sacred charger's eddying grave.
And Susa's Lord there stays, to make a vow
Of vengeance. Thank that vengeance, Babylon!
Half-way, the destined Conqueror lingers now,
And spares, to smite a stream, Belshazzar's throne.
“Henceforth thy dwindled wave, proud flood,” said he
“Crossed by a woman, shall not wet her knee.”
Of vengeance. Thank that vengeance, Babylon!
Half-way, the destined Conqueror lingers now,
And spares, to smite a stream, Belshazzar's throne.
“Henceforth thy dwindled wave, proud flood,” said he
“Crossed by a woman, shall not wet her knee.”
184
An army toiled to drain it—to this day
The shrunken river rues a despot's wrath;
So pass Titanic dynasties away,
So shall Euphrates when his word goes forth.
Ne'er more shall Gyndes rush in rapid joy,
Leaping and singing like a mountain-boy.
The shrunken river rues a despot's wrath;
So pass Titanic dynasties away,
So shall Euphrates when his word goes forth.
Ne'er more shall Gyndes rush in rapid joy,
Leaping and singing like a mountain-boy.
Now many a time when noon is bathed in brightness,
The Persian girl, beside that baby-stream,
Just lifts her robe, and laughs to see the whiteness
Of her small feet break through its amber gleam;
Nor dreams to thank, for that cool passage o'er,
Cyrus who made it for her long of yore.
The Persian girl, beside that baby-stream,
Just lifts her robe, and laughs to see the whiteness
Of her small feet break through its amber gleam;
Nor dreams to thank, for that cool passage o'er,
Cyrus who made it for her long of yore.
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