The poetical works of Leigh Hunt Now finally collected, revised by himself, and edited by his son, Thornton Hunt. With illustrations by Corbould |
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THE BITTER GOURD. |
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 | The poetical works of Leigh Hunt |  |
THE BITTER GOURD.
Lokman the Wise, therefore the Good (for wise
Is but sage good, seeing with final eyes),
Was slave once to a lord, jealous though kind,
Who, piqued sometimes at the man's master mind,
Gave him, one day, to see how he would treat
So strange a grace, a bitter gourd to eat.
Is but sage good, seeing with final eyes),
Was slave once to a lord, jealous though kind,
Who, piqued sometimes at the man's master mind,
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So strange a grace, a bitter gourd to eat.
With simplest reverence, and no surprise,
The sage receiv'd what stretch'd the donor's eyes;
And, piece by piece, as though it had been food
To feast and gloat on, every morsel chew'd;
And so stood eating, with his patient beard,
Till all the nauseous favour disappear'd.
The sage receiv'd what stretch'd the donor's eyes;
And, piece by piece, as though it had been food
To feast and gloat on, every morsel chew'd;
And so stood eating, with his patient beard,
Till all the nauseous favour disappear'd.
Vex'd, and confounded, and dispos'd to find
Some ground of scorn, on which to ease his mind,
“Lokman!” exclaim'd his master,—“In God's name,
Where could the veriest slave get soul so tame?
Have all my favours been bestow'd amiss?
Or could not brains like thine have saved thee this?”
Some ground of scorn, on which to ease his mind,
“Lokman!” exclaim'd his master,—“In God's name,
Where could the veriest slave get soul so tame?
Have all my favours been bestow'd amiss?
Or could not brains like thine have saved thee this?”
Calmly stood Lokman still, as duty stands.—
“Have I receiv'd,” he answered, “at thine hands
Favours so sweet they went to mine heart's ro ot,
And could I not accept one bitter fruit?”
“Have I receiv'd,” he answered, “at thine hands
Favours so sweet they went to mine heart's ro ot,
And could I not accept one bitter fruit?”
“O Lokman!” said his lord (and as he spoke,
For very love his words in softness broke),
“Take but this favour yet:—be slave no more:—
Be, as thou art, my friend and counsellor:
Oh be; nor let me quit thee, self-abhorr'd;—
'Tis I that am the slave, and thou the lord.”
For very love his words in softness broke),
“Take but this favour yet:—be slave no more:—
Be, as thou art, my friend and counsellor:
Oh be; nor let me quit thee, self-abhorr'd;—
'Tis I that am the slave, and thou the lord.”
| The poetical works of Leigh Hunt | |