The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
 | I, II. |
 | III, IV. |
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| V. |
| VI, VII. |
| VIII, IX. |
| X. |
 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore |  |
255
FABLE.
A Lord of Persia, rich and great,
Just come into a large estate,
Was shock'd to find he had, for neighbours,
Close to his gate, some rascal Ghebers,
Whose fires, beneath his very nose,
In heretic combustion rose.
But Lords of Persia can, no doubt,
Do what they will—so, one fine morning,
He turn'd the rascal Ghebers out,
First giving a few kicks for warning.
Then, thanking heaven most piously,
He knock'd their Temple to the ground,
Blessing himself for joy to see
Such Pagan ruins strew'd around.
But much it vex'd my Lord to find,
That, while all else obey'd his will,
The Fire these Ghebers left behind,
Do what he would, kept burning still.
Fiercely he storm'd, as if his frown
Could scare the bright insurgent down;
But, no—such fires are headstrong things,
And care not much for Lords or Kings.
Scarce could his Lordship well contrive
The flashes in one place to smother,
Before—hey presto!—all alive,
They sprung up freshly in another.
Just come into a large estate,
Was shock'd to find he had, for neighbours,
Close to his gate, some rascal Ghebers,
Whose fires, beneath his very nose,
In heretic combustion rose.
But Lords of Persia can, no doubt,
Do what they will—so, one fine morning,
He turn'd the rascal Ghebers out,
First giving a few kicks for warning.
Then, thanking heaven most piously,
He knock'd their Temple to the ground,
Blessing himself for joy to see
Such Pagan ruins strew'd around.
But much it vex'd my Lord to find,
That, while all else obey'd his will,
The Fire these Ghebers left behind,
Do what he would, kept burning still.
Fiercely he storm'd, as if his frown
Could scare the bright insurgent down;
256
And care not much for Lords or Kings.
Scarce could his Lordship well contrive
The flashes in one place to smother,
Before—hey presto!—all alive,
They sprung up freshly in another.
At length when, spite of prayers and damns,
'Twas found the sturdy flame defied him,
His stewards came, with low salams,
Offering, by contract, to provide him
Some large Extinguishers, (a plan,
Much us'd, they said, at Ispahan,
Vienna, Petersburgh—in short,
Wherever Light's forbid at court,)
Machines no Lord should be without,
Which would, at once, put promptly out
All kinds of fires,—from staring, stark
Volcanos to the tiniest spark;
Till all things slept as dull and dark,
As, in a great Lord's neighbourhood,
'Twas right and fitting all things should.
'Twas found the sturdy flame defied him,
His stewards came, with low salams,
Offering, by contract, to provide him
Some large Extinguishers, (a plan,
Much us'd, they said, at Ispahan,
Vienna, Petersburgh—in short,
Wherever Light's forbid at court,)
Machines no Lord should be without,
Which would, at once, put promptly out
All kinds of fires,—from staring, stark
Volcanos to the tiniest spark;
Till all things slept as dull and dark,
As, in a great Lord's neighbourhood,
'Twas right and fitting all things should.
Accordingly, some large supplies
Of these Extinguishers were furnish'd
(All of the true Imperial size),
And there, in rows, stood black and burnish'd,
Ready, where'er a gleam but shone
Of light or fire, to be clapp'd on.
Of these Extinguishers were furnish'd
257
And there, in rows, stood black and burnish'd,
Ready, where'er a gleam but shone
Of light or fire, to be clapp'd on.
But, ah, how lordly wisdom errs,
In trusting to extinguishers!
One day, when he had left all sure,
(At least, so thought he) dark, secure—
The flame, at all its exits, entries,
Obstructed to his heart's content,
And black extinguishers, like sentries,
Plac'd over every dangerous vent—
Ye Gods, imagine his amaze,
His wrath, his rage, when, on returning,
He found not only the old blaze,
Brisk as before, crackling and burning,—
Not only new, young conflagrations,
Popping up round in various stations—
But, still more awful, strange, and dire,
Th' Extinguishers themselves on fire!!
They, they—those trusty, blind machines
His Lordship had so long been praising,
As, under Providence, the means
Of keeping down all lawless blazing,
Were now, themselves—alas, too true
The shameful fact—turn'd blazers too,
And, by a change as odd as cruel,
Istead of dampers, served for fuel!
In trusting to extinguishers!
One day, when he had left all sure,
(At least, so thought he) dark, secure—
The flame, at all its exits, entries,
Obstructed to his heart's content,
And black extinguishers, like sentries,
Plac'd over every dangerous vent—
Ye Gods, imagine his amaze,
His wrath, his rage, when, on returning,
He found not only the old blaze,
Brisk as before, crackling and burning,—
Not only new, young conflagrations,
Popping up round in various stations—
But, still more awful, strange, and dire,
Th' Extinguishers themselves on fire!!
258
His Lordship had so long been praising,
As, under Providence, the means
Of keeping down all lawless blazing,
Were now, themselves—alas, too true
The shameful fact—turn'd blazers too,
And, by a change as odd as cruel,
Istead of dampers, served for fuel!
Thus, of his only hope bereft,
“What,” said the great man, “must be done?”—
All that, in scrapes like this, is left
To great men is—to cut and run.
So run he did; while to their grounds,
The banish'd Ghebers blest return'd;
And, though their Fire had broke its bounds,
And all abroad now wildly burn'd,
Yet well could they, who lov'd the flame,
Its wand'ring, its excess reclaim;
And soon another, fairer Dome
Arose to be its sacred home,
Where, cherish'd, guarded, not confin'd,
The living glory dwelt inshrin'd,
And, shedding lustre strong, but even,
Though born of earth, grew worthy heav'n.
“What,” said the great man, “must be done?”—
All that, in scrapes like this, is left
To great men is—to cut and run.
So run he did; while to their grounds,
The banish'd Ghebers blest return'd;
And, though their Fire had broke its bounds,
And all abroad now wildly burn'd,
Yet well could they, who lov'd the flame,
Its wand'ring, its excess reclaim;
And soon another, fairer Dome
Arose to be its sacred home,
259
The living glory dwelt inshrin'd,
And, shedding lustre strong, but even,
Though born of earth, grew worthy heav'n.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |