Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne Complete edition with numerous illustrations |
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| 18. | XVIII.
THE THREE URNS. |
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 | Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne |  |
XVIII.
THE THREE URNS.
List to an Arab parable, wherein
The beauty of the Orient fancy shrines
A star-like truth, the iconoclastic West
Is blind to see, its shrewd material vision
Bent over on the foulest soils of earth,
If only gold may gild them! Hear and—learn!
The beauty of the Orient fancy shrines
A star-like truth, the iconoclastic West
Is blind to see, its shrewd material vision
Bent over on the foulest soils of earth,
If only gold may gild them! Hear and—learn!
Nimroud, the king to whom his fourscore years
Had brought a wisdom pure as his white locks,
(And spotless they as snow on Caucasus!)
One morn commanded his three sons to grace
His presence chamber; there in front of each
A mighty urn, sealed with a mystic seal,
Was duly set—the one of burnished gold,
Blazed like an August noon—of amber fair
The other—but the third (dull as a cloud
Seen 'gainst the bright flash of a distant wave.
Or 'twixt the glittering tree-tops), seemed, in form,
A rugged mould wrought from the common earth.
Had brought a wisdom pure as his white locks,
331
One morn commanded his three sons to grace
His presence chamber; there in front of each
A mighty urn, sealed with a mystic seal,
Was duly set—the one of burnished gold,
Blazed like an August noon—of amber fair
The other—but the third (dull as a cloud
Seen 'gainst the bright flash of a distant wave.
Or 'twixt the glittering tree-tops), seemed, in form,
A rugged mould wrought from the common earth.
“Choose thou, my eldest,” said the king, deep-breathed,
“Choose thou amongst these urns, the urn which seems
To thee most precious,”—whereupon he chose
The Vase of Gold, which bore in jewelled flame,
Clear leaping, the word “Empire,”—opened it,
And found beneath a deadly, vaporous fume,
(Which on the instant sickened heart and sense),—
Nought but a bubbling tide of vital blood,
Hot, as appeared, that moment from the veins
Of murdered manhood. The fair amber vase,
With “Glory” written on it—“this for me!”
Exclaimed the second prince, with eager eyes,
And feverish hands clasping his treasure close,—
Too close, alas! for as he spake, the urn
Crashed on his breast, and bruised and tortured it,
And a rare dust, the ashes of great men,
Dead centuries since, rose from its shattered bulk
Pungent, and yet so light the feeblest puff
Of failing wind hath shorn and scattered them
Into vague air. One vase alone remained,
Which the third son unsealing, found therein,
Deep-graven, glittering like a planet keen,
Thro' gulfs of envious darkness the sole name
Of God,—“which name, O! princes,” said the king,
“Doth sanctify yon vase of common earth
Above all precious metals sought of men,
Since but one letter of that sacred three,
Outweighs all worlds, from the mild star of eve,
Shining on love, to those mysterious orbs,
Which gird the pathway of the Pleiades.”
“Choose thou amongst these urns, the urn which seems
To thee most precious,”—whereupon he chose
The Vase of Gold, which bore in jewelled flame,
Clear leaping, the word “Empire,”—opened it,
And found beneath a deadly, vaporous fume,
(Which on the instant sickened heart and sense),—
Nought but a bubbling tide of vital blood,
Hot, as appeared, that moment from the veins
Of murdered manhood. The fair amber vase,
With “Glory” written on it—“this for me!”
Exclaimed the second prince, with eager eyes,
And feverish hands clasping his treasure close,—
Too close, alas! for as he spake, the urn
Crashed on his breast, and bruised and tortured it,
And a rare dust, the ashes of great men,
Dead centuries since, rose from its shattered bulk
Pungent, and yet so light the feeblest puff
Of failing wind hath shorn and scattered them
Into vague air. One vase alone remained,
Which the third son unsealing, found therein,
Deep-graven, glittering like a planet keen,
Thro' gulfs of envious darkness the sole name
Of God,—“which name, O! princes,” said the king,
“Doth sanctify yon vase of common earth
Above all precious metals sought of men,
Since but one letter of that sacred three,
Outweighs all worlds, from the mild star of eve,
Shining on love, to those mysterious orbs,
Which gird the pathway of the Pleiades.”
| Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne | |