 | The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes |  |
THE RELUCTANT MINSTREL
My Lord the King,—the minstrel swore
I sing at banquet board no more
Not for the stranger from afar—
No! were it Emperor, King or Czar
Or my Lord the Bishop of Zanzibar!
Will I straighten leg on feasting floor!
I sing at banquet board no more
Not for the stranger from afar—
No! were it Emperor, King or Czar
Or my Lord the Bishop of Zanzibar!
Will I straighten leg on feasting floor!
For who would waste laborious days
And toilsome nights on idle lays
That win some little word of praise
Pleasing or clever, neat, or nice,
Brief as the candelabrum's blaze
And shrivel with the dead bouquets?
Tonight too cheap at any price,
Tomorrow like the fair device
The artist shaped in sugared ice,
The frozen Cupid's melting kiss—
—An immortality like this
I hold it rather gain to miss.
And toilsome nights on idle lays
That win some little word of praise
Pleasing or clever, neat, or nice,
Brief as the candelabrum's blaze
And shrivel with the dead bouquets?
Tonight too cheap at any price,
Tomorrow like the fair device
The artist shaped in sugared ice,
The frozen Cupid's melting kiss—
—An immortality like this
I hold it rather gain to miss.
And so the Singer would not sing
But stood before My Lord the King
Mute as a lyre without a string!
Great Captains came from over sea
Ladies and Lords of high degree
But never a song for them had he!
A mighty gathering there was seen
Came many a king and many a queen
With little princes packed between—
All Europe's monarchs to a man
The Great Mikado from Japan
Likewise the Shah from Teheran.
But stood before My Lord the King
Mute as a lyre without a string!
Great Captains came from over sea
Ladies and Lords of high degree
But never a song for them had he!
356
Came many a king and many a queen
With little princes packed between—
All Europe's monarchs to a man
The Great Mikado from Japan
Likewise the Shah from Teheran.
Well known the Singer was to these
To hear him they had crossed the seas;
They knelt upon their royal knees;—
“O sing now, Minstrel, sing now, please!
And you shall claim what boon you wish”
The bard stood silent as a fish.
To hear him they had crossed the seas;
They knelt upon their royal knees;—
“O sing now, Minstrel, sing now, please!
And you shall claim what boon you wish”
The bard stood silent as a fish.
The King of England then laid down
A diamond plucked from off his crown
—Would pay the ransom of a town,—
“Take this, he said, and fill your purse,
But Oh! for Heaven's sweet sake, rehearse
Some stanzas of your charming verse.”
A diamond plucked from off his crown
—Would pay the ransom of a town,—
“Take this, he said, and fill your purse,
But Oh! for Heaven's sweet sake, rehearse
Some stanzas of your charming verse.”
The Sultan would not be outdone
The Emperor, Brother of the Sun
Khedives and Caliphs, every one
The Shah, the Czar and all the rest
From North and South and East and West
Threw down the gems they loved the best.
The Emperor, Brother of the Sun
Khedives and Caliphs, every one
The Shah, the Czar and all the rest
From North and South and East and West
Threw down the gems they loved the best.
For who would waste laborious days
And toilsome nights on idle lays
That win some little word of praise
As “pleasing,” “clever” “neat” or “nice”
Then shrivel with the dead bouquets?
Tonight too cheap at any price
Tomorrow like the fair device
The artist shaped in sugared ice—
To vanish while the candles blaze!
The doves that cooed in frosty bliss—
Cupid with frozen bow and quiver
(A little boy whose melting kiss
Would make a Lapland lover shiver—)
I hold it rather gain to miss
An immortality like this!
And toilsome nights on idle lays
That win some little word of praise
As “pleasing,” “clever” “neat” or “nice”
Then shrivel with the dead bouquets?
Tonight too cheap at any price
Tomorrow like the fair device
The artist shaped in sugared ice—
To vanish while the candles blaze!
The doves that cooed in frosty bliss—
Cupid with frozen bow and quiver
(A little boy whose melting kiss
Would make a Lapland lover shiver—)
I hold it rather gain to miss
An immortality like this!
And so the Singer would not sing,
But stood before my Lord the King
Mute as a lyre without a string
Great Captains came from over sea
Ladies and Lords of high degree—
But never a song for them had he.
But stood before my Lord the King
Mute as a lyre without a string
Great Captains came from over sea
Ladies and Lords of high degree—
But never a song for them had he.
| The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes | |