The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere

The king hath spent the revenue
of Persia for two years in discharging of his soldiers'
debts. At first we Greeks would not send in our
names, for a rumour lived that the king had a
design to incorporate the Barbarians with Greeks in
the ranks. We are no dullards. Then the king
gave command to spread gold heaps on tables
throughout the camp, and paid off all debts without
registration of names.

A Bactrian.

Fie upon you, Greeks! Ye can
neither trust nor be trusted. For one of you that
leaps into the pit, there be three that lose all out of
over wariness. Greeks new as bubbles are mated
with Persian princesses! Back, soldiers! back,
guards; make way for them that bear on their heads
the cooling drinks!

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2nd Greek Soldier.

I crept into the hall and beheld
the glory. It is three stadia in length within, and
swathed in purple. The pillars are sixty feet high,
plated with gold; and between them are tables.
Our generals wore crowns higher than those of the
Asian kings. By Hephestion walked Drypetis, sister
of Arsinoe; by Perdiccas the daughter of Atropates;
by Ptolemy and Eumenes the two daughters
of Artabazus; and by Nearchus the daughter of old
Mentor. There were a hundred generals mated,
and ten thousand soldiers besides.

3rd Greek Soldier.

I saw, outside, more than all
thou saw'st within; and that was the good and useful
kicking bestowed upon Phylax! His face was
as though he had swallowed his own ratsbane.
Hephestion had passed into the hall; and they that
attended him, as if by urgency of the crowd, pressed
on the doctor. Hephestion is the bravest of all our
generals, and the most loving to boot, and he looks
ruddier than he hath looked of late. For three
weeks past his step has been less buoyant than once,
and fever-quickened at times.

A Persian Barber.

Good woman, my wife, answer
me this if washing for the Greeks hath made thee a
philosopher: what profit shall fall to us poor folk
from all this royal marrying and junketing?

Barber's Wife.

Tush, thou foolish man! know'st
thou not that ere three days are past the price of
unguents—yea, and of bread—will have fallen to
one-half?

The Sentinels.

Back from the gates! A passage!

[Generals walk out in procession, wearing crowns, Seleucus and Ptolemy first.
Sel.
A sight for gods! That last libation paid,

114

Each feaster lifting still his hand, on the sudden
A sunbeam smote along the golden cups,
Till half the chamber flashed from end to end
Like the sun's path o'er sea!

Ptol.
Far things I saw not:
My place was on the dais, near the queen.
The strong eye of the king made inquest ever,
As when, ere fight, it roams the battle-field,
Around the hall. Courteous and kind, though grave,
Hephestion reassured a startled bride,
And on a face, whose smiles with tears were spangled,
Made light at last prevail. She sat at first
Heart-wildered—yet amused; her roe-like eyes
The darker for the paleness of her cheeks
And garland-shaded brows. The feast not over,
Peace came to her through trust in him close by:
Wife-love had made a seven years' growth.

Sel.
Arsinoe?

Ptol.
Nor startled she, nor pensive, glad or sad:
She looked like one who, some deep chasm o'erpassed,
Sits thenceforth safe; who—all things sacrificed—
Within their monumental urn retains them
Securer for that funeral prison cold,
Or else in some far hope.

(A cry, “Way for the king!”)
[Alexander issues forth, attended by Craterus and Asian princes. The Persians kneel as he passes: the Greeks stand.
Alex.
Rejoice, ye men of Maced on and Persia:
Two realms this day are joined as body and soul:—
Craterus, I miss Calanus.

Cra.
Sir, he's dead.
He sent for me last eve, at set of sun,
Demanding swift fulfilment of your pledge,

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Or else you were forsworn. Ere rose the day
On whose white brow I wished no shade to fall,
The pyre had reached its height; but he who claimed it
Refused to issue from his cloud of thought
Till noon had come.

Alex.
I marked a smoke at noon,
Susa in sight, upon my homeward way:
Relate the order of your grim proceeding.

Cra.
The rites were his of Indian death when proudest.
First in the death-procession was a horse
Snow-white, of breed Nisæan; next, slave-borne,
The jewelled vases, and the robes, your gifts;
Calanus, in his litter, last, flower-crowned,
With old white head clear shining in the sun,
And chaunting hymns. King-like the man dispersed,
The pyre attained, your gifts among his friends,
And bade them with a cheerful face and strong
Rejoice till night. King-like he clomb the pyre;
In the host's sight he waved his hand—then sank.
The elephants shrilled sharp; the trumpets pealed;
The flames rushed up. We saw that hand no more.

Alex.
He sent me no farewell.

Cra.
Your pardon, sir:
His last was this:—“Commend me to the king:
Tell him we meet once more at Babylon.”

Alex.
Ill day he chose; and spleenful his departure:
A man should lack not manners in his death:
His parting words excuse him: he was mad:
“At Babylon”—he's dead, and ne'er will see it;
Nor I, who live. I ever hated ruins.

University of Virginia Library

Scene VII.—Susa. The Gate of the Bridal Pavilion.