 | King Poppy |  |
99
III. THE MASTER.
To all the Court of Diadum well known
Was Master Pilgram, tho' by none known well.
Most unobtrusive, yet a busy cause
Of garrulous conjecture, both the man
Himself, and his relations with the King.
A man of inconspicuous aspect—garb
No rank denoting, face and form no age
Distinctly mark'd, nor aught exceptional
About him, save perchance a mirthful eye,
Unnoticeably watchful of mankind.
But they who felt that eye upon them, found
A lurking mystery in its merriment,
A something cavernous and full of depths
Wherein men's thoughts might wander and be lost.
Was he of foreign birth, or native born?
For both he seem'd, and yet not either quite.
Had he another name, another home,
Acknowledged only in some other land?
Or was it here at home that his true name,
From other lands returning, he avow'd?
For neither here nor elsewhere stay'd he long,
Yet, after his departure, never here
Of his arrival elsewhere news was heard.
Free from all ceremonial to the Court
He came as one that uninvited comes,
Secure of welcome, to a kinsman's hearth;
And rather as an inmate than a guest
He went, unbidden. Whither? No one knew,
Nor whence he came. An unsolved problem he,
Like Gaspar Hauser, or the Iron Mask:
For all the Nestors or the Court averr'd
That there they knew him when they still were boys,
Before His Majesty the present King
Succeeded to the sceptre of his sire.
And, tho' nigh threescore years must have elapsed
Since Pilgram, now the son's familiar friend,
Was then the father's, yet they all agreed
That no whit older now than then he seem'd,
Who neither then nor now seemed old or young.
Was Master Pilgram, tho' by none known well.
Most unobtrusive, yet a busy cause
Of garrulous conjecture, both the man
Himself, and his relations with the King.
A man of inconspicuous aspect—garb
No rank denoting, face and form no age
Distinctly mark'd, nor aught exceptional
About him, save perchance a mirthful eye,
Unnoticeably watchful of mankind.
But they who felt that eye upon them, found
A lurking mystery in its merriment,
100
Wherein men's thoughts might wander and be lost.
Was he of foreign birth, or native born?
For both he seem'd, and yet not either quite.
Had he another name, another home,
Acknowledged only in some other land?
Or was it here at home that his true name,
From other lands returning, he avow'd?
For neither here nor elsewhere stay'd he long,
Yet, after his departure, never here
Of his arrival elsewhere news was heard.
Free from all ceremonial to the Court
He came as one that uninvited comes,
Secure of welcome, to a kinsman's hearth;
And rather as an inmate than a guest
He went, unbidden. Whither? No one knew,
Nor whence he came. An unsolved problem he,
Like Gaspar Hauser, or the Iron Mask:
For all the Nestors or the Court averr'd
101
Before His Majesty the present King
Succeeded to the sceptre of his sire.
And, tho' nigh threescore years must have elapsed
Since Pilgram, now the son's familiar friend,
Was then the father's, yet they all agreed
That no whit older now than then he seem'd,
Who neither then nor now seemed old or young.
And in those days he made the little Prince
A pretty horse; a hobby-horse of wood,
But cleverer far than any common horse
Of flesh and blood. This horse could gallop, trot,
Pace, amble, canter, jump, and make the volt,
The demivolt, the virevolt, the passade
And repassade, the repollon, courbette,
And falcade. And not only all these tricks
The wooden horse could perfectly perform,
But he perform'd them to appropriate strains
Of pleasing military music, play'd
In his own belly. Later, when the crown
Of his departed sire the Prince assumed,
His first act was to publish a decree
Proclaiming that the tune of Old King Cole,
To which his hobby gallop'd, was henceforth
The royal anthem. He at the same time
Forbade that revolutionary air
Of Cherry Ripe. This wise precaution saved
The country from incalculable ills.
But Diadummiania's Wooden Horse,
Unlike its treacherous Trojan prototype,
Rescued, instead of ruining, the walls
That lodged it. For one night, when Diadum
Was fast asleep, a sudden chime of bells
Rang curfew from the belly of the Horse,
And roused the sleepers just in time to see
That portion of the palace was on fire,
Wherein His Royal Highness the Crown Prince,
And all his gentlemen in waiting, slept.
The Master of the Ceremonies then
Immediately got printed, and sent round,
The proper invitation-cards to all
The Privy Councillors and Chamberlains,
The foreign Envoys and Ambassadors,
And those distinguish'd strangers who had been
Presented at the Court of Diadum,
To attend the Conflagration. Gentlemen
Without their collars—undress uniform
Ladies without their trains—demi-toilette.
All who received His Majesty's commands
To be in waiting at the Burning-Down
Were to be saved in order of Court Rank:
The Diplomatic Body first, and then
The Hereditary Mistress of the Robes
And the Grand Marshal; after these, in turn,
The Privy Councillors and Chamberlains,
Each Chamberlain according to the date
Of his appointment, and the rules prescribed
For such Court ceremonies by the code
Of Diadummianian Etiquette.
The Royal Family and all the Court,
Thanks to the Wooden Horse, were thus preserved,
But the poor Wooden Horse himself was burnt.
He to his fate with dignity succumb'd;
And 'twas a touching spectacle to see
That noble animal performing all
His volts and demivolts and repollons
Among the roaring flames, wherein at last
He perish'd to the tune of Old King Cole.
A pretty horse; a hobby-horse of wood,
But cleverer far than any common horse
Of flesh and blood. This horse could gallop, trot,
Pace, amble, canter, jump, and make the volt,
The demivolt, the virevolt, the passade
And repassade, the repollon, courbette,
And falcade. And not only all these tricks
The wooden horse could perfectly perform,
But he perform'd them to appropriate strains
102
In his own belly. Later, when the crown
Of his departed sire the Prince assumed,
His first act was to publish a decree
Proclaiming that the tune of Old King Cole,
To which his hobby gallop'd, was henceforth
The royal anthem. He at the same time
Forbade that revolutionary air
Of Cherry Ripe. This wise precaution saved
The country from incalculable ills.
But Diadummiania's Wooden Horse,
Unlike its treacherous Trojan prototype,
Rescued, instead of ruining, the walls
That lodged it. For one night, when Diadum
Was fast asleep, a sudden chime of bells
Rang curfew from the belly of the Horse,
And roused the sleepers just in time to see
That portion of the palace was on fire,
Wherein His Royal Highness the Crown Prince,
103
The Master of the Ceremonies then
Immediately got printed, and sent round,
The proper invitation-cards to all
The Privy Councillors and Chamberlains,
The foreign Envoys and Ambassadors,
And those distinguish'd strangers who had been
Presented at the Court of Diadum,
To attend the Conflagration. Gentlemen
Without their collars—undress uniform
Ladies without their trains—demi-toilette.
All who received His Majesty's commands
To be in waiting at the Burning-Down
Were to be saved in order of Court Rank:
The Diplomatic Body first, and then
The Hereditary Mistress of the Robes
And the Grand Marshal; after these, in turn,
The Privy Councillors and Chamberlains,
Each Chamberlain according to the date
104
For such Court ceremonies by the code
Of Diadummianian Etiquette.
The Royal Family and all the Court,
Thanks to the Wooden Horse, were thus preserved,
But the poor Wooden Horse himself was burnt.
He to his fate with dignity succumb'd;
And 'twas a touching spectacle to see
That noble animal performing all
His volts and demivolts and repollons
Among the roaring flames, wherein at last
He perish'd to the tune of Old King Cole.
In Diadum, however, a belief
Prevail'd that nothing did, or could, destroy
Pilgram's imperishable palfrey. Folks
There were, who deem'd this horse would reappear,
As it had disappear'd, in some strange way
When least expected; just as boors in France
Believe the first Napoleon still alive,
And in a British dungeon. Not a few
Had grandmothers accustom'd to relate
That they were girls the night of that great fire,
And that they well remember'd having seen
Distinctly thro' its flame and smoke the form
Of Master Pilgram. He was sauntering slow
Along the bright edge of a burning beam,
And whistling Old King Cole. The palfrey neigh'd,
And, trotting to him, nosed his pocket. He
A lump of sugar from that pocket drew,
Gave it the nag, its neck and nose caress'd,
Lengthen'd the stirrup-leathers (for this steed
Stood always ready-saddled in its stall)
And mounted leisurely, with graceful bows
Saluting the assembled crowds below.
Then, as the last red rafter tumbled in,
Both horse and rider rose up into heaven,
Majestic, musical, magnificent,
Among the rising sparks, and reach'd the stars.
There still distinguishable for a while
Was Master Pilgram. Up the Zodiac
He canter'd at his customary pace,
Chatted with Sagittarius on the road,
And then alighted at the Golden Ram,
A well-known tavern on the Milky Way,
Whose barmaid was Astræa. Forth she came,
A fresh-brew'd foaming flagon in her hand,
To welcome Master Pilgram. But meanwhile
Leda's twin boys, incorrigible brats
Brimful of mischief, playing on the path,
Let off a comet. That celestial squib
Frighten'd the Wooden Horse, and fast away
He gallop'd down the Ecliptic. Pilgram tried
To catch him by the tail, but in mistake
It was the comet's tail he caught, and swift
Both Pilgram and the comet disappear'd.
Since then, for many and many a year, no more
Of Pilgram or his palfry had been seen
In Diadummiania. Men said,
“What wonder? Nobody, once gone so far,
Comes back so soon. Such journeys are not made
In four-and-twenty hours.” As time went by,
However, when the sexton's spade had stopp'd
The mouth of each eye-witness with a pinch
Of graveyard dust, the occurrence of these facts
Some persons openly denied. But then,
They were not present when the facts occurr'd,
And that makes a great difference. Prudent folks,
Content with the innocuous privilege
Of private doubt, due public deference paid
To the tradition of the Flying Horse;
Knowing that they no truer story knew,
To substitute for its surmised untruth,
And feeling that society itself
Is but a well-dress'd fiction. Science sought
To reconcile the rumour'd miracle
With natural causes, by explaining how
Mere heat might naturally move the springs
Of an automaton, mere natural smoke
Assume the semblance of a horse in heaven.
But, getting not a “Thank-you” for attempts
At thus reducing everything to smoke,
Science herself, on second thoughts, dismiss'd
The smoke-hypothesis, with all the rest,
As quite unscientific. This confirm'd
The popular belief in the event
As a true miracle; since Science fail'd
To prove it possible by any means
That were not obviously miraculous.
The wisest Diadummianians held
That in a certain sense the tale was true,
Tho' in a certain other sense 'twas false.
The facts alleged were unbelievable,
But what of that? Those facts had been believed,
Were still believed, by multitudes of men
Whom there was every reason to believe
Sincere believers in their own belief.
That this belief existed was a fact,
Proving the facts believed to have at least
Believable existence—not indeed
In Natural History, that rejected them
As neither natural nor historical,
But in the History of the Human Mind,
That recognised them and explain'd them all
As well-attested actual results
Of the mind's human character. Dislike
Of negative bare ignorance sufficed
To endear the story to the common crowd;
And thoughtful minds found much in it to praise.
The tale was pretty, elevating too;
For to the stars it lifted up men's hearts,
And show'd them there bright images, beyond
Disaster and destruction here on earth.
Thus, Philosophical Sagacity
With popular Simplicity combined
To keep the story of the Flying Horse
Respected, save by those who were themselves
Persons of no respectability.
But of its most convinced believers each
Believed it in a somewhat different way;
And thus, not only did as many tales
Concerning Master Pilgram go about
In Diadummiania as mouths
There were to tell them, or as ears to hear,
But also of the meaning of those tales,
Their cause and character and origin,
There were as many theories afoot
As fashions in Philosophy there be.
Such was the man, and such the counsellor,
King Diadummianus, when he left
Dame Rhoda, sought, and in his chamber found.
The Master, with a pencil in one hand,
A palette in the other, musing stood
Before a canvas he had vaguely stain'd
With streaks and spots of colour that composed
No picture—or, if any, such alone
As those that sometimes on a winter night
Among the husht hearth's embers half abuse
A sick man's fancy ere he falls asleep.
But when the King (save by his own remarks
Uninterrupted) reach'd his story's end,
Prodigious was his wonder to behold
On Pilgram's canvas all the tale portray'd,
He had been pouring into Pilgram's ear.
Those streaks and spots, by unperceived degrees,
Were grown beneath the Master's hovering hand
Into a picture of Dame Rhoda's dream.
Calm in her guarded cavern slept the child,
The sleepless Dragon by the sleeper crouch'd,
And glorious in the darkness glow'd the crown.
Anon, the pencil o'er the picture swept,
And all its outlines, fading fast, relapsed
Into mere unintelligible tints.
“Stay!” cried the King. “Ah, why so soon dissolved
Thy picture, like the vision it recall'd,
Just at the moment when they both began
To awaken curiosity?” “Because,”
The Master answer'd, “both were prophecies
Of perils that perchance may ne'er assume
Distincter aspect.” Then did he unfold
A plan by his ingenious wits devised
To counteract those perils. Hugely pleased,
The King together rubb'd his palms and cried,
“Çaira!” When, moreover, the next day
His Council was engaged in drafting laws
On lunacy, the King continued still
Rubbing his hands, and chuckling to himself
“Çaira!” As they left the Council Board,
The Ministers of one another ask'd,
“What was the matter with His Majesty?
The King to-day was quite unlike himself;
Can there be something in his mind? From whom
Could he have caught that odd outlandish oath,
Çaira?” “From a lunatic, no doubt!”
The Chancellor said grimly. Those two words,
Çaira (which were gibberish, in fact,
Invented by the King in such a mood
As makes fond mothers mumble to their babes
All kinds of merry nonsense) by and by
The round of Custom ran till they became
A popular expression. First of all,
Like other fooleries, they had their vogue
In upper circles, and were Shibboleths
Of fashionable intercourse awhile;
But after the Fine World had worn them out,
The Common People used them, to imply
A foolish sort of self-complacency.
This is the unsuspected origin
Of that famed phrase, Çaira: and it shows
That revolution-mongers, even in France,
Talk nonsense sometimes without knowing it.
Prevail'd that nothing did, or could, destroy
Pilgram's imperishable palfrey. Folks
There were, who deem'd this horse would reappear,
As it had disappear'd, in some strange way
When least expected; just as boors in France
105
And in a British dungeon. Not a few
Had grandmothers accustom'd to relate
That they were girls the night of that great fire,
And that they well remember'd having seen
Distinctly thro' its flame and smoke the form
Of Master Pilgram. He was sauntering slow
Along the bright edge of a burning beam,
And whistling Old King Cole. The palfrey neigh'd,
And, trotting to him, nosed his pocket. He
A lump of sugar from that pocket drew,
Gave it the nag, its neck and nose caress'd,
Lengthen'd the stirrup-leathers (for this steed
Stood always ready-saddled in its stall)
And mounted leisurely, with graceful bows
Saluting the assembled crowds below.
Then, as the last red rafter tumbled in,
Both horse and rider rose up into heaven,
Majestic, musical, magnificent,
106
This story is improbable. There is no mention of the alleged circumstances in Dr. Kepler's Report of 1613 to the Diet of Ratisbon. Kepler's silence about them is most significant; for it is unlikely that any serious disturbance of the Zodiac should have escaped the notice of an astronomer who may be said to have passed his life among the stars. Consult the Kepler MSS. in the Imperial Academy of Sciences at St. Petersburg. It will also be observed that the extraordinary distance here attributed to the motions of Master Pilgram's body is represented as having greatly increased their general attractiveness. This would seem to be incompatible with the law established by Newton, that the attractive property of bodies is diminished in proportion to the squares of their distances. The event, however, might have happened before Newton's time, and consequently previous to the establishment of that law.
There still distinguishable for a while
Was Master Pilgram. Up the Zodiac
He canter'd at his customary pace,
Chatted with Sagittarius on the road,
And then alighted at the Golden Ram,
A well-known tavern on the Milky Way,
Whose barmaid was Astræa. Forth she came,
A fresh-brew'd foaming flagon in her hand,
To welcome Master Pilgram. But meanwhile
Leda's twin boys, incorrigible brats
Brimful of mischief, playing on the path,
Let off a comet. That celestial squib
Frighten'd the Wooden Horse, and fast away
He gallop'd down the Ecliptic. Pilgram tried
To catch him by the tail, but in mistake
107
Both Pilgram and the comet disappear'd.
Since then, for many and many a year, no more
Of Pilgram or his palfry had been seen
In Diadummiania. Men said,
“What wonder? Nobody, once gone so far,
Comes back so soon. Such journeys are not made
In four-and-twenty hours.” As time went by,
However, when the sexton's spade had stopp'd
The mouth of each eye-witness with a pinch
Of graveyard dust, the occurrence of these facts
Some persons openly denied. But then,
They were not present when the facts occurr'd,
And that makes a great difference. Prudent folks,
Content with the innocuous privilege
Of private doubt, due public deference paid
To the tradition of the Flying Horse;
Knowing that they no truer story knew,
To substitute for its surmised untruth,
108
Is but a well-dress'd fiction. Science sought
To reconcile the rumour'd miracle
With natural causes, by explaining how
Mere heat might naturally move the springs
Of an automaton, mere natural smoke
Assume the semblance of a horse in heaven.
But, getting not a “Thank-you” for attempts
At thus reducing everything to smoke,
Science herself, on second thoughts, dismiss'd
The smoke-hypothesis, with all the rest,
As quite unscientific. This confirm'd
The popular belief in the event
As a true miracle; since Science fail'd
To prove it possible by any means
That were not obviously miraculous.
The wisest Diadummianians held
That in a certain sense the tale was true,
109
The facts alleged were unbelievable,
But what of that? Those facts had been believed,
Were still believed, by multitudes of men
Whom there was every reason to believe
Sincere believers in their own belief.
That this belief existed was a fact,
Proving the facts believed to have at least
Believable existence—not indeed
In Natural History, that rejected them
As neither natural nor historical,
But in the History of the Human Mind,
That recognised them and explain'd them all
As well-attested actual results
Of the mind's human character. Dislike
Of negative bare ignorance sufficed
To endear the story to the common crowd;
And thoughtful minds found much in it to praise.
The tale was pretty, elevating too;
110
And show'd them there bright images, beyond
Disaster and destruction here on earth.
Thus, Philosophical Sagacity
With popular Simplicity combined
To keep the story of the Flying Horse
Respected, save by those who were themselves
Persons of no respectability.
But of its most convinced believers each
Believed it in a somewhat different way;
And thus, not only did as many tales
Concerning Master Pilgram go about
In Diadummiania as mouths
There were to tell them, or as ears to hear,
But also of the meaning of those tales,
Their cause and character and origin,
There were as many theories afoot
As fashions in Philosophy there be.
111
King Diadummianus, when he left
Dame Rhoda, sought, and in his chamber found.
The Master, with a pencil in one hand,
A palette in the other, musing stood
Before a canvas he had vaguely stain'd
With streaks and spots of colour that composed
No picture—or, if any, such alone
As those that sometimes on a winter night
Among the husht hearth's embers half abuse
A sick man's fancy ere he falls asleep.
But when the King (save by his own remarks
Uninterrupted) reach'd his story's end,
Prodigious was his wonder to behold
On Pilgram's canvas all the tale portray'd,
He had been pouring into Pilgram's ear.
Those streaks and spots, by unperceived degrees,
Were grown beneath the Master's hovering hand
Into a picture of Dame Rhoda's dream.
112
The sleepless Dragon by the sleeper crouch'd,
And glorious in the darkness glow'd the crown.
Anon, the pencil o'er the picture swept,
And all its outlines, fading fast, relapsed
Into mere unintelligible tints.
“Stay!” cried the King. “Ah, why so soon dissolved
Thy picture, like the vision it recall'd,
Just at the moment when they both began
To awaken curiosity?” “Because,”
The Master answer'd, “both were prophecies
Of perils that perchance may ne'er assume
Distincter aspect.” Then did he unfold
A plan by his ingenious wits devised
To counteract those perils. Hugely pleased,
The King together rubb'd his palms and cried,
“Çaira!” When, moreover, the next day
His Council was engaged in drafting laws
On lunacy, the King continued still
113
“Çaira!” As they left the Council Board,
The Ministers of one another ask'd,
“What was the matter with His Majesty?
The King to-day was quite unlike himself;
Can there be something in his mind? From whom
Could he have caught that odd outlandish oath,
Çaira?” “From a lunatic, no doubt!”
The Chancellor said grimly. Those two words,
Çaira (which were gibberish, in fact,
Invented by the King in such a mood
As makes fond mothers mumble to their babes
All kinds of merry nonsense) by and by
The round of Custom ran till they became
A popular expression. First of all,
Like other fooleries, they had their vogue
In upper circles, and were Shibboleths
Of fashionable intercourse awhile;
But after the Fine World had worn them out,
114
A foolish sort of self-complacency.
This is the unsuspected origin
Of that famed phrase, Çaira: and it shows
That revolution-mongers, even in France,
Talk nonsense sometimes without knowing it.
'Twas in the full-grown blossom of the year,
And day was dawning over Diadum,
When forth the King with Master Pilgram stole.
Unwitness'd thro' the silent town they went,
And past its seaward suburbs, till they reach'd
A grassy path by bramble roses paved
With fallen petals. It was known to none
Save Pilgram, and its first discoverer rash;
A little rillet of hill-water sweet
That down it with a child's impatience ran
To taste the bitter salt of the great sea.
Here, under hiding boughs, by hedges green,
Till grass and moss and flower gave way to sand
And shell and shingle, the companions pass'd
Out on the sudden beach of a small bay
That from the overhanging cliffs above
Look'd inaccessible. There, Pilgram loosed
The rope that tether'd to a tiny creek
A slender pinnace. Quick the King and he
Into the pinnace stept, and push'd from shore.
Safely her course their little vessel held
Across a treacherous sea thick sown with reefs
And sunken rocks. From the high downs above
Shepherds this embarcation wondering watch'd.
Never before had fisher moor'd his skiff
In that lone bay, nor ever pilot steer'd
His bark unbroken o'er those sunken rocks,
Whither the pinnace speeded fast. For there
A shoreless, steep, surf-beaten island rose,
About whose barren crags and perilous creek
No living thing found shelter, tho' it stood
Scarce farther from the mainland than perchance
A bolt might reach when thro' barbarian seas
The Balearic pirate chased some bark
For Carthage bound. And on the seaman's chart
That unapproachable island's evil name
Was Isle Forever more-be-lost-to-sight.
The shepherds recognized His Majesty
And Master Pilgram. And they shook their heads,
Saying, “A fisherman's a fisherman,
A fish a fish. A king should be a king.
The fisherman, to gain his livelihood,
Must daily go to sea and risk his life.
The king, who hath no livelihood to gain,
Can daily stay at home without a risk,
And comfortably dine upon the fish
The fisherman hath risk'd his life to catch.
But no! Great folks, not satisfied forsooth
To eat, when they can have it without pains,
The meat that poor folks take such pains to get,
Must needs, because there is no need at all,
Make show with rod and line or dog and gun
Of catching it and killing it themselves.
And all that needless trouble they call sport.”
Thus to each other did those shepherds speak,
As sages do, whenever sages deign
To speak of follies that are not their own.
But back at moonrise Pilgram and the King
Came safely, bringing with them, still alive,
A monstrous lobster that His Majesty
Had deign'd to catch. Within the palace-porch
The two friends parted, and the King regain'd
The Royal Nursery. Its Baby Queen
Was sleeping. By her side Dame Rhoda watch'd
The grey-hair'd father to the cradle crept
Softly, and bent above it. When he rose,
A trembling gem of purest water gleam'd
Upon the forehead of the child. Anon
The monarch at the moonlit casement stood,
Musing. Between the palace and the sea
The royal city adown the hillside humm'd
With human mutterings multitudinous,
And twinkled with innumerable lamps.
Beyond it, like a battlement, uprose
The dark broad sea; and the large moon let down
Over that battlement a ladder of light
For wishes to climb heavenward, or perchance
For earthward-faring angels to descend.
“Pilgram,” the old man murmur'd as he mused,
“I would that I might sleep and dream unwaked
Till dawns the destin'd hour of thy return!”
And day was dawning over Diadum,
When forth the King with Master Pilgram stole.
Unwitness'd thro' the silent town they went,
And past its seaward suburbs, till they reach'd
A grassy path by bramble roses paved
With fallen petals. It was known to none
Save Pilgram, and its first discoverer rash;
A little rillet of hill-water sweet
That down it with a child's impatience ran
To taste the bitter salt of the great sea.
Here, under hiding boughs, by hedges green,
115
And shell and shingle, the companions pass'd
Out on the sudden beach of a small bay
That from the overhanging cliffs above
Look'd inaccessible. There, Pilgram loosed
The rope that tether'd to a tiny creek
A slender pinnace. Quick the King and he
Into the pinnace stept, and push'd from shore.
Safely her course their little vessel held
Across a treacherous sea thick sown with reefs
And sunken rocks. From the high downs above
Shepherds this embarcation wondering watch'd.
Never before had fisher moor'd his skiff
In that lone bay, nor ever pilot steer'd
His bark unbroken o'er those sunken rocks,
Whither the pinnace speeded fast. For there
A shoreless, steep, surf-beaten island rose,
About whose barren crags and perilous creek
No living thing found shelter, tho' it stood
116
A bolt might reach when thro' barbarian seas
The Balearic pirate chased some bark
For Carthage bound. And on the seaman's chart
That unapproachable island's evil name
Was Isle Forever more-be-lost-to-sight.
The shepherds recognized His Majesty
And Master Pilgram. And they shook their heads,
Saying, “A fisherman's a fisherman,
A fish a fish. A king should be a king.
The fisherman, to gain his livelihood,
Must daily go to sea and risk his life.
The king, who hath no livelihood to gain,
Can daily stay at home without a risk,
And comfortably dine upon the fish
The fisherman hath risk'd his life to catch.
But no! Great folks, not satisfied forsooth
To eat, when they can have it without pains,
The meat that poor folks take such pains to get,
117
Make show with rod and line or dog and gun
Of catching it and killing it themselves.
And all that needless trouble they call sport.”
Thus to each other did those shepherds speak,
As sages do, whenever sages deign
To speak of follies that are not their own.
But back at moonrise Pilgram and the King
Came safely, bringing with them, still alive,
A monstrous lobster that His Majesty
Had deign'd to catch. Within the palace-porch
The two friends parted, and the King regain'd
The Royal Nursery. Its Baby Queen
Was sleeping. By her side Dame Rhoda watch'd
The grey-hair'd father to the cradle crept
Softly, and bent above it. When he rose,
A trembling gem of purest water gleam'd
Upon the forehead of the child. Anon
The monarch at the moonlit casement stood,
118
The royal city adown the hillside humm'd
With human mutterings multitudinous,
And twinkled with innumerable lamps.
Beyond it, like a battlement, uprose
The dark broad sea; and the large moon let down
Over that battlement a ladder of light
For wishes to climb heavenward, or perchance
For earthward-faring angels to descend.
“Pilgram,” the old man murmur'd as he mused,
“I would that I might sleep and dream unwaked
Till dawns the destin'd hour of thy return!”
| King Poppy | |