Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

See Eisenmenger, Entdecktes Fudenthum, vol. ii. p. 321, with whose judgment I cannot agree, for he has scarcely patience to finish this ‘narrische talmudische Fabel,’ as he styles it. It reappears, slightly modified, in the Persian tradition that Alexander, having conquered the world, determined to seek out the fountain of life and immortality. So in the Christian poems of the Middle Ages, he recognises at last the emptiness of all the glory which he has won, and is hardly turned from his purpose of going forth in search of the lost Paradise (Rosenkranz, Gesch. d. deutschen Poesie im Mittelalter, p. 367). Chamisso has treated the same legend, from whom I have derived several hints.

Fierce was the glare of Cashmere's middle day,
When Alexander for Hydaspes bent,
Through trackless wilds urged his impetuous way;

Yet in that wide and wasteful continent
A little vale he found, so calm, so sweet,
He there awhile to tarry was content.

A crystal stream was sparkling at his feet,
Whereof the Monarch, when his meal was done,
Drank a long draught, to slake his fever heat.

Again he drank, and yet again, as one
Who would have drained that fountain crystalline
Of all its waves, and left it dry anon:

For in his veins, ofttimes a-fire with wine,
And in his bosom, throne of sleepless pride,
The while he drank, went circling peace divine.

It seemed as though all evil passions died
Within him, slaked was every fire accurst;
So that in rapturous joy aloud he cried:

‘Oh! might I find where these pure waters first
Shoot sparkling from their living fountain-head,
Oh, there to quench my spirit's inmost thirst!

‘Sure, if we followed where these waters led,
We should at length some fairer region gain
Than yet has quaked beneath our iron tread,—

‘Some land that should in very truth contain
All that we dream of beautiful and bright,
And idly dreaming of, pursue in vain;

‘That land must stoop beneath our conquering might.
Companions dear, this toil remains alone,
To win that region of unmatched delight.

‘O faithful in a thousand labours known,
One toil remains, the noblest and the last;
Let us arise, and make that land our own.’

—Through realms of darkness, wildernesses vast,
All populous with sights and sounds of fear,
In heat and cold, by day and night, he past,

With trumpet clang, with banner and with spear;
Yearning to drink that river, where it sent
Its first pure waters forth, serene and clear;

Till boldest captains sank, their courage spent,
And dying cried—‘This stream all search defies’—
But never would he tarry nor relent,

Nor pitched his banners, till before his eyes
Rose high as heaven, in its secluded state,
The mighty verdant wall of Paradise.

And lo! that stream, which early still and late
He had tracked upward, issued bright and clear
From underneath the angel-guarded gate.

—‘And who art thou that hast adventured here,
Daring to startle this serene abode
With flash of mortal weapons, sword and spear?’

So the angelic sentinel of God,
Fire-flashing, to the bold invader cried,
Whose feet profane those holy precincts trod.

The son of Philip without dread replied,—
‘Is Alexander's fame unknown to thee,
Which the world knows—mine, who have victory tied

‘To my sword's hilt; and who, while stoop to me
All other lands, would win what rich or fair
This land contains, and hold it mine in fee?’

—‘Thou dost thyself proclaim that part or share
Thou hast not here. O man of blood and sin,
Go back—with those blood-stainëd hands despair

This place of love and holy peace to win:
This is the gate of righteousness, and they,
The righteous, only here may enter in.’

Around, before him, lightnings dart and play:
He undismayed—‘Of travail long and hard
At least some token let me bear away.’

—‘Lo! then this skull—which if thou wilt regard
And to my question seek the fit reply,
All thy long travail shall have full reward.

‘Once in yon hollow circle lodged an eye,
That was, like thine, for ever coveting,
Which worlds on worlds had failed to satisfy.

‘Now, while thou gazest on that ghastly ring,
From whence of old a greedy eye outspied,
Say what thing was it,—for there was a thing,—

‘Which filled at last and throughly satisfied
The eye that in that hollow cavern dwelt,
So that, “Enough, I have enough,” it cried.’

—Blank disappointment at the gift he felt,
And hardly taking, turned in scorn away;
Nor he the riddle of the angel spelt,

But cried unto his captains,—‘We delay,
And at these portals lose our time in vain,
By more than mortal terrors kept at bay:

‘Come—other lands as goodly spoils contain,
Come—all too long untouched the Indian gold,
The pearls and spice of Araby remain.

‘Come, and who will this riddle may unfold.’
Then stood before him, careless of his ire,
An Indian sage, who rendered answer bold—

‘Lord of the world, commanded to inquire
What was it that could satisfy an eye,
That organ of man's measureless desire—

‘By deed and word thou plainly dost reply,
That its desire can nothing tame or quell,
That it can never know sufficiency.

‘While thou enlargest thy desire as hell,
Filling thine hand, but filling not thy lust,
Thou dost proclaim man's eye insatiable:

‘Such answer from thy lips were only just.
Yet ’twas not so. One came at last, who threw
Into yon face a handful of vile dust,

‘Whereof a few small grains did fall into
And filled the vault and hollow of that eye,
When that which suffisance not ever knew
Before, was fain, “I have enough,” to cry.’