A Legend of Old Persia and Other Poems | Page 3

taverns,
"It is time
to take our Fathers,
We must bear them to the Caverns."
In a mountain were the Caverns,
Fourteen leagues across the sand,

Fourteen leagues across the desert
In a naked golden land.
Black
and bold and bare the mountain
Modelled into many shapes,
Cones
and pyramids and pillars,
Beetling cliffs and jutting capes.
And
within it were the Caverns
Tunnelled into every part,
Some by
ancient Persian devils,
Others by a modern art.
Where the terraced lawns lay dreaming,
Underneath a cedar-tree

Dozed an ancient, ancient person
Tiny as a child of three.
Every
day a gobbling negro
To his place the old man carried;
Very feeble
and exhausted
Did he seem--but still he tarried.
Then Hasan, the
young lord, murmured,
As he feasted in the taverns,
"It is time to
take my Father,
I must bear him to the Caverns."
So he took his long-maned pony,
Her who wore the silver shoes,

Galloped thro' the crowded highways
Like one with no time to lose.

Purpose in his warning outcry
(Was he not the next of kin?)
Till
he reached his palace gateway,
Flung the rein and fled within,

Chose with care a wicker basket
Very strong and deep and wide,

Laying shawls of costliest texture
And an eider quilt inside.
Underneath the spreading cedar,

In an arbour newly built,
Found
Hasan his ancient person,
Put him underneath the quilt,
Mounted
then his long-maned pony
With the basket on his arm,
Carrying it
very firmly
Lest his father might take harm.
Galloped thro' the
crowded highway,
Passing by the Street of Taverns,
Fourteen
leagues across the desert
Till he came unto the Caverns.

Fastened then his long-maned pony
To a ring-post at the mouth

(Scores and scores of ring-posts were there
Where the Caverns faced
the South)
Plunged within the long wide gallery
Tunnelled 'neath
the rocky roof,
With a lantern light exploring
All the dark which lay
aloof,
Treading swiftly, treading surely,
With the basket on his arm,

Carrying it very firmly
Lest his father might take harm.
Till he came a byway unto
Fashioned from another way,
And a
niche seen at the summit
Of a guiding lantern ray.
Lifted then the
basket gently,
Poised, and placed it in the niche,
Saying "Farewell,
ancient father,
'Tis the custom" ... after which
Bowed his head
before his father
Thrice, and swiftly turned to go,
Knowing that it
was the custom,
Thinking it was better so.
Suddenly he heard a droning,
Like a gnat's small plaintive lay,

Somewhere in the dark behind him
Where the "Ancient Persons" lay,

Heard a little ghostly twitter
Like a voice addressing him,
Turned
and saw his father staring
Just above the basket rim,
Staring at
Hasan, his strong son,
With his filmy red-rimmed eyes,
"What's ado,
Oh! ancient father?"
Cried Hasan in great surprise.
"Son," replied the ancient person,
"Tho' a miser is disgraced,
Even
in a wealthy household
Monstrous is the crime of waste,
Strong and
shapely is the basket
Much hath held and more will take;
If you
leave it in the Caverns
Won't it be a great mistake?
So, for once, let
custom perish....

Son, 'tis I, your father, ask it,
Lift me out and lay
me gently
On the rock and ... take our basket."
Oh! the young lord's wild amazement
As he heard that tiny hum;

Turned the lantern light behind him
Stricken with amazement dumb.

Oh! the young lord's vast confusion
As its meaning gave a flicker--

Oh! the mild iconoclastic
Staring o'er the edge of wicker.

Staring--staring--simply staring
With his filmy red-rimmed eyes--

Down Hasan his father lifted
Silent still in strange surmise.

Never faster had prince ridden
From the place of Persian devils,

Where its huge and inky bastions
Frowned across the golden levels;

Nor before had faster travelled
Scion of the equine brood
Than
that day, that day of portent,
Galloped she the silver-shoed.
Saw
Hasan the meaning clearly
And a prophet (so they said)
After
sunset thro' the taverns
Loud proclaimed the custom dead.
This a legend of old Persia
Of an earlier happier day
Of a happy
happy people--
How they ended none can say.
The Enchanted Gipsy.
"Gilda, Gilda, my ragged child,
Where have you been,
In the lane,
the green lane, or the heather,
My little queen?"
"Honey mother, sweet little mother,
Oh! my old grey mummy,
It's
the blood of berries on my skirt
Makes me look rummy."
"There is no juice on your coral lips,
Your amber eyes are wild,

And why do you dance like an angry jay,
My fairy child?"
"I can tell, I can tell,
Oh! my delicate mam,
I dance to the tune of a
blue-bell,
Which told me what I am."
"Gilda, Gilda, my lovely child,
Say how it spoke,
There is nothing
well in a flower's spell
On one of our folk."
"Oh! my pet, my beautiful heart,
Oh! my cunning mummy,
My
cousin the sun and the wind have begun,
That's why I look rummy."
"I have known one since I have begun,
I have known a dozen,
But
never I knew a girl was true
Who called _them_ cousin."
"Oh! my mam, my delicate mam,
Do not scold your daughter,
I
only went to the Witch's pool
And looked in the water."

"Oh! my dove, my beautiful elf,
Was the water clear as heaven,
Did
you weave a crown of flowers for yourself,
In the magic of even?"
"Oh! my mother, my honey mother,
The water was heaven-clear,
I
wove a crown of marigolds....
But why do you look so queer?"
"Oh! my girl, my pitiful girl,
Good-bye to your happy hours,
The
Curse of the Pool