POLYCRATES AND THE RING. "Le génie n'est autre chose qu'une grande aptitude à la patience." Bufon. In Samos' isle, long ages past away, Thousands he held beneath his sovereign sway, With boundless riches was his palace decked; Richer than richest, strongest 'mid the strong, Now so it chanced upon a May morning, Th' accustomed crowd throng'd through the palace gate, To make a due obeisance to their king, And pay just rev'rence to his royal state; Pacing full slowly through the vaulted halls, Past marble arch, past statued pedestals; Until at length they come unto a room, Where sat the king upon a golden throne; While through the lattice streamed a mellow ray Upon his head was set a priceless crown, Lit up with emeralds of matchless hue; His fingers grasped a sceptre wrought of gold, Then each in turn they knelt before his feet, They told of laurels gained in bloody war; How sword met sword, how blow was paid for blow: And last of all a stranger, fair to see, Passed through the crowd that still was circling round, And gat him to the throne right reverently, And lowly bowing, knelt upon the ground; Then rose, and standing forth, in accents clear He spake his message to the royal ear. "The great Amasis, he who rules the land, "All nations awestruck listen to thy word, And see thy crimson banner's pride unfurl'd; "No dark sedition's plots distract thine isle, No murderer's fury thirsteth for thy life; "Thy palace gleams with treasures from the East, And statues chiselled by a sculptor's art, "Beware-no rivalry the gods can brook, Nor bear that man should stand 'twixt god and man. Beware the gods can blast thee with a look, And send thee forth a spectre, pale and wan; Or hurl thee headlong from thy royal state, Poor as the beggar crouching at thy gate. *Lucan ix 155. |