Matthew Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum and Other Poems Part 14

What, Kaiser dead? The heavy news Post-haste to Cobham calls the Muse, 2 From where in Farringford she brews 3 The ode sublime, Or with Pen-bryn's bold bard pursues 5 A rival rhyme.

Kai's bracelet tail, Kai's busy feet, Were known to all the village-street.

"What, poor Kai dead?" say all I meet; "A loss indeed!" 10 O for the croon pathetic, sweet, Of Robin's reed! 12

Six years ago I brought him down, A baby dog, from London town; Round his small throat of black and brown 15 A ribbon blue, And vouch'd by glorious renown A dachshound true.

His mother, most majestic dame, Of blood-unmix'd, from Potsdam came; 20 And Kaiser's race we deem'd the same-- No lineage higher.

And so he bore the imperial name.

But ah, his sire!

Soon, soon the days conviction bring. 25 The collie hair, the collie swing, The tail's indomitable ring, The eye's unrest-- The case was clear; a mongrel thing Kai stood confest. 30

But all those virtues, which commend The humbler sort who serve and tend, Were thine in store, thou faithful friend.

What sense, what cheer!

To us, declining tow'rds our end, 35 A mate how dear!

For Max, thy brother-dog, began To flag, and feel his narrowing span.

And cold, besides, his blue blood ran, Since, 'gainst the cla.s.ses, 40 He heard, of late, the Grand Old Man 41 Incite the ma.s.ses.

Yes, Max and we grew slow and sad; But Kai, a tireless shepherd-lad, Teeming with plans, alert, and glad 45 In work or play, Like sunshine went and came, and bade Live out the day!

Still, still I see the figure smart-- Trophy in mouth, agog to start, 50 Then, home return'd, once more depart; Or prest together Against thy mistress, loving heart, In winter weather.

I see the tail, like bracelet twirl'd, 55 In moments of disgrace uncurl'd, Then at a pardoning word re-furl'd, A conquering sign; Crying, "Come on, and range the world, And never pine." 60

Thine eye was bright, thy coat it shone; Thou hast thine errands, off and on; In joy thy last morn flew; anon, A fit! All's over; And thou art gone where Geist hath gone, 65 And Toss, and Rover.

Poor Max, with downcast, reverent head, Regards his brother's form outspread; Full well Max knows the friend is dead Whose cordial talk, 70 And jokes in doggish language said, Beguiled his walk.

And Glory, stretch'd at Burwood gate, Thy pa.s.sing by doth vainly wait; And jealous Jock, thy only hate, 75 The chiel from Skye, 76 Lets from his s.h.a.ggy Highland pate Thy memory die.

Well, fetch his graven collar fine, And rub the steel, and make it shine, 80 And leave it round thy neck to twine, Kai, in thy grave.

There of thy master keep that sign, And this plain stave.

THE LAST WORD

Creep into thy narrow bed, Creep, and let no more be said!

Vain thy onset! all stands fast.

Thou thyself must break at last.

Let the long contention cease! 5 Geese are swans, and swans are geese.

Let them have it how they will!

Thou art tired; best be still.

They out-talk'd thee, hiss'd thee, tore thee?

Better men fared thus before thee; 10 Fired their ringing shot and pa.s.s'd, Hotly charged--and sank at last.

Charge once more, then, and be dumb!

Let the victors, when they come, When the forts of folly fall, 15 Find thy body by the wall!

PALLADIUM

Set where the upper streams of Simois flow 1 Was the Palladium, high 'mid rock and wood; And Hector was in Ilium far below, 3 And fought, and saw it not--but there it stood!

It stood, and sun and moonshine rain'd their light 5 On the pure columns of its glen-built hall.

Backward and forward roll'd the waves of fight Round Troy--but while this stood, Troy could not fall.

So, in its lovely moonlight, lives the soul.

Mountains surround it, and sweet virgin air; 10 Cold plashing, past it, crystal waters roll; We visit it by moments, ah, too rare!

We shall renew the battle in the plain To-morrow;--red with blood will Xanthus be; 14 Hector and Ajax will be there again, 15 Helen will come upon the wall to see. 16

Then we shall rust in shade, or shine in strife, And fluctuate 'twixt blind hopes and blind despairs, And fancy that we put forth all our life, And never know how with the soul it fares. 20

Still doth the soul, from its lone fastness high, Upon our life a ruling effluence send.

And when it fails, fight as we will, we die; And while it lasts, we cannot wholly end.

REVOLUTIONS

Before man parted for this earthly strand, While yet upon the verge of heaven he stood, G.o.d put a heap of letters in his hand, And bade him make with them what word he could.

And man has turn'd them many times; made Greece, 5 Rome, England, France;--yes, nor in vain essay'd Way after way, changes that never cease!

The letters have combined, something was made.

But ah! an inextinguishable sense Haunts him that he has not made what he should; 10 That he has still, though old, to recommence, Since he has not yet found the word G.o.d would.

And empire after empire, at their height Of sway, have felt this boding sense come on; Have felt their huge frames not constructed right, 15 And droop'd, and slowly died upon their throne.

One day, thou say'st, there will at last appear The word, the order, which G.o.d meant should be.

--Ah! we shall know _that_ well when it comes near; The band will quit man's heart, he will breathe free. 20

SELF-DEPENDENCE