Poems Teachers Ask For Volume I Part 50

Ah, little naughty Brier-Rose, thou couldst not weave nor spin; Yet thou couldst do a n.o.bler deed than all thy mocking kin; For thou hadst courage e'en to die, and by thy death to save A thousand farms and lives from the fury of the wave.

And yet the adage lives, in the valley of thy birth, When wayward children spend their days in heedless play and mirth, Oft mothers say, half smiling, half sighing, "Heaven knows Whatever will become of the naughty Brier-Rose!"

_Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen._

King Robert of Sicily

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, Appareled in magnificent attire With retinue of many a knight and squire, On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat And heard the priests chant the Magnificat.

And as he listened, o'er and o'er again Repeated, like a burden or refrain, He caught the words, _"Deposuit potentes De sede, et exaltavit humiles"_; And slowly lifting up his kingly head, He to a learned clerk beside him said, "What mean those words?" The clerk made answer meet, "He has put down the mighty from their seat, And has exalted them of low degree."

Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, "'Tis well that such seditious words are sung Only by priests, and in the Latin tongue; For unto priests, and people be it known, There is no power can push me from my throne,"

And leaning back he yawned and fell asleep, Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep.

When he awoke, it was already night; The church was empty, and there was no light, Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint, Lighted a little s.p.a.ce before some saint.

He started from his seat and gazed around, But saw no living thing and heard no sound.

He groped towards the door, but it was locked; He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, And uttered awful threatenings and complaints, And imprecations upon men and saints.

The sounds re-echoed from the roof and walls As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls.

At length the s.e.xton, hearing from without The tumult of the knocking and the shout, And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer, Came with his lantern, asking "Who is there?"

Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said, "Open; 'tis I, the king! Art thou afraid?"

The frightened s.e.xton, muttering with a curse, "This is some drunken vagabond, or worse!"

Turned the great key and flung the portal wide; A man rushed by him at a single stride, Haggard, half-naked, without hat or cloak, Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke, But leaped into the blackness of the night, And vanished like a spectre from his sight.

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, Despoiled of his magnificent attire, Bare-headed, breathless, and besprent with mire, With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, Strode on and thundered at the palace gate; Rushed through the court-yard, thrusting in his rage To right and left each seneschal and page, And hurried up the broad and sounding stair, His white face ghastly in the torches' glare.

From hall to hall he pa.s.sed with breathless speed; Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed, Until at last he reached the banquet-room, Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume.

There on the dais sat another king, Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet ring-- King Robert's self in features, form, and height, But all transfigured with angelic light!

It was an angel; and his presence there With a divine effulgence filled the air, An exaltation, piercing the disguise, Though none the hidden angel recognize.

A moment speechless, motionless, amazed, The throneless monarch on the angel gazed, Who met his look of anger and surprise With the divine compa.s.sion of his eyes!

Then said, "Who art thou, and why com'st thou here?"

To which King Robert answered with a sneer, "I am the king, and come to claim my own From an impostor, who usurps my throne!"

And suddenly, at these audacious words, Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords; The angel answered with unruffled brow, "Nay, not the king, but the king's jester; thou Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape And for thy counselor shalt lead an ape; Thou shalt obey my servants when they call, And wait upon my henchmen in the hall!"

Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers, They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs; A group of t.i.ttering pages ran before, And as they opened wide the folding door, His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms, The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms, And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring With the mock plaudits of "Long live the king!"

Next morning, waking with the day's first beam, He said within himself, "It was a dream!"

But the straw rustled as he turned his head, There were the cap and bells beside his bed; Around him rose the bare, discolored walls, Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls, And in the corner, a revolting shape, Shivering and chattering, sat the wretched ape.

It was no dream; the world he loved so much Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch!

Days came and went; and now returned again To Sicily the old Saturnian reign; Under the angel's governance benign The happy island danced with corn and wine, And deep within the mountain's burning breast Enceladus, the giant, was at rest.

Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate, Sullen and silent and disconsolate.

Dressed in the motley garb that jesters wear, With look bewildered, and a vacant stare, Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn, By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn, His only friend the ape, his only food What others left--he still was unsubdued.

And when the angel met him on his way, And half in earnest, half in jest, would say, Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel, "Art thou the king?" the pa.s.sion of his woe Burst from him in resistless overflow.

And lifting high his forehead, he would fling The haughty answer back, "I am, I am the king!"

Almost three years were ended, when there came Amba.s.sadors of great repute and name From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane By letter summoned them forthwith to come On Holy Thursday to his City of Rome.

The angel with great joy received his guests, And gave them presents of embroidered vests, And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined, And rings and jewels of the rarest kind.

Then he departed with them o'er the sea Into the lovely land of Italy, Whose loveliness was more resplendent made By the mere pa.s.sing of that cavalcade With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir Of jeweled bridle and of golden spur.

And lo! among the menials, in mock state, Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait, His cloak of foxtails flapping in the wind, The solemn ape demurely perched behind, King Robert rode, making huge merriment In all the country towns through which they went.

The Pope received them with great pomp, and blare Of bannered trumpets, on St. Peter's Square, Giving his benediction and embrace, Fervent, and full of apostolic grace.

While with congratulations and with prayers He entertained the angel unawares, Robert, the jester, bursting through the crowd, Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud: "I am the king! Look and behold in me Robert, your brother, King of Sicily!

This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes, Is an impostor in a king's disguise.

Do you not know me? Does no voice within Answer my cry, and say we are akin?"

The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien, Gazed at the angel's countenance serene; The Emperor, laughing, said, "It is strange sport To keep a mad man for thy fool at court!"

And the poor, baffled jester, in disgrace Was hustled back among the populace.

In solemn state the holy week went by, And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky; The presence of the angel, with its light, Before the sun rose, made the city bright, And with new fervor filled the hearts of men, Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again.

Even the jester, on his bed of straw, With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw; He felt within a power unfelt before, And kneeling humbly on his chamber floor, He heard the rustling garments of the Lord Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward.

And now the visit ending, and once more Valmond returning to the Danube's sh.o.r.e, Homeward the angel journeyed, and again The land was made resplendent with his train, Flashing along the towns of Italy Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea.

And when once more within Palermo's wall, And, seated on the throne in his great hall, He heard the Angelus from convent towers, As if the better world conversed with ours, He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher, And with a gesture bade the rest retire.

And when they were alone, the angel said, "Art thou the king?" Then, bowing down his head, King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast, And meekly answered him, "Thou knowest best!

My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence, And in some cloister's school of penitence, Across those stones that pave the way to heaven Walk barefoot till my guilty soul be shriven!"

The angel smiled, and from his radiant face A holy light illumined all the place, And through the open window, loud and clear, They heard the monks chant in the chapel near, Above the stir and tumult of the street, "He has put down the mighty from their seat, And has exalted them of low degree!"

And through the chant a second melody Rose like the throbbing of a single string: "I am an angel, and thou art the king!"

King Robert, who was standing near the throne, Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone!

But all appareled as in days of old, With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold; And when his courtiers came they found him there, Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer.

_H.W. Longfellow._

The Huskers

It was late in mild October, and the long autumnal rain Had left the summer harvest-fields all green with gra.s.s again; The first sharp frosts had fallen, leaving all the woodlands gay With the hues of summer's rainbow, or the meadow-flowers of May.

Through a thin, dry mist, that morning, the sun rose broad and red, At first a rayless disk of fire, he brightened as he sped; Yet, even his noontide glory fell chastened and subdued, On the cornfields and the orchards, and softly pictured wood.

And all that quiet afternoon, slow sloping to the night, He wove with golden shuttle the haze with yellow light; Slanting through the painted beeches, he glorified the hill; And beneath it, pond and meadow lay brighter, greener still.

And shouting boys in woodland haunts caught glimpses of that sky, Flecked by the many-tinted leaves, and laughed, they knew not why; And schoolgirls, gay with aster-flowers, beside the meadow brooks, Mingled the glow of autumn with the sunshine of sweet looks.

From spire and ball looked westerly the patient weatherc.o.c.k, But even the birches on the hill stood motionless as rocks.

No sound was in the woodlands, save the squirrel's dropping sh.e.l.l, And the yellow leaves among the boughs, low rustling as they fell.

The summer grains were harvested; the stubble-fields lay dry, Where June winds rolled, in light and shade, the pale green waves of rye; But still, on gentle hill-slopes, in valleys fringed with wood, Ungathered, bleaching in the sun, the heavy corn crop stood.

Bent low, by autumn's wind and rain, through husks that, dry and sere, Unfolded by their ripened charge, shone out the yellow ear; Beneath, the turnip lay concealed, in many a verdant fold, And glistened in the slanting light the pumpkin's sphere of gold.