Twilight Stories






THE CONQUEST OF FAIRYLAND.

    There reigned a king in the land of Persia, mighty and
   great was he grown,
   On the necks of the kings of the conquered earth he builded up
   his throne.

    There sate a king on the throne of Persia; and he was grown so
     proud
   That all the life of the world was less to him than a passing
   cloud.

    He reigned in glory: joy and sorrow lying between his hands.
   If he sighed a nation shook, his smile ripened the harvest of
   lands.

    He was the saddest man beneath the everlasting sky,
   For all his glories had left him old, and the proudest king must
      die.

    He who was even as God to all the nations of men,
   Must die as the merest peasant dies, and turn into earth again.

    And his life with the fear of death was bitter and sick and
   accursed,
   As brackish water to drink of which is to be forever athirst.

    The hateful years rolled on and on, but once it chanced at noon
   The drowsy court was thrilled to gladness, it echoed so sweet a
     tune.

    Low as the lapping of tile sea, as the song of the lark is
   clear,  Wild as the moaning of pine branches; the king was fain
   to hear.

    "What is the song, and who is the singer?" he said; "before
   the throne
   Let him come, for the songs of the world are mine, and all but
    this are known."

    Seven mighty kings went out the minstrel man to find:
   And all they found was a dead cyprus soughing in the wind.

    And slower still, and sadder still the heavy winters rolled,
   And the burning summers waned away, and the king grew very
   old;

    Dull, worn, feeble, bent; and once he thought, "to die
   Were rest, at least." And as he thought the music wandered by.

    Into the presence of the king, singing, the singer came,
   And his face was like the spring in flower, his eyes were clear
      as flame.

    "What is the song you play, and what the theme your praises
   sing?
   It is sweet; I knew not I owned a thing so sweet," said the weary
       king.

    "I sing my country," said the singer, "a land that is sweeter
   than song."
   "Which of my kingdoms is your country?  Thither would I along."

    "Great, O king, is thy power, and the earth a footstool for thy
      feet;
     But my country is free, and my own country, and oh, my country
      is sweet!"

    As he heard the eyes of the king grew young and alive with fire
   "Lo, is there left on the earth a thing to strive for, a thing to
       desire?

    "Where is thy country?  tell me, O singer, speak thine innermost
       heart!
   Leave thy music!  speak plainly!  Speak-forget thine art!"

    The eyes of the singer shone as he sang, and his voice rang wild
       and free
   As the elemental wind or the uncontrollable sobs of the sea.

    "O my distant home!" he sighed; "Oh, alas!  away and afar
   I watch thee now as a lost sailor watches a shining star.

    "Oh, that a wind would take me there!  that a bird would set me
      down
   Where the golden streets shine red at sunset in my father's town!

    "For only in dreams I see the faces of the women there,
   And fain would I hear them singing once, braiding their ropes
   of hair.

    "Oh, I am thirsty, and long to drink of the river of Life, and I
   Am fain to find my own country, where no man shall die."

    Out of the light of the throne the king looked down: as in the
     spring
   The green leaves burst from their dusky buds, so was hope in the
      eyes of the king.

    "Lo," he said, "I will make thee great; I will make thee mighty
      in sway
   Even as I; but the name of thy country speak, and the place and
     the way."

    "Oh, the way to my country is ever north till you pass the mouth
       of hell,
   Past the limbo of dreams and the desolate land where shadows
   dwell.

    "And when you have reached the fount of wonder, you ford the
   waters wan
   To the land of elves and the land of fairies, enchanted
   Masinderan."

    The singer ceased; and the lyre in his hand snapped, as a cord,
      in twain;
   And neither lyre nor singer was seen in the kingdom of Persia
   again.

    And all the nobles gazed astounded; no man spoke a word
   Till the old king said: "Call out my armies; bring me hither a
    sword!"

    As a little torrent swollen by snows is turned to a terrible
   stream,
   So the gathering voices of all his countries cried to the king in
       his dream.

    Crying, "For thee, O our king, for thee we had freely and
   willingly died,
   Warriors, martyrs, what thou wilt; not that our lives betide

   "The worth of a thought to the king, but rather because thy rod
   Is over our heads as over thine Is the changeless will of God.

    "Rather for this we beseech thee, O master, for thine own sake
     refrain
   From the blasphemous madness of pride, from the fever of
   impious gain."

    "You seek my death," the king thundered; "you cry, forbear
   to save
   The life of a king too old to frolic; let him sleep in the grave.

    "But I will live for all your treason; and, by my own right
   hand!
   I will set out this day with you to conquer Fairyland."

    Then all the nations paled aghast, for the battle to begin
    Was a war with God, and a war with death, and they knew
         the thing was sin.

    Sick at heart they gathered together, but none denounced the
   wrong,
   For the will of God was unseen, unsaid, and the will of the king
      was strong.

    So the air grew bright with spears, and the earth shook under
   the tread
   Of the mighty horses harnessed for battle; the standards flaunted
       red.

    And the wind was loud with the blare of trumpets, and every
   house was void
   Of the strength and stay of the house, and the peace of the land
      destroyed.

    And the growing corn was trodden under the weight of armed
   feet,
   And every woman in Persia cursed the sound of a song too sweet,

    Cursed the insensate longing for life in the heart of a sick old
       man;
   But the king of Persia with all his armies marched on Masinderan.

    Many a day they marched in the sun till their silver armour was
      lead
   To sink their bodies into the grave, and many a man fell dead.

    And they passed the mouth of hell, and the shadowy country
   gray,
   Where the air is mist and the people mist and the rain more
   real than they.

    And they came to the fount of wonder, and forded the waters
   wan,
   And the king of Persia and all his armies marched on Masinderan.

    And they turned the rivers to blood, and the fields to a ravaged
       camp,
   And they neared the golden faery town, that burned in the dusk
    as a lamp.

    And they stood and shouted for joy to see it stand so nigh,
   Given into their hands for spoil; and their hearts beat proud
   and high.

    And the armies longed for the morrow, to conquer the shining
   town,
   For there was no death in the land, neither any to strike them
    down.

    The hosts were many in numbers, mighty, and skilled in the
   strife,
   And they lusted for gold and conquest as the old king lusted for
      life.

    And, gazing on the golden place, night took them unaware,
     And black and windy grew the skies, and black the eddying air

    So long the night and black the night that fell upon their eyes,
   They quaked with fear, those mighty hosts; the sun would never
    rise.

    Darkness and deafening sounds confused the black, tempestuous
    air,
     And no man saw his neighbor's face, nor heard his neighbor's
    prayer.

    And wild with terror the raging armies fell on each other in
   fight,
   The ground was strewn with wounded men, mad in the horrible night

    Mad with eternal pain, with darkness and stabbing blows
    Rained on all sides from invisible hands till the ground was red
       as a rose.

    And, though he was longing for rest, none ventured to pause from
       the strife,
    Lest haply another wound be his to poison his hateful life

    And the king entreated death; and for peace the armies prayed;
   But the gifts of God are everlasting, his word is not gainsaid;

    Gold and battle are given the hosts, their boon is turned to a
   ban,
     And the curse of the king is to reign forever in conquered
   Masinderan.
                                       A. MARY F. ROBINSON.
    Handy Spandy, Jack-a-Dandy,
   Loved plum cake and sugar candy;
     He bought some at a grocer's shop
         And out he come with a hop.
                                  hop,
                                       hop.
    Jocko is a monkey,
         Dressed just like a clown;
     With the grinding-organ man
         He travels round the town.

                  Jocko, Jocko, climb a pole,
                        Jocko climb a tree,
                   Jocko, Jocko, tip your cap,
                        And make a bow to me.

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