Poems (Hardy)/Berym's parable

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BERYM'S PARABLE
THUS Berym to his mates, among the sheep,About the hillside folds at set of sun,Babbled a story ere he slept the sleepThe weary love:The weary love:Three swords to his three sonsAn ancient king of eastern splendor gave;Save two, each hilt all other hilts outshone;Save two, each blade might never meet and matchWith equal edge, and those in brothers' handsWere turned from each.Were turned from each.The eldest prince, child-wise,And eye-prudent, so precious held his giftHe hid it in a box of carven oak,Lapped 'round with nard in scarves of Maracand.The second, in a pleasure play of armsNext day, lost his and laughed away the loss.From nine great battles conquering came the third,The youngest prince, whom time, nor chance, nor placeHad found unguarded of his father's gift.
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