Poems (Scudder)/Mystery

MYSTERY

Thus runs the legend. Once a king Had led a desert chase in hope Of prey—gazelle or antelope, Leopard or lion, doth not sing The perished bard who tells the thing— But that at noon the hunt was stayed Where in the ragged palm-trees' shade Babbled and purled a cooling spring.

A bowshot off but full in view The ruins of a city showed Above the drifted sand and glowed In that fierce sun with every hue Of violet and vermeil and blue, Of carbuncle and cornelian And eastern lapis. And they knew A tale which made it the abode

Of monstrous beings whose sight would blast One who beheld them. But the king So dearly loved adventuring That with his following he passed The gates. Though obscene rubbish massed Its streets, he never recked the fall Of sagging roof or crumbling wall, And so unhurt, he gained at last

The palace in its center set. Now, all around like molten glass The flat sand glared save where parched grass Or bristling cactus showed, and yet 'Twas plain in years the stars forget This palace stood beside the sea; Its walls were painted wondrously With shapes that underwave are met.

Here lay a toppled column slim Of sea-green onyx and around Its shallow capital they found Lithe, springing dolphins carved. A dim Fresco showed wild white swans aswim, While over them an arching flight Of long-winged fish gleamed ghostly bright As splintered jewels along the rim

Of the low cornice. Still, the king Pressed ever onward till he came To a small chamber where a name That none could read was glittering Above the portal. Backward swing The heavy doors, and then they see Stretched on a couch of ivory In the room's midst a lovely thing—

A woman young and strangely fair; A robe of rosy tissue fine As water thinly mixed with wine Scarce veiled her perfect body bare Beneath their eyes. Her golden hair Unto her feet went rippling down Below a richly jewelled crown. Her breast moved not, but rested there

A flower wrought of gems and this Was shapen like to those that be In hollow caves beneath the sea, Of beauty weird and all amiss—And when the king had lifted this Her long stilled blood began to flow, The breath fought in her throat, and lo, Her red lips opened to his kiss.

So then, in triumph did he take Her to his home. But when she strove To answer his soft words of love Sweet proffer of herself to make, In voice hoarse from disuse she spake Words of a language strange, uncouth Such as was heard in the world's youth. Then did the wise men for her sake

Plead with the king to have her taught The common speech that she might tell Of that old world where she did dwell Long centuries agone. What thought Her vanished race; what wars they fought; What gods they worshipped; what their lore Of earth and heaven, and much more Of learning that these scholars sought.

But still the king denied. "Who knows Loses the bliss of Dream," quoth he, "Nor would I cleave the mystery Fragile and flawless that doth close My precious one, and strangely shows Her beauty red and white and gold As thinnest sheath of ice might hold The untouched beauty of a rose."