Classic Poem

The king had laboured all an autumn day
For his folk's good and welfare of the kirk,
And now when eventide was well away,
And deepest mirk

Lay heavy on York town, he sat at meat,
With his great councillors round him and his kin,
And a blithe face was sat in every seat,
And far within

The hall was jubilant with banqueting,
The tankards foaming high as they could hold
With mead, the plates well-heaped, and everything
Was served with gold.

Then came to the king's side the doorkeeper,
And said: “The folk are thronging at the gate,
And flaunt their rags and many plaints prefer,
And through the grate

“I see that many are ill-clad and lean,
For fields are poor this year, and food hard-won.”
And the good king made answer, “'Twere ill seen
And foully done,

“Were I to feast, while many starve without;”
And he bade bear the most and best of all
To give the folk; and lo, they raised a shout
That shook the hall.

And now lean fare for those at board was set,
But came again the doorkeeper and cried:
The folk still hail thee, sir, nor will they yet
Be satisfied;

“They say they have no surety for their lives,
When winters bring hard nights and heatless suns,
Nor bread, nor raiment have they for their wives
And little ones.”

Then said the king: “It is not well that I
Should eat from gold, when many are so poor,
For he that guards his greatness guards a lie;
Of that be sure.”

And so he bade collect the golden plate,
And all the tankards, and break up, and bear,
And give them to the folk that thronged the gate,
To each his share.

And the great councillors in cold surprise
Looked on and murmured; but unmindfully
The king sat dreaming with far-fixèd eyes,
And it may be

He saw some vision of that Holy One
Who knew no rest or shelter for His head,
When self was scorned and brotherhood begun
“'Tis just,” he said:

“Henceforward wood shall serve me for my plate,
And earthen cups suffice me for my mead;
With them that joy or travail at my gate
I laugh or bleed.”