Christ, and the King
King.
Leagues and leagues of rolling upland, leagues and leagues of mountain ground,
Leagues and leagues of stormy waters where the giant surges sound,
These are mine, and mine for ever. Through the farthest East I reign.
And the rivers wait my mandate ere they plunge into the main.
Satan.
Lord thou art of all things clearly, lord of day and lord of night.
In the morn the sun thy servant pays thee homage, brings thee light.
At the eve the stars thy servants cast their crowns before thy feet,
And thy women do thee service even softer and more sweet.
King.
Are there lands yet left to conquer? I am weary, though I reign
Over mountain, mead, and valley — over river, rock, and plain.
Are there hearts yet left to conquer? Are there women more divine
Than the girls whose golden tresses at my palace windows shine?
Satan.
Wealth and kingship last for ever, and all pleasures can be brought
To thy feet, O mighty Ruler! Thou need'st stint thyself in nought.
Plunge from pleasure into pleasure, as a bather in the sea
Leaps from breaker into breaker. Trust thy future unto me.
King.
Yet I dread the far-off future — sometimes wake up in my bed,
Pause from dallying with the glory of a woman's golden head,
Pause half frightened, with the sweetness of her kiss upon my mouth,
Hearkening as the thunder summons its loud legions from the South.
Satan.
Dream not of the far-off thunder. Death and thunder are so far.
Lo! to-night my slaves shall bring thee, when the evening's lonely star
Through the silence of the heavens drives its chariot wrought of pearl,
An untouched and trembling maiden. Take thy pleasure with the girl.
King.
Yet an end will come of pleasure. Through the desert monsters moan,
And the ghosts of those I've vanquished haunt the stairway of my throne.
Deep in blood my feet have waded. Must I wade for evermore
Through red waters? Must my footsteps in my palace slip in gore?
Satan.
Kings have need to stifle scruple. Kings must sweep their foes away,
As the current sweeps the sea-weed round the circle of the bay.
Lo! thou art a mighty monarch. Thou hast taken to thy bed
Wives of foemen without number, and hast laid their husbands dead.
King.
Star by star the high heaven opens, full of wonder is the night.
I am ruler in my palace. Here a million lamps are bright:
Here a thousand women wait me. — God is mightier, mightier far!
Lord he is of heaven's blue regions, far beyond the faintest star.
Satan.
Art thou envious of Jehovah? Canst thou never be content?
Lo! the whole wide earth I give thee — sea, and isle, and continent.
Thou hast served me, served me truly. Lord thou art of earth and hell.
Must thou lust for powers beyond thee, crave for God's high heaven as well?
King.
Nay, I drive the fancy from me. Bring me women, bring me wine!
Let the girls dance wanton measures till their smooth limbs seem divine!
Let the captives suffer torture! Let the tigers crowd the ring!
I will watch them tear the prisoners. I will live and die a king.
Satan.
That is better, that is braver. That is speech I love to hear.
The proud vaunting of a monarch rings like music in my ear;
And I love to see the captives drag their entrails in the dust,
For the sight of blood is pleasant, and it whets a monarch's lust.
King.
Yes, when all the sports are over and the fierce arena clears,
I feel joyous and feel tender. Then I weary of the spears
And the bleeding and the fighting, and I long for sleep and rest,
And to kiss the pale-pink nipple on a maiden's balmy breast.
Satan.
True: the glory of a monarch is to slay the husband first,
To watch anguish do his bidding, to see torture do its worst;
Then at night-time, past the turmoil and the throbbing of the strife,
To let passion do its utmost on the body of the wife.
King.
Bid the people throng together. They shall own me king and lord.
God may rule by loving-kindness. I will sway men by the sword.
I will light red fires of torment that shall leap between the bars
Of the prisons, and extinguish God's pale candle-light, the stars.
Satan.
Canst thou not devise a torment newer than the fires' old blaze?
Write in blood a noble poem that shall ring through endless days?
Mothers hast thou ripped in sunder, wrenched the babes from out their womb,
Tossed the infants on thy spear-points, closed the living in the tomb —
King.
There are fifteen hundred prisoners in the dungeons of the town:
There are fifteen hundred diamonds wanted for my royal crown.
Let the diamonds wait a little. I can scent a rarer prize.
There are fifteen hundred prisoners. Bring me fifteen hundred eyes.
Satan.
That is glorious, that is kingly. That is past expression grand.
Ruled there ever such a monarch o'er so fortunate a land?
His right eye each prisoner loses, but the left eye still remains.
See how mercy kisses judgment! See how just a monarch reigns!
King.
There are half a thousand captives in the fortress, prisoned deep.
They shall writhe amid their life-blood, twining in a tangled heap.
Break their legs, and hurl them living in the ditch beside the tower.
All who pass shall see them rotting, for a token of my power.
Satan.
Better still, aye even better! That is past all language fine,
And the genius that devised it in its greatness matches mine.
Judgment once more kisses mercy, and with tenderness is blent.
Break their legs, don't kill them outright. Give them five days to repent.
King.
Bid the people throng together. I will make a royal feast.
Let the lamps at night be lighted. I am king on earth at least.
If vast angel-hosts in heaven wait Jehovah's stern command,
Round about me fifty thousand of the desert's spearmen stand.
Satan.
Who shall wait thee in thy palace, when the feasting all is done?
When the lamps before the moon fly, as she flies before the sun.
When thy head with merry feasting and with laughter reels and whirls,
Who shall wait thee of thy smooth-limbed satin-bosomed supple girls?
King.
Let the girl to-night be ready, who last night upon my bed
Lay so snowlike on the velvet (Let the tigers wait unfed).
In the afternoon the circus, and the blood-stained combat's charms:
But at night the king's the captive, prisoned in a woman's arms!
C HRIST .
King, to-night when solemn darkness closes down on land and sea
Thou shalt meet the only Ruler who hath kingship over thee.
Thou hast made the pale stars tremble on their thrones within the sky;
But to-night thy soul shall tremble, for to-night thou hast to die.
Leagues and leagues of rolling upland, leagues and leagues of mountain ground,
Leagues and leagues of stormy waters where the giant surges sound,
These are mine, and mine for ever. Through the farthest East I reign.
And the rivers wait my mandate ere they plunge into the main.
Satan.
Lord thou art of all things clearly, lord of day and lord of night.
In the morn the sun thy servant pays thee homage, brings thee light.
At the eve the stars thy servants cast their crowns before thy feet,
And thy women do thee service even softer and more sweet.
King.
Are there lands yet left to conquer? I am weary, though I reign
Over mountain, mead, and valley — over river, rock, and plain.
Are there hearts yet left to conquer? Are there women more divine
Than the girls whose golden tresses at my palace windows shine?
Satan.
Wealth and kingship last for ever, and all pleasures can be brought
To thy feet, O mighty Ruler! Thou need'st stint thyself in nought.
Plunge from pleasure into pleasure, as a bather in the sea
Leaps from breaker into breaker. Trust thy future unto me.
King.
Yet I dread the far-off future — sometimes wake up in my bed,
Pause from dallying with the glory of a woman's golden head,
Pause half frightened, with the sweetness of her kiss upon my mouth,
Hearkening as the thunder summons its loud legions from the South.
Satan.
Dream not of the far-off thunder. Death and thunder are so far.
Lo! to-night my slaves shall bring thee, when the evening's lonely star
Through the silence of the heavens drives its chariot wrought of pearl,
An untouched and trembling maiden. Take thy pleasure with the girl.
King.
Yet an end will come of pleasure. Through the desert monsters moan,
And the ghosts of those I've vanquished haunt the stairway of my throne.
Deep in blood my feet have waded. Must I wade for evermore
Through red waters? Must my footsteps in my palace slip in gore?
Satan.
Kings have need to stifle scruple. Kings must sweep their foes away,
As the current sweeps the sea-weed round the circle of the bay.
Lo! thou art a mighty monarch. Thou hast taken to thy bed
Wives of foemen without number, and hast laid their husbands dead.
King.
Star by star the high heaven opens, full of wonder is the night.
I am ruler in my palace. Here a million lamps are bright:
Here a thousand women wait me. — God is mightier, mightier far!
Lord he is of heaven's blue regions, far beyond the faintest star.
Satan.
Art thou envious of Jehovah? Canst thou never be content?
Lo! the whole wide earth I give thee — sea, and isle, and continent.
Thou hast served me, served me truly. Lord thou art of earth and hell.
Must thou lust for powers beyond thee, crave for God's high heaven as well?
King.
Nay, I drive the fancy from me. Bring me women, bring me wine!
Let the girls dance wanton measures till their smooth limbs seem divine!
Let the captives suffer torture! Let the tigers crowd the ring!
I will watch them tear the prisoners. I will live and die a king.
Satan.
That is better, that is braver. That is speech I love to hear.
The proud vaunting of a monarch rings like music in my ear;
And I love to see the captives drag their entrails in the dust,
For the sight of blood is pleasant, and it whets a monarch's lust.
King.
Yes, when all the sports are over and the fierce arena clears,
I feel joyous and feel tender. Then I weary of the spears
And the bleeding and the fighting, and I long for sleep and rest,
And to kiss the pale-pink nipple on a maiden's balmy breast.
Satan.
True: the glory of a monarch is to slay the husband first,
To watch anguish do his bidding, to see torture do its worst;
Then at night-time, past the turmoil and the throbbing of the strife,
To let passion do its utmost on the body of the wife.
King.
Bid the people throng together. They shall own me king and lord.
God may rule by loving-kindness. I will sway men by the sword.
I will light red fires of torment that shall leap between the bars
Of the prisons, and extinguish God's pale candle-light, the stars.
Satan.
Canst thou not devise a torment newer than the fires' old blaze?
Write in blood a noble poem that shall ring through endless days?
Mothers hast thou ripped in sunder, wrenched the babes from out their womb,
Tossed the infants on thy spear-points, closed the living in the tomb —
King.
There are fifteen hundred prisoners in the dungeons of the town:
There are fifteen hundred diamonds wanted for my royal crown.
Let the diamonds wait a little. I can scent a rarer prize.
There are fifteen hundred prisoners. Bring me fifteen hundred eyes.
Satan.
That is glorious, that is kingly. That is past expression grand.
Ruled there ever such a monarch o'er so fortunate a land?
His right eye each prisoner loses, but the left eye still remains.
See how mercy kisses judgment! See how just a monarch reigns!
King.
There are half a thousand captives in the fortress, prisoned deep.
They shall writhe amid their life-blood, twining in a tangled heap.
Break their legs, and hurl them living in the ditch beside the tower.
All who pass shall see them rotting, for a token of my power.
Satan.
Better still, aye even better! That is past all language fine,
And the genius that devised it in its greatness matches mine.
Judgment once more kisses mercy, and with tenderness is blent.
Break their legs, don't kill them outright. Give them five days to repent.
King.
Bid the people throng together. I will make a royal feast.
Let the lamps at night be lighted. I am king on earth at least.
If vast angel-hosts in heaven wait Jehovah's stern command,
Round about me fifty thousand of the desert's spearmen stand.
Satan.
Who shall wait thee in thy palace, when the feasting all is done?
When the lamps before the moon fly, as she flies before the sun.
When thy head with merry feasting and with laughter reels and whirls,
Who shall wait thee of thy smooth-limbed satin-bosomed supple girls?
King.
Let the girl to-night be ready, who last night upon my bed
Lay so snowlike on the velvet (Let the tigers wait unfed).
In the afternoon the circus, and the blood-stained combat's charms:
But at night the king's the captive, prisoned in a woman's arms!
C HRIST .
King, to-night when solemn darkness closes down on land and sea
Thou shalt meet the only Ruler who hath kingship over thee.
Thou hast made the pale stars tremble on their thrones within the sky;
But to-night thy soul shall tremble, for to-night thou hast to die.
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