Classic Poem

A GORGEOUS flourish as of victory,
And Baliol entered, vested like a king,
Crowned, sceptred, almost looking like a king.
Before went portly mace-bearers; behind
His son came first, and then the Constable
Bearing the sword of state; and after him
A train of shamed and sullen ministers.
“What pageantry is this?” King Edward cried.
“Rather what mockery?” said Annandale.
But Baliol, heeding not, spake solemnly;
“My sovereign liege, high peers, and friends and foes,
I come to do my kingly obsequies.
A royal spirit did inflate my life
Which I mistook for an attendant sprite
With me incorporate when Norway's maid,
A wan, cold pearl, the hungry sea received
To glimmer in its unsearched treasure-house.
This genius first embraced me when a boy;
High manners of command among my mates
Seemed warnings of what fate was wooing me.
Our feudal households all are little courts;
But in the regiment and discipline
Of my retainers and my family
There did exist a true monarchial style
More perfect than the Scottish Court could boast.
Thus ever entertained I kingly state,
And loved it chastely, unexpectantly;
And when I was made king my heart was glad.
But oh! the tarnished and inglorious crown
Proved triple what are all kings' diadems,
A thorny torment, and no fortune-cap.
Lo! when I walked between two holy men
To be anointed in the holy place,
Even as an infant's first supported steps
Start it upon its journey to the tomb,
So then began with me this sorry end.
An infant has a king within itself,
Whose fleshy vesture as it wears, grows fair
To perfect manhood; thence sweet, mellowing age
Ripens it on to hoary majesty;
The which thrown off, forth steps the kingly soul,
The veiled informer of the graceful flesh.
But I, when I have doffed my kingly dress,
Disgraced and ugly shall be all-despised.”
King Edward here broke in on him, and said:
“An histrionic king! What say you, lords,
Shall he speak on, or go out sighing now?”
The Earl of Annandale took up the sneer:
“Nay, let him speak, while memory prompts his tongue:
I warrant it was practised in a glass!”
But Baliol like a stag at bay replied:
“Lord Annandale, your taunt is envy-bred.
Remember when you stand, as I stand now,
Which very well may chance, how I resigned
My majesty, and imitating me.
Worthily do a most unworthy deed.”
“The unworthiest deed was to accept a crown
Which was not yours.” But Edward cried: “No more!
You come, Lord Baliol, to resign the crown,
The kingdom, your ill-government has wrecked.”
“The rocks I struck upon were English rocks
Alluring with false beacons. Macers, come,
Lay down these clubs; they have beat out my eyes.”
Then stepping forward to Lord Annandale,
“Proud Earl, this is the sceptre; scan it well.
It is of silver; lo! a lovely stalk
All barked about with gold. It blossoms, too,
Like Aaron's rod; look, there are fleurs-de-lis;
And here are thistles of rare workmanship;
And images of sacramental cups.
Medusa-heads that strike each other dead;
Hours could be spent in following this foliage
Winding and intertwining: see, three knobs
Divide the shaft: it is a candlestick,
And from its capital there rises out
A taper, clasped and held by imaged saints,
Ending and flaming in a crystal ball:
Alas! it only lit my own dark shame.
A kingly sceptre, a magician's wand,
Powerful and subtle! So I hoped: it made
A double ell of weakness in my hand:
It was my wife, but ne'er possessed by me;
So now I yield it wholly to that priest
Who made me cuckold as he married us.”
And slow at Edward's feet he laid it down.
Then taking off his crown the weary king
His sad apostrophes began again.
“The crown imperial, a splendid gem!
Thy weight shall never more oppress my brow.
I coveted thy gold-knit jewel-walls,
And for a day delighted me in thee
When thou becam'st the palace of my brain.
I scan thy triple rampire wonderingly;
Thy fair, broad base, so rich with varied stones.
Look at these slabs of oriental pearl,
These topazes, and amethysts and rubies,
And hyacinths, and emeralds, and garnets,
Shining like faces in their golden collars!
Look at them, lords! they gleam like very suns;
Your eyes like moons do borrow of their fire,
And flash it back, giving and taking light,
With all the wistful eagerness of love.
Sapphires and diamonds form the second storey,
And twenty golden turrets tipped with pearl:
In them too there's a syren witchery
Of singing, gentle sighing, snaring scent.
Fair crosses, flowered of pearls and diamond dust,
Build up the third cirque; and from it four arcs,
Curiously chased and figured, meet and close,
Enamelled blue and powdered o'er with stars,
Crowned with a cross. The walls are softly hung
With tire of purple velvet, diamond-laced.
Alas! my lords, this noble gorgeous dome
My head has found a blank immuring jail;
Its velvet tire like sackcloth flayed my brows,
And on its cross my soul was crucified.
Here, take the crown.” King Edward took it up
And put it on, saying. “I will wear it too.”
Then Baliol, reaching out a trembling hand:
“Give me the sword. Shall I unsheathe it? There;
Five feet of steel panged full of angry fire,
And tempered to a mood most murderous.
Give it a bloody scabbard, shall I now,
Within your bosom, king? That were a deed!
I am no doer. Back into thy bed,
Thy dainty crimson-curtained resting-place,
A lair too lovely for so fierce a brute:
I lay it at your feet, not in your heart.”
King Edward girt him with the sword, and said:
“Thou art as sure a madman as a fool.”
“Madmen are sometimes simply overwise:
All men are fools, yea, very full of folly;
Folly is ignorance, and every soul
Can have of knowledge such a little share.
Omniscience sees a gross and foolish world;
The greatest fool is he who cannot know.
Adversity has taught me many things;
I am content to be a fool and mad.”
“That last was sensible: I like you now.”
He heeded not, but doffed his robe and said:
“Off, purple dress! I cast thee from me here
With hundredfold the joy I did thee on.
Methinks the martyr, tortured, wrenched, and broke,
From his torn mortal garb escapes at last
To find less ease than now my being feels.
The seal! the seal! Lord Chancellor, the seal!
So; now I sign my own enfranchisement:
The kingly slave is now a noble freeman;
Now I'll betake me to some decent life.”
Then up King Edward rose and took his turn.
“Tarry a little. Think you that our power
Defied and now triumphant will endure
To pass unpunished your rebellion?
This your submission is most politic,
But you must not depart hence unrebuked.
Sir William Ormesby, we commission you
To write a paper of this Earl's transgressions;
His weakness and his folly; his French league.
Set down therein that he acknowledges
The perfect justness of our present war;
And that he sorrows deeply for his crimes;
And begs not pardon, merciless to justice,
But humbly for such sentence as may please
Our injured and insulted sovereignty.
This shall he read armed with a snowy wand,
The mocking baton of black criminals,
Before our deputy and all the peers:
Which being finished, shall in part atone;
And for the rest, imprisonment of him
And of his son while it shall be our will.”
“Alas! I see submission, mild and meek,
Turning when one is struck the other cheek,
But rouses ire in heartless dignities,
Who batter mouth, brow, and beseeching eyes.
I gave up all, and having nothing, lo,
The nothing that I had is stolen so!”
Then soldiers led him and his son away,
While Annandale to Edward softly said:
“My liege, I think you promised me a crown;”
And got for answer, loud and mockingly,
“Good Earl, think you that we have nought to do
But conquer crowns, and hand them o'er to you?”