Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE KIOSK: 3. THE SYRIAN'S STORY, by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE KIOSK: 3. THE SYRIAN'S STORY, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: A merchant of damascus, to whom gain
Last Line: "some awful vengeance; -- was this story known?"
Alternate Author Name(s): Houghton, 1st Baron; Houghton, Lord
Subject(s): Damascus, Syria


"A merchant of Damascus, to whom gain
Tasted the sweetest when most boldly won,
Crossed the broad Desert, crossed th' Arabian Gulf,
Entered with goods the far-secluded land
That Franks call Abyssinia, and became
The favourite and companion of its King.
And little wonder -- for to that rude chief
He spoke of scenes and sights so beautiful,
Of joys and splendours that had hardly place
In his imagined Paradise, of arts
By which all seasons were made sweet and mild.
In the hot sandy winds and blazing sun,
He spoke of alleys of delicious shade,
Of coloured glass that tempered the sharp light,
Of fountains bubbling up through heaps of flowers,
And boys and maidens fanning genial airs:
In the bleak snow-time, when the winds rung shrill
Through the ill-jointed palace, he pourtrayed
The Syrian winter of refreshing cool,
And breezes pregnant with all health to man.
At last the King no more could hold in check
The yearning of his heart, and spoke aloud --
'Friend! what is now to me my royal state,
My free command of all these tribes of men,
My power to slay or keep alive, -- my wealth,
Which once I deemed the envy of all kings, --
If by my life amid these wild waste hills
I am shut out from that deliciousness
Which makes existence heavenly in your words, --
If I must pass into my Father's tomb,
These pleasures all untasted, this bright earth
To me in one dark corner only known?
Why should I not, for some short time, lay by
My heavy sceptre, and with wealth in hand,
And thee to guide and light me in my path,
Travel to those fair countries God-endowed, --
And then with store of happy memories,
And thoughts, for pauses of the lion-hunt,
And tales to tell, to keep the evenings warm,
Return once more to my paternal throne?'
Gladly the merchant, weary with his stay
In that far land, and fearing lest kind force
Might hold him prisoner there for some long time,
Accepted the proposal, praised the scheme
As full of wise, and just, and manly thought,
Recounted the advantages the land
Would from their King's experience surely draw:
And ended by determining the day
When they two should set out upon their road,
Worthily armed, with ample store of gold,
And gems adroitly hid about their dress.

"The day arrived, big with such change of life
To this brave Monarch: in barbaric pomp
Were gathered all the princes of the race,
All men of name and prowess in the state,
And tributary chiefs from Ethiop hills.
With mingled admiration and dismay
They heard the King announce he should go forth
To distant nations ere that sun went down; --
That for two years they would not see his face;
But then he trusted God he should return
Enriched with wisdom, worthier of his rule,
And able to impart much good to them.
Then to the trust of honourable men
Committing separate provinces and towns,
And over all, in delegated rule,
Establishing his favourite brother's power,
Amid applauses, tumults, prayers, and tears,
Towards the Arabian Gulf he bent his way.
A well-manned boat lay ready on the shore;
A prosperous gale was playing on the sea;
And after some few days of pleasant sail,
From Djedda's port to Mekkeh's blessed walls
The Merchant and the King advanced alone.
"At every step he made in this new world,
At every city where they stopped a while
On their long journey, with the fresh delight
His eye was ravished and his heart was full;
And when at last upon his vision flashed
Holy Damascus, with its mosques, and streams,
A gem of green set in the golden sand,
The King embraced his friend; and, thanking God
That he had led him to this heaven, despised
The large dominion of his Afric birth,
And vowed he'd rather be a plain man there,
Than rule o'er all the sources of the Nile.
Thus in Damascus they were safely housed,
And as the King's gold through the Merchant's hands
Flowed freely, friends came pouring in amain,
Deeming it all the fortunate reward
Of the bold Merchants venture; for he spoke
To none about the secret King, who seemed
Rather some humble fond companion brought
From the far depths of that gold-teeming land.
Oh! what a life of luxury was there!
Velvet divans, curtains of broidered silk,
Carpets, as fine a work of Persian looms
As those that in the Mosque at Mekkeh lie;
The longest, straitest, pipes in all the East,
With amber mouth-pieces as clear as air;
Fresh sparkling sherbet, such as Franks adore;
And maidens who might dazzle by their charms
The Sultan seated in his full Hareem.
The months rolled on with no diminished joys,
Nay, each more lavish in magnificence
Than that which went before; and, drunk with pleasure,
The Merchant lost all sense and estimate
Of the amount of wealth he and the King
Had brought together from that distant clime.
The gold was soon exhausted, yet remained
A princely store of jewels, which for long
Sustained that fabric of enchanted life,
But one by one were spent and passed away;
Then came the covert sale of splendours bought;
Then money borrowed easily at first,
But every time extracted with more pain
From the strong griping clutch of usury.
But all the while, unwitting of the truth,
Without the faintest shadow of distrust
Of his friend's prudence, care, or honesty,
Taking whatever share of happiness
He gave him with an absolute content,
Tranquil the Abyssinian King remained,
Confiding and delighted as a child.

"At last the hour came on, though long delayed,
When the bare fact before the Merchant's eyes
Stood out, that he was ruined without hope!
What could be done? Not only for himself,
But for his friend, that poor deluded King,
Become an useless burthen on his hands?
He knew his doors, that guests so lately thronged,
Would soon be thronged as thick with creditors;
And he himself, by law, be forced to pay
In person, where he had no gold to give:
He must escape that very hour -- but how?
Without one good piastre to defray
His cost upon the road, or bribe the porters
To set his creditors on some false scent.
Then rose a thought within him, and, it seemed,
Was gladly welcomed by a sudden start,
And a half-cruel, half-compassionate, smile.
For straight he sought the Abyssinian King,
Whom he found watching with a quiet smile
The gold fish in the fountain gleam and glide.
He led him, ever ductile, by the hand
Down many streets into a close-built court
Where sat together many harsh-browed men,
Whom he accosted thus: 'Friends, I want gold;
Here is a slave I brought with me last year
From Abyssinia; he is stout and strong,
And, but for some strange crotchets in his head
Of his own self-importance and fond dreams,
Which want a little waking now and then
By means that you at least know well to use,
A trusty servant and long-headed man;
Take him at your own price -- I have no time
To drive a bargain.' 'Well, so much,' -- one cried --
'So much' another. 'Bring your purses out,
You have bid most, and let me count the coin.'
Dumb as a rock the Abyssinian King,
Gathering the meaning of the villany,
Stood for a while; then, in a frantic burst,
Rushed at his base betrayer, who, his arm
Avoiding, gathered up his gold and fled:
And the slave-merchant, as a man to whom
All wild extremities of agony
Were just as common as his daily bread,
Shouted, and like a felon in a cage
The King was soon forced down by many hands.

"None know what afterwards became of him:
Haply he died, as was the best for him;
And, but that the false Merchant, proud of crime,
Oft told the story as a good device
And laughable adventure of his craft,
The piteous fate of that deluded King
Had been as little known to anyone
As to the subjects of his distant realm,
Who still, perchance, expect their Lord's return,
Laden with all the wealth of Eastern lands."

'Twas strange to see how upon different minds
The Syrian's tale with different meanings fell.
One moralised of the vicissitudes
Of mortal greatness, how the spider's web
Is just as safe from harm and violence
As the bright-woven destiny of kings.
Another cursed the Merchant for his deed:
And a third laughed aloud and laughed again,
Considering the strange contrast of the pomp
Of that departure from a regal throne
And grand commission of so many powers,
With the condition of a kennelled slave;
For true it is, that nothing moves to mirth
More than the gap that fortune often leaps,
Dragging some wretched man along with her.

To an Egyptian soldier, scarred and bronzed,
The duty of narration came the next:
Who said, "that soldiers' tales were out of place
Told in calm places and at evening hours:
His songs required the music of the gun:
He could recount a thousand desperate feats,
Hair-breadth escapes and miracles of war,
Were he but cowering round a low watch-fire
Almost in hearing of the enemy;
But now his blood was cold, and he was dull,
And even had forgot his own wild past.
They all had heard -- had East and West not heard
Of Mehemet Ali and of Ibrahim?
It might be that the Great Pasha was great,
But he was fond of trade -- of getting gold,
Not by fair onslaught and courageous strength,
But by mean interchange with other lands
Of produce better in his own consumed;
This was like treason to a soldier's heart;
And all he hoped was that when Ibrahim
Sat in his father's seat, he would destroy
That flight of locusts -- Jew, and Greek, and Frank,
Who had corrupted Egypt and her power,
By all their mercenary thoughts and acts,
And sent him there, brave soldier as he was,
To go beg service at the Sultan's hand.
Yet Ibrahim's heart was still a noble one;
No man could contradict him and not fear
Some awful vengeance; -- was this story known?"





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net