Part 11 (1/2)

”There is a spell against cold steel Which known, the steel can work no harm, Some sycophant with baneful zeal Hath taught this foolish boy the charm.

It would be wise, O king, to deal Some other way, or else I fear Much damage to the common weal.”

Thus spake the wily-tongued vizier.

Dark frowned the king.--”Enough of this,-- Death, instant death, is my command!

Go throw him down some precipice, Or bury him alive in sand.”

With terror dumb, from that wide hall Departed all the courtier band, But not one man amongst them all Dared raise against the prince his hand.

And now vague rumours ran around, Men talked of them with bated breath: The river has a depth profound, The elephants trample down to death, The poisons kill, the firebrands burn.

Had every means in turn been tried?

Some said they had,--but soon they learn The brave young prince had not yet died.

For once more in the Council-Hall He had been cited to appear, 'Twas open to the public all, And all the people came in fear.

Banners were hung along the wall, The King sat on his peac.o.c.k throne, And now the h.o.a.ry Marechal Brings in the youth,--bare skin and bone.

”Who shall protect thee, Prehlad, now?

Against steel, poison, water, fire, Thou art protected, men avow Who treason, if but bold, admire.

In our own presence thou art brought That we and all may know the truth-- Where are thy G.o.ds?--I long have sought But never found them, hapless youth.

”Will they come down, to prove their strength?

Will they come down, to rescue thee?

Let them come down, for once, at length, Come one, or all, to fight with me.

Where are thy G.o.ds? Or are they dead, Or do they hide in craven fear?

There lies my gage. None ever said I hide from any,--far or near.”

”My gracious Liege, my Sire, my King!

If thou indeed wouldst deign to hear, In humble mood, my words would spring Like a pellucid fountain clear, For I have in my dungeon dark Learnt more of truth than e'er I knew, There is one G.o.d--One only,--mark!

To Him is all our service due.

”Hath He a shape, or hath He none?

I know not this, nor care to know, Dwelling in light, to which the sun Is darkness,--He sees all below, Himself unseen! In Him I trust, He can protect me if He will, And if this body turn to dust, He can new life again instil.

”I fear not fire, I fear not sword, All dangers, father, I can dare; Alone, I can confront a horde, For oh! my G.o.d is everywhere!”

”What! everywhere? Then in this hall, And in this crystal pillar bright?

Now tell me plain, before us all, Is He herein, thy G.o.d of light?”

The monarch placed his steel-gloved hand Upon a crystal pillar near, In mockful jest was his demand, The answer came, low, serious, clear: ”Yes, father, G.o.d is even here, And if He choose this very hour Can strike us dead, with ghastly fear, And vindicate His name and power.”

”Where is this G.o.d? Now let us see.”

He spumed the pillar with his foot, Down, down it tumbled, like a tree Severed by axes from the root, And from within, with horrid clang That froze the blood in every vein, A stately sable warrior sprang, Like some phantasma of the brain.

He had a lion head and eyes, A human body, feet and hands, Colossal,--such strange shapes arise In clouds, when Autumn rules the lands!

He gave a shout;--the boldest quailed, Then struck the tyrant on the helm, And ripped him down; and last, he hailed Prehlad as king of all the realm!