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LOWER EMPIRE. Circa A.D. 700
THE MONK Arnulphus uncork’d his ink | |
| That shone with a blood-red light | |
| Just now as the sun began to sink; | |
| His vellum was pumiced a silvery white; | |
| ‘The Basileus’—for so he began— | 5 |
| ‘Is a royal sagacious Mars of a man, | |
| Than the very lion bolder; | |
| He has married the stately widow of Thrace—’ | |
| ‘Hush!’ cried a voice at his shoulder. | |
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| His palette gleam’d with a burnish’d green, | 10 |
| Bright as a dragon-fly’s skin: | |
| His gold-leaf shone like the robe of a queen, | |
| His azure glow’d as a cloud worn thin, | |
| Deep as the blue of the king-whale’s lair: | |
| ‘The Porphyrogenita Zoë the fair | 15 |
| Is about to wed with a Prince much older, | |
| Of an unpropitious mien and look—’ | |
| ‘Hush!’ cried a voice at his shoulder. | |
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| The red flowers trellis’d the parchment page, | |
| The birds leap’d up on the spray, | 20 |
| The yellow fruit sway’d and droop’d and swung, | |
| It was Autumn mixt up with May. | |
| (O, but his cheek was shrivell’d and shrunk!) | |
| ‘The child of the Basileus,’ wrote the Monk, | |
| ‘Is golden-hair’d—tender the Queen’s arms fold her. | 25 |
| Her step-mother Zoë doth love her so—’ | |
| ‘Hush!’ cried a voice at his shoulder. | |
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| The Kings and Martyrs and Saints and Priests | |
| All gather’d to guard the text: | |
| There was Daniel snug in the lions’ den | 30 |
| Singing no whit perplex’d— | |
| Brazen Samson with spear and helm— | |
| ‘The Queen,’ wrote the Monk, ‘rules firm this realm, | |
| For the King gets older and older. | |
| The Norseman Thorkill is brave and fair—’ | 35 |
| ‘Hush!’ cried a voice at his shoulder. | |
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