| |
| MORNING is round the shining palace, | |
| Mirrored on the tide, | |
| Where the lily lifts her chalice | |
| With its gold inside, | |
| Like an offering from the waves. | 5 |
| Early wakened from their slumbers, | |
| Stand the glittering ranks; | |
| Who is there shall count the numbers | |
| On the river’s banks? | |
| Forth the household pours the slaves | 10 |
| Of the kings of fair Golconda, | |
| Of Golconda’s ancient kings. | |
| |
| Wherefore to the crimson morning | |
| Are the banners spread, | |
| Daybreak’s early colors scorning | 15 |
| With a livelier red? | |
| Pearls are wrought on each silk fold. | |
| Summer flowers are flung to wither | |
| On the common way. | |
| Is some royal bride brought hither | 20 |
| With this festival array, | |
| To the city’s mountain-hold | |
| Of the kings of old Golconda, | |
| Of Golconda’s ancient kings? | |
| |
| From the gates the slow procession, | 25 |
| Troops and nobles come. | |
| This hour takes the king possession | |
| Of an ancient home,— | |
| One he never leaves again. | |
| Musk and sandalwood and amber | 30 |
| Fling around their breath: | |
| They will fill the murky chamber | |
| Where the bride is Death. | |
| Where the worm hath sole domain | |
| O’er the kings of old Golconda, | 35 |
| O’er Golconda’s ancient kings. | |
| |
| Now the monarch must surrender | |
| All his golden state, | |
| Yet the mockeries of splendor | |
| On the pageant wait | 40 |
| That attends him to the tomb. | |
| Music on the air is swelling, | |
| ’T is the funeral song, | |
| As to his ancestral dwelling, | |
| He is borne along, | 45 |
| They must share life’s common doom, | |
| The kings of fair Golconda, | |
| Golconda’s ancient kings. | |
| |
| What are now the chiefs that gather? | |
| What their diamond mines? | 50 |
| What the heron’s snowy feather | |
| On their crest that shines? | |
| What their valleys of the rose? | |
| For another is their glory, | |
| And their state and gold; | 55 |
| They are a forgotten story, | |
| Faint and feebly told,— | |
| Breaking not the still repose | |
| Of the kings of fair Golconda, | |
| Of Golconda’s ancient kings. | 60 |
| |
| Glorious is their place of sleeping, | |
| Gold with azure wrought, | |
| And embroidered silk is sweeping, | |
| Silk from Persia brought | |
| Round the carvéd marble walls. | 65 |
| Not the less the night owl’s pinion | |
| Stirs the dusky air, | |
| Not the less is the dominion | |
| Of the earth-worm there. | |
| Not less deep the shadow falls | 70 |
| O’er the kings of fair Golconda, | |
| O’er Golconda’s ancient kings. | |
| |
| Not on such vain aids relying, | |
| Can the human heart | |
| Triumph o’er the dead and dying. | 75 |
| It must know its part | |
| In the glorious hopes that wait | |
| The bright openings of the portal | |
| Far beyond the sky, | |
| Faith whose promise is immortal, | 80 |
| Life that cannot die;— | |
| These are stronger than the state | |
| Of the kings of fair Golconda, | |
| Of Golconda’s ancient kings. | |
| |
