Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE SCYTHIAN GRAVE, by JOHN RUSKIN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE SCYTHIAN GRAVE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: They laid the lord
Last Line: To keep their name, or guard their grave.
Subject(s): Funerals; Graves; Scythians; Burials; Tombs; Tombstones


THE following stanzas refer to some peculiar and affecting customs of the
Scythians, as avouched by Herodotus (Melpomone 71), relative to the burial of
their kings, round whose tombs they were wont to set up a troop of fifty
skeleton scarecrows—armed corpses—in a manner very horrible, barbarous
and indecorous; besides sending out of the world to keep the king company,
numerous cup-bearers, grooms, lackeys, coachmen, and cooks; all which singular,
and, to the individuals concerned, somewhat objectionable proceedings appear to
have been the result of a feeling, pervading the whole nation, of the poetical
and picturesque.

I.

THEY laid the lord
Of all the land
Within his grave of pride;
They set the sword
Beside the hand
That could not grasp nor guide;
They left to soothe and share his rest
Beneath the moveless mould,
A lady, bright as those that live,
But oh! how calm and cold!
They left to keep due watch and ward,
Thick vassals round their slumbering lord—
Ranged in menial order all—
They may hear, when he can call.

II.

They built a mound
Above the breast
Whose haughty heart was still;
Each stormy sound
That wakes the west,
Howls o'er that lonely hill.
Underneath an armed troop
In stalwart order stay;
Flank to flank they stand, nor stoop
Their lances, day by day,
Round the dim sepulchral cliff
Horsemen fifty, fixed and stiff—
Each with his bow, and each with his brand,
With his bridle grasped in his steadfast hand.

III.

The soul of sleep
May dim the brow,
And check the soldier's tread,
But who can keep
A guard so true,
As do the dark-eyed dead?
The foul hyena's howl and haunt
About their charnel lair;
The flickering rags of flesh they flaunt
Within the plague-struck air.
But still the skulls do gaze and grin,
Though the worms have gnawed the nerves within,
And the jointed toes, and the fleshless heel
Clatter and clank in their stirrup of steel.

IV.

The snows are swift,
That glide so pale
Along the mountain dim;
Beneath their drift
Shall rust the mail,
And blanch the nerveless limb:
While shower on shower, and wreath on wreath,
From vapours thunder-scarred,
Surround the misty mound of death
And whelm its ghastly guard;
Till those who held the earth in fear,
Lie meek, and mild, and powerless here,
Without a single sworded slave
To keep their name, or guard their grave.





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