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— @3They@1 may hear, when @3he@1 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WAR THAT ISN'T WHAT YOU THINK by JAMES GALVIN SPRING WIND IN LONDON by KATHERINE MANSFIELD BOYHOOD FRIENDS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS IN THE TRENCHES by ISAAC ROSENBERG A MILLION YOUNG WORKMEN, 1915 by CARL SANDBURG |