King Canute
S. Tagore
Upon his royal throne he sat
In a monarch's thoughtful mood;
Attendants on his regal state
His servile courtiers stood,
With foolish flatteries, false and vain,
To win his smile his favour gain.
They told him e'en the mighty deep
His kingly sway confessed;
That he could bid its billows leap
Or still its stormy breast!
He smiled contemptuously, and cried,
"Be then my boasted empire tried!"
Down to the ocean's sounding shore
The proud procession came,
To see its billows' wild uproar
King Canute's power proclaim;
Or, at his high and dread command,
In gentle murmurs kiss the strand.
Not so, thought he, their noble king,
As his course he seaward sped; --
And each base slave, like a guilty thing,
Hung down his conscious head; --
He knew the ocean's Lord on high!
They, that he scorned their senseless lie.
His throne was placed by ocean's side,
He lifted his sceptre there;
Bidding, with tones of kingly pride,
The waves their strife forbear: --
And, while he spoke his royal will,
All but the winds and waves were still.
Louder the stormy blast swept by,
In scorn of his idle word;
The briny deep its waves tossed high,
By his mandate undeterred,
As threatening in their angry play,
To sweep both king and court away.
The monarch, with upbraiding look,
Turned to the courtly ring;
But none the kindling eye could brook,
Even of his earthly king;
For in that wrathful glance they see
A mightier monarch wronged than he!
Canute! thy regal race is run;
Thy name had passed away,
But for the meed this tale hath won
Which never shall decay:
Its meek, unperishing renown,
Outlasts thy sceptre and thy crown.
The Persian, in his mighty pride,
Forged fetters for the main;
And when its floods his power defied,
Inflicted stripes as vain; --
But it was worthier far of thee
To know thyself, than rule the sea!