When will it leave you? It seems like a reproach.
What ought I do to make you happier?
My theaters, my combats and my games
Fail to amuse you and you coolly look
On the world’s wonders. Why are you so sad?
You are the ruler of a renowned land,
And youthful too and like Appolo, beautiful,
O, tell me then
What would you have me do? I, master of the world
Promise on oath to gratify your wants.”
Thus spoke Augustus. And the King replied;
“Do I know that? Deep in my heart I feel
Such all-embracing, unlimited longing
For aught unknown, that with grief I am dying.
From early childhood I was melancholy
And with the years, my longing only grew
Until I nearly died. One day my mother
Spoke to me and said. “Dear child, Rome is the center
Of all the world and Augustus its ruler,
Is the light of Rome. Go, hasten to his city.
Perhaps you’ll quench your soul’s thirst at his fountain
Some great ambition may inflame you there
And lend you wings. Go forth! Return in health!”
Thus she advised. I listened and am here.
You tried and did all any man could do.
Your friendship and its gifts I hold most dear,
And clearly see the greatness of your reign.
Rome is a wonder . . . But, my master, still
I am not well . . . The protests of my soul
Outclamor all . . . I shall perish with my grief.
Augustus hear me? Permit me to return
To my mother and my distant native land.”
A long-drawn sigh broke off these bitter words
And vainly pleaded the mighty emperor,
That Abgar stay in Rome. At length, the Roman yielded,
Bade Abgar farewell. Two heralds sped ahead
With this plaintive message to the mother;
“I am returning with a saddened soul
Just as I left the Armenian hills.
Prepare a chamber for me where the sun
Creeps in at evening for a fleeting look
As if it tried to say: “Come after me.”
77
