Pictures in Rhyme/The Sale of the World
THE SALE OF THE WORLD
The world, the fair world, with her bosoms of snow,
Her life-pulses bounding in turbulent flow,
Lies prone in the scale,
Exposed and for sale;
Save for forests of hair
From her temples down-curled,
Exposed to a critical, insolent stare.
Who will buy? Who will bid? Who will weigh up the world?
Who will buy? Who will bid? Who will weigh up the world?
—'Mid the blare of curved trumpets, with banners unfurled,
A Genius takes form
From the breath of the storm—
Tall and gaunt,
Scarred of front;
Blown over a blood-bestained vest,
A tawny beard, sweeping his chest,
Reaches down to the clasp of his girth.
At his footsteps the earth
Shrinks back in affright;
Cloud -vultures of night
Flap their pestilent pinions in flight
Closely after.
A blue gleam, then a clang:
Whence the shaking scales hang,
As shield follows helmet, and helmet the brand,
Backpiece, breastplate, and greaves;
Last, the mighty spear leaves
His knotted right hand—
But the scale only quivers up under the rafter.
As day dissolves night when it steals up the sky,
As night disappears in the distance to die,
See a form in bright garments approach like a ray
Falling down from the sun, and war-clouds melt away:
Broad brow; scanty locks o'er a thin, pallid face;
Eyes lit with deep eagerness, beaming with grace
From a strong-seated learning. The shoulders' slight stoop,
Bowed down by the spirits which burden the croup
Of his mule in their casings, stiff wood-ribs and hide.
The weight of his intellect, learning, and looks,
His scrolls and his parchments, his papers and books,
He casts in the scale, then himself climbs inside—
But all weigh as nothing, discounted of worth
Against the full nature and grossness of earth.
A smoky glare
Of torches, which jaundice the lower air,
And blacken the forehead of Heaven,
As the children of Mammon toil up to the scale,
Seven times seventy-seven.
In they pour their glittering store,
Stream on stream,
Till the scale with the world flashes up to the beam,
Bought and sold—
Sold to the sons of the Genius of Gold.
Thus the fair Universe,
Untouched by the power of the sword,
Unmoved by the power of the word,