Poems (Hardy)/Ulan, the stone-cutter
ULAN, THE STONE-CUTTER
. . . In silence roseThe King, and sought his garden cool,And walked apart, and murmured low,"Be merciful to me, a fool."—E. R. Sill.
OF men much praiseWrought serf Ulan all his days, Much marble praise;
Year after yearCut and carved without a peer To love or fear.
At set of sunOn a day full well begun His work was done.
Of Ulan, then,Words were writ, a scanty ten, By hurried pen:
"Serf Ulan's dead;Olar's wisest hand, and head, And heart," they said.
Then Olar came,Olar, prince and lord of fame And spoke his name:
"This Ulan, chiefs,Dwelt in strange and bright beliefs And had great griefs.
"From griefs he rose,Just as, when a tempest blows, And ruin sows,
"Some faint sweet flowerOpens in the calm first hour After its power.
"In what he sangPraise of some far splendor rang, To hammer's clang.
"My windows knowGardened Chiarno's quarries low And current slow;
"From dawn to darkI can count the strokes and mark The quick flint spark
"When hammers fall;Toils there many and many a thrall; I know them all.
"Pavilioned hereCrowds of noble chiefs and dear Bear shield and spear;
"And, yea, we knowPrince and knight less noble show Than Ulan low;
"For, many a year,You and I had wasted here In sloth's career;
"You mind it well,Time my jester's cap and bell Had lost their spell;
"How all his mirthDead and ghastly was, and earth Seemed nothing worth;
"How, many an hour,Sulked I in my chambered tower Distraught and sour;
"How in this plight,One day, Ulan's stroke of might Flashed back the light.
"His blow on stoneGreater was than he had known; It struck a throne.
"Rejoiced, I cried,—Hope of pleasure yet untried Then first descried,—
"'Now send and bringUlan; he shall know the thing To please a king.'
" Then under stressUlan stood in motley dress,— A man, no less!—
"I, on the throne,—Fool, I was to all minds known Except my own,—
"When Ulan's eyesThere met mine with sad surprise And half surmise,
"And bravely plead,'Make for us a prayer,' I said; He bowed his head.
—'Ay, it is meetOlar weeps now at thy feet, Thou soul most sweet!'
"Convicted fool,Shamed, I found a bitter school In garden cool.
"You know how lightBursting from that prayer of might Did clear our sight.
"Our sin confessed,Life, it taught, was not a jest; Mere joy its quest;
"We saw life, then,Forward move before our ken, As from a den,
"To some wide groundRimmed with broadening blue and bound By fair hills 'round.
"And prince and manLearned then how to search and scan His life's whole plan.
"Thereby we earnedWisdom, till the world discerned What we had learned.
"By me led on,Foes you conquered, peace you won, And wars were done.
"And praises free,Knights and men, for this should be,— But not to me.
"These good new waysUlan wrought in our bad days; To him the praise."
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Then Ulan's headLow they laid, and chanting said, With solemn tread,
And sad and slow,"Prince and lord from serf we know, When trumpets blow;
"The man-king true,Blindly missed we never knew; A, late to rue!
"This is his hour!Lay him where the great king's tower Shadows the flower
"Of race and earth.Sing, that deathless love and worth Through him had birth
"In our dull souls;Sing, that while Chiarno rolls By deeps and shoals
"To reach the strand,Seek we still to understand His one command:
"'O never stay!Move ye forward. There's the way That leads to day.'
" Here lay him low.Chant no more; the river's flow Still speaks our woe."