Poems (Hardy)/Ulan, the stone-cutter

by Irenè Hardy

ULAN, THE STONE-CUTTER

         . . . In silence rose
The King, and sought his garden cool,
And walked apart, and murmured low,
"Be merciful to me, a fool."—E. R. Sill.

 

OF men much praise
Wrought serf Ulan all his days,
   Much marble praise;

   Year after year
Cut and carved without a peer
   To love or fear.

   At set of sun
On 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 flower
Opens in the calm first hour
   After its power.

   "In what he sang
Praise of some far splendor rang,
   To hammer's clang.

   "My windows know
Gardened Chiarno's quarries low
   And current slow;

   "From dawn to dark
I 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 here
Crowds of noble chiefs and dear
   Bear shield and spear;

   "And, yea, we know
Prince 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 mirth
Dead 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 stone
Greater was than he had known;
   It struck a throne.

   "Rejoiced, I cried,—
Hope of pleasure yet untried
   Then first descried,—

   "'Now send and bring
Ulan; he shall know the thing
   To please a king.'

   " Then under stress
Ulan 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 eyes
There 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 meet
Olar weeps now at thy feet,
   Thou soul most sweet!'

   "Convicted fool,
Shamed, I found a bitter school
   In garden cool.

   "You know how light
Bursting 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 ground
Rimmed with broadening blue and bound
   By fair hills 'round.

   "And prince and man
Learned then how to search and scan
   His life's whole plan.

   "Thereby we earned
Wisdom, 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 ways
Ulan wrought in our bad days;
   To him the praise."

······

   Then Ulan's head
Low 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."