Now War has doffed his mailed coat
And Peace forgot her art;
The lute but not the bugle's note
Can stir the kingly heart;
Nights of revel and carp,
And days of sensuous rust,
How can a poet's harp
Intone a song of lust?
The king is mad. His flight from Salamis
Was bad enough. But that could be excused.
For six months now what has he done but drink,
Carouse and wallow in lascivious ease,
While subjects driven to despair with tax
Have fallen on the poisoned sword and cursed
In death the son of their once goodly king?
Smerdis
Ahafid, you do seem to think the first
Great business of a king is war. Now pray
You, why should Xerxes waste the lusty days
Of youth in bloody strife? To furnish themes,
No doubt, for dullard bards and minstrelsy.
Ahasuerus is the wisest king
That ever sat upon a Persian throne.
You graybeard fool, stupid as poets are.
Can you not see the wisdom of our king
In substitution of the flight for death,
Of feast for fight, of wine for blood? Think you
'Tis wise to wear the plaited mail of Mars
When Venus bids you to the festival
Of love?
Ahafid
You call me then a graybeard fool!
Though I have dropped the purple bloom of spring
The autumn's silvery down may indicate
The ripened fruit of wisdom which your youth
Has never tasted. Smerdis, you are blind!
My beard is white, but vision clear. The king
Does daily waste the substance of his realm,
And nightly dissipates his energies
In vices of the blood. Vashti, the queen,
The idol of her people, is in grief.
Smerdis
In grief for what? Does she too wish the king
To take the field? I know our queen is fair
Of face and most voluptuous of form.
Perhaps her grief is due to jealousy.
Would she monopolize his love, because
Her beauty is surpassing?
Ahafid
Vashti does
Not know that she is beautiful. She loves
Her country and is brave as well as good.
I dread the issue of this night. The king
Has ordered that the queen be brought before
The court, a target for licentious eyes.
She will refuse to go because her heart
Is pure. Ahasuerus, flushed with wine,
Will brook no opposition to his will.
A tragedy that never Persia knew
Will see the rising of to-morrow's sun.