He took in his hand a peacock’s fan,
And clean’d full many a dusty
Old piece of armour, and many a helm,
And many a morion rusty.
The standard he carefully dusted too,
And said, “My greatest pride is,
“That not e’en one moth hath eaten the silk,
“And not e’en one insect inside is.”
And when we came to the second hall,
Where asleep on the ground were lying
Many thousand arm’d warriors, the old man said,
Their forms with contentment eyeing:
“We must take care, while here, not to waken the men,
“And make no noise in the gallery;
“A hundred years have again passed away,
“And to-day I must pay them their salary.”
And see! the Emperor softly approach’d,
While he held in his hand a ducat,
And quietly into the pocket of each
Of the sleeping soldiery stuck it.
And then he remark’d with a simpering face,
When I observ’d him with wonder:
“I give them a ducat apiece as their pay,
“At periods a century asunder.”
In the hall wherein the horses were ranged,
And drawn out in rows long and silent,
Together the Emperor rubb’d his hands
While his pleasure seem’d getting quite vi’lent.
He counted the horses, one by one,
And poked their ribs approving;
He counted and counted, and all the while
His lips were eagerly moving.
“The proper number is not complete,”—
Thus angrily he discourses:
“Of soldiers and weapons I’ve quite enough,
“But still am deficient in horses.
“Horse-jockeys I’ve sent to every place
“In all the world, to supply me
“With the very best horses that they can find
“And now I’ve a good number by me.