“Yet, look you, even when his best is told,
Some bias granted where awards divide;
Under the glass now—is he other than the beast of old,
Have your pricks struck deeper than his spotty hide?”
Is your varnish more than the rogue’s, whose saint
For a fast or vigil wipes him, then gross-daubs him new?
Ah! that I chance fouled him, helped flush the paint?
Tut, tut, that still outfathoms, yea, or me, or you.
Come, be wise! Subscribe me proper! Sleek my Spoiler’s hand,
So its foul grip hallow, thought a blight before,—
Avouch it mine that grace that haunts me while the Heavens stand,
Since first my gray dawn dimmed it ’mong white lights of yore.
Why should’st thou sorrow? Why those bleeding feet?
Thy humble garment? Yon rapt, far-off gaze?
The voice that falters thro’ its dim entreat?
Thy brow, sore pondering of this thankless maze,—
Thy brow, where lo!—ah, ’tis the riddle which I blind pursue—
Yon fond star frets it and divides thy gloom:
Hark! Wilt thou not lend it me? In guise of True,
Let its rose be grafted on my baser bloom?
Since, how then still goodlier might my outward show;
My pose, my policy, each brood of shame,
Which my wily statists at their game of draw—
My foxy henchmen—give a smoother name;
How still more potent were my toils than now,—
When “Nay” spoke gently Glory, “that out-goes my leave:
How might I stand me where the high Fates bow
Before the Will, that crowns no issue not thine own achieve.”
“What! Thou wilt not?” Came the fierce respond,
As on deep Night there rose a mocking and a damned wail,
“Mark how I justify my bitter bond,
How where fools refuse me there I grim assail!”
When, forth, on its fell errand, went a grisly hand,
As the dread skies shook them and the winds spoke hoarse,
To grasp the star no wheedling parley, nor no harsh command,
May impious sever from its bounden course.
Nay, for one foul moment gripped it, made the Jewel press
Those hairy temples where the gross thoughts strive
To vie the light no false faith borrows, so its sheen may bless
And cloak the trickster while his jugglings thrive;