MARTES, King of the wide plains which, north

Of Tanais, pasture steeds for Scythian Mars,

Forsook the simple ways

And Nomad tents of his unconquered fathers;

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And in the fashion of the neighbouring Medes,

Built a great city girt with moat and wall.

And in the midst thereof

A regal palace dwarfing piles in Susa.

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With vast foundations rooted into earth,

And crested summits soaring into Heaven.

And gates of triple brass,

Siege-proof as portals welded by the Cyclops.

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One day Omartes, in his pride of heart,

Led his High Priest, Teleutias, thro’ his halls,

And chilled by frigid looks,

When counting on warm praise, asked - ‘What is wanting?

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‘Where is beheld the palace of a king,

So stored with all that doth a king beseem;

The woofs of Phrygian looms,

The gold of Colchis, and the pearls of Ormus,

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‘Couches of ivory sent from farthest Ind,

Sidonian crystal, and Corinthian bronze,

Egypt’s vast symbol gods,

And those imagined into men by Hellas;

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‘Stored not in tents that tremble to a gale,

But chambers firm-based as the Pyramids,

And breaking into spray

The surge of Time, as Gades breaks the ocean?’

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‘Nor thou nor I the worth of these things now

Can judge; we stand too near them,’ said the sage.

None till they reach the tomb

Scan with just eye the treasure of the palace.

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