So rugged was he that men deemed him true,

So secret was he that men deemed him wise,

And he had grown so great,

The throne was lost behind the subject’s shadow.

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In the advice he whispered to the king

He laid the key-stone of ambitious hope,

This marriage with the Mede

Would leave to heirs remote the Scythian kingdom,

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Sow in men’s minds vague fears of foreign rule,

Which might, if cultured, spring to armed revolt.

In armed revolt how oft

Kings disappear, and none dare call it murder.

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And when a crown falls bloodstained in the dust,

The strong man standing nearest to its fall

Takes it and crowns himself;

And heirs remote are swept from earth as rebels.

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Of peace and marriage-rites thus dreamed the king;

Of graves and thrones the traitor; while the fume

From altars, loud with prayer

To speed the Scythian envoys, darkened heaven.

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A hardy prince was young Zariades,

Scorning the luxuries of the loose-robed Mede,

Cast in the antique mould

Of men whose teaching thewed the soul of Cyrus.

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‘To ride, to draw the bow, to speak the truth,

Sufficed to Cyrus,’ said the prince, when child.

‘Astyages knew more’

Answered the Magi- ‘Yes, and lost his kingdoms.’

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Yet there was in this prince the eager mind

Which needs must think, and therefore needs must learn;

Natures, whose roots strike deep,

Clear their own way, and win to light in growing.

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His that rare beauty which both charms and awes

The popular eye; his the life-gladdening smile;

His the death-dooming frown;

That which he would he could; - men loved and feared him.

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