Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/134

96 Even the great honor which I have,

When I am dead, will soon grow still;

So have I neither joy, nor fame.

But what I can do, that I will.

I have a fretted brick-work tomb

Upon a hill on the right hand,

Hard by a close of apricots,

Upon the road of Samarcand;

Thither, O vizier, will I bear

This man my pity could not save,

And, plucking up the marble flags,

There lay his body in my grave.

Bring water, nard, and linen-rolls!

Wash off all blood, set smooth each limb!

Then say, "He was not wholly vile,

Because a king shall bury him."

BALDER DEAD.6

So on the floor lay Balder dead; and round

Lay thickly strewn swords, axes, darts, and spears,

Which all the gods in sport had idly thrown

At Balder, whom no weapon pierced or clove;

But in his breast stood fixed the fatal bough

Of mistletoe, which Lok the Accuser gave

To Hoder, and unwitting Hoder threw—

'Gainst that alone had Balder's life no charm.