Poems Sigourney 1827/The Rival Kings of Mohegan, contrasted with the Rival Brothers of Persia
THE RIVAL KINGS OF MOHEGAN,
CONTRASTED WITH
THE RIVAL BROTHERS OF PERSIA.
Crowns are beset with thorns,
And who can tell what woes their hollow orb
Binds on the temples!—Yet to taste that wo,
Ambition toils,—Pride strives,—Affection dies
'Neath Hatred's frown. Thus stood the red-brow'd kings,
Brothers and rivals. On their father's throne
Each strove to sit. Justly the nation gave
The sovereignty, where Nature's voice decreed
The birthright. So the eldest rose to rule
His brethren of the forest. In their cares,
Pursuits and dangers, with true heart he shared
An equal part. The hunter's toil he loved,
Like him, the patriarch's favourite son, who bore
The cheering perfume of the scented field
Within his garments. But the younger prince
Adher'd to that pale race, who on his lands,
Encroaching silently, like Rachel, sought
By arts, and counterfeited tones to wrest
The sceptre from him. He, with flattering words
Still sooth'd their avarice,—sparing not to vow
That o'er these mountains, and uncultured vales,
Tall crested woods, and streams which they desired
Their sway should reach.
Like Absalom he pined
Before his brethren,—"Oh! that I were judge
And ruler o'er you, that each one who felt
Wrong or injustice, unto me might come,
And I would do him right."
—But the wise chiefs
Look'd gravely on him,—and the hoary head
Shook its white locks at the usurping prince.
—Sometimes when white men lured his private ear
To close debate, they to their swords would point,
Vaunting these soon could make a vacant throne;
And raise them high in eagerness, and say
His cause was theirs.—But ever at the word
A heavy sternness o'er his features came,
And terribly his dark eye beam'd reproof.
"One mother nursed us! and we hold it sin
To shed a brother's blood." Then would he turn
In anger, and in grief, as one who mourns
Temptation most, when urged by those he loves.
For well the invaders' courtly speech be prized,
Their arts, and lore, which shamed the forest sons;—
And proud of English costume,—with the gaude
Of epauletted shoulder, and rich belt
Whence hung the glittering sword, was pleased to flaunt.
—The people loved their monarch, who, close-wrapt
In robe of pliant deer-skin, with bold brow
Shaded by coronet of feathery plumes,
Would wheel the war-dance in its frantic round
Amid the flashing of their midnight fires,
Or in grave council, with high eloquence
Control the spirit.
—But the shaft of death
Regards not titles, and the forest king
Fell like his lowliest subject. Light of heart,
The expectant prince received a nation's vows,
And rear'd himself to reign. But watchful Fate,
As if determin'd still to mar the joys
Of him who dealt in guile, with hasty hand
Number'd his days. The royal forehead droop'd
To dire disease, and the slight diadem
Disown'd its brief companionship.—One grave
Open'd for both.—Whom rivalry disjoin'd,
Nature in burial, as in birth made one.
Grief mark'd their obsequies, and the sad tribe
Like orphans mourning, heap'd the hallow'd mould.
—Not thus the Persian brothers, fired with rage
Of mad ambition for their father's throne,
Respected kindred ties. Not like those kings
Nurtured by nature o'er her wilds to roam
And to her teachings bow,—their rash swords spared
That blood which through their rival breasts was pour'd
From the same fountain.
—On Cunaxa's plain
The war they raised. Bold Artaxerxes brought
His scythe-arm'd chariots, and his countless troops,
Egyptians, by their ample bucklers hid,
And white-robed Persians with uncover'd heads
And glittering armour. Fiery Cyrus came,
Proud of his allied Greeks to blood inured
On Peloponnesus,—while his furious voice
The Paphlagonian cavalry inspired,
With rage like his.—
But see! his life-tide flows
Beneath his brother's javelin,—and he falls
Foaming, like him of Bosworth, while his teeth
Gnashing vindictive, testify the force
Of hatred built on love.