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The Ring Of Polycrates - A Ballad

 Upon his battlements he stood,
And downward gazed in joyous mood,
On Samos' Isle, that owned his sway,
"All this is subject to my yoke;"
To Egypt's monarch thus he spoke,--
"That I am truly blest, then, say!"

"The immortals' favor thou hast known!
Thy sceptre's might has overthrown
All those who once were like to thee.
Yet to avenge them one lives still; I cannot call thee blest, until That dreaded foe has ceased to be.
" While to these words the king gave vent, A herald from Miletus sent, Appeared before the tyrant there: "Lord, let thy incense rise to-day, And with the laurel branches gay Thou well may'st crown thy festive hair!" "Thy foe has sunk beneath the spear,-- I'm sent to bear the glad news here, By thy true marshal Polydore"-- Then from a basin black he takes-- The fearful sight their terror wakes-- A well-known head, besmeared with gore.
The king with horror stepped aside, And then with anxious look replied: "Thy bliss to fortune ne'er commit.
On faithless waves, bethink thee how Thy fleet with doubtful fate swims now-- How soon the storm may scatter it!" But ere he yet had spoke the word, A shout of jubilee is heard Resounding from the distant strand.
With foreign treasures teeming o'er, The vessels' mast-rich wood once more Returns home to its native land.
The guest then speaks with startled mind: "Fortune to-day, in truth, seems kind; But thou her fickleness shouldst fear: The Cretan hordes, well skilled, in arms, Now threaten thee with war's alarms; E'en now they are approaching here.
" And, ere the word has 'scaped his lips, A stir is seen amongst the ships, And thousand voices "Victory!" cry: "We are delivered from our foe, The storm has laid the Cretan low, The war is ended, is gone by!" The shout with horror hears the guest: "In truth, I must esteem thee blest! Yet dread I the decrees of heaven.
The envy of the gods I fear; To taste of unmixed rapture here Is never to a mortal given.
" "With me, too, everything succeeds; In all my sovereign acts and deeds The grace of Heaven is ever by; And yet I had a well-loved heir-- I paid my debt to fortune there-- God took him hence--I saw him die.
" "Wouldst thou from sorrow, then, be free.
Pray to each unseen Deity, For thy well-being, grief to send; The man on whom the Gods bestow Their gifts with hands that overflow, Comes never to a happy end.
" "And if the Gods thy prayer resist, Then to a friend's instruction list,-- Invoke thyself adversity; And what, of all thy treasures bright, Gives to thy heart the most delight-- That take and cast thou in the sea!" Then speaks the other, moved by fear: "This ring to me is far most dear Of all this isle within it knows-- I to the furies pledge it now, If they will happiness allow"-- And in the flood the gem he throws.
And with the morrow's earliest light, Appeared before the monarch's sight A fisherman, all joyously; "Lord, I this fish just now have caught, No net before e'er held the sort; And as a gift I bring it thee.
" The fish was opened by the cook, Who suddenly, with wondering look, Runs up, and utters these glad sounds: "Within the fish's maw, behold, I've found, great lord, thy ring of gold! Thy fortune truly knows no bounds!" The guest with terror turned away: "I cannot here, then, longer stay,-- My friend thou canst no longer be! The gods have willed that thou shouldst die: Lest I, too, perish, I must fly"-- He spoke,--and sailed thence hastily.

Poem by Friedrich Von Schiller
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Book: Shattered Sighs