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The Margrave's Birthnight By Herman Melville |
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Up from many a sheeted valley, From white woods as well, Down too from each fleecy upland Jingles many a bell Jovial on the work-sad horses Hitched to runners old Of the toil-worn peasants sledging Under sheepskins in the cold; Till from every quarter gathered Meet they on one ledge, There from hoods they brush the snow off Lighting from each sledge Full before the Margrave's castle, Summoned there to cheer On his birthnight, in midwinter, Kept year after year. O the hall, and O the holly! Tables line each wall; Guests as holly-berries plenty, But-no host withal! May his people feast contented While at head of board Empty throne and vacant cover Speak the absent lord? Minstrels enter. And the stewards Serve the guests; and when, Passing there the vacant cover, Functionally then Old observance grave they offer; But no Margrave fair, In his living aspect gracious, Sits responsive there; No, and never guest once marvels, None the good lord name, Scarce they mark void throne and cover- Dust upon the same. Mindless as to what importeth Absence such in hall; Tacit as the plough-horse feeding In the palfrey's stall. Ah, enough for toil and travail, If but for a night Into wine is turned the water, Black bread into white. | |||||||||||||
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