Classic Poem

The Hod-Carrier

Above him towers, symmetric, lofty, massive,
Story on story, the unfinished pile.
Here on the walk a moment stands he, passive,
His features stirred by neither frown nor smile.

Windows and niches, arches true and solid,
Huge blocks of granite, pillars smooth and fair;
These things he heeds not, for his face is stolid,
And in his eyes no joy there gleams, no care.

Only a toiler he, a bended carrier,
Who up and down goes slowly all day long;
" He loves his task, " say wealthier men, or warier;
" His mind is dull, his back is broad and strong. "

Up now he goes, his load upon his shoulder,
So little, and the structure is so vast!
Think you he cares how quickly cities moulder,
How short a time the grandest buildings last?

'Twere useless quite his senses to bewilder
With history and fate of ancient pile;
What matters it how far great Ramses, Builder,
Swept with his armies from the fertile Nile?

Above the towns of Uruk, the Chaldaean,
Sands of the desert sift like sifting snow;
And mighty forests hum a savage paean
O'er Toltec cities in Old Mexico.

Deep let them lie! Their glory be forgotten!
They tell how men were driven in the past.
Their kings are lost, their very stones are rotten,
But slavery and toil forever last.

Down now he comes. When these fair walls are riven,
And Ruin's dust drifts over them in scorn,
In some far realm will slaves be bought and driven,
Will Might still rule in kingdoms now unborn?

Herodotus fished well in priestly gutters,
Yet on no page the pyramids explains;
But every royal mummy, grinning, mutters:
" See how we lashed men in our ancient reigns. "

Poor, weary toiler! Worse your fate and sadder
Than that of any slave in ancient day;
'Tis hunger drives you up and down the ladder.
What tyrant ever could so well dismay?

Think you he knows that kings are no diviner
Than even he, a dull, down-trodden waif?
That Fortune's pets are made of flesh no finer?
But no, he sings! Thank God, the state is safe.English