All's over now, the teacher thought, Now let this reach the monarch's ear! And instant death shall be my lot. They parted, he in abject fear. And soon he heard a choral song Sung by young voices in the praise Of gods unseen, who right all wrong, And rule the worlds from primal days.
"What progress have thy charges made? Let them be called, that I may see." And Sonda Marco brought as bade His pupils to the royal knee. Three passed the monarch's test severe, The fourth remained: then spake the king, "Now, Prehlad, with attention hear, I know thou hast the strongest wing!
"What is the cream of knowledge, child, Which men take such great pains to learn?" With folded hands he answered mild: "Listen, O Sire! To speak I yearn. All sciences are nothing worth,-- Astronomy that tracks the star, Geography that maps the earth, Logic, and Politics, and War,--
"And Medicine, that strives to heal But only aggravates disease, All, all are futile,--so I feel, For me, O father, none of these. That is true knowledge which can show The glory of the living gods,-- Divest of pride, make men below Humble and happy, though but clods.
"That is true knowledge which can make Us mortals, saintlike, holy, pure, The strange thirst of the spirit slake And strengthen suffering to endure. That is true knowledge which can change Our very natures, with its glow; The sciences whate'er their range Feed but the flesh, and make a show."
"Where hast thou learnt this nonsense, boy? Where live these gods believed so great? Can they like me thy life destroy? Have they such troops and royal state? Above all gods is he who rules The wide, wide earth, from sea to sea, Men, devils, gods,--yea, all but fools Bow down in fear and worship me!
"And dares an atom from my loins Against my kingly power rebel? Though heaven itself to aid him joins, His end is death--the infidel! I warn thee yet,--bow down, thou slave, And worship me, or thou shalt die! We'll see what gods descend to save-- What gods with me their strength will try!"
Thus spake the monarch in his ire, One hand outstretched, in menace rude, And eyes like blazing coals of fire. And Prehlad, in unruffled mood Straight answered him; his head bent low, His palms joined meekly on his breast As ever, and his cheeks aglow His rock-firm purpose to attest.