sw00378jt-b1.e13

Justan Tamarind: Book I       e13                            



Yet Crean, having come in nine-eleven,
His House attained together/ thirty-seven
Rulers into sixteen-twenty-three, when wars
With new invaders spilled its heaven
Next to the Durin Sea, and the swart floors
Of Edward's palace thundered and cracked
As Jonathan of Lorga drove his scores
Against the bones of Moiland; broke and sacked
Leoma.  But the House of Lorga lacked

What Crean's bore in glorious abundance;
And Jonathan, moderate in indulgence
As he was, could only bear his with him:
To that arch which marks his sad convergence
With the clay, to that granite arch of grim
Position, settled, where it is, beneath
Five willows.  How many more, though, swim
Through those seaweed branches to place a wreath
Before his name than cross that battled heath

Between Leoma's last remaining gate
And Crean's gardened monument, so great
In grandeur!  How many praise!  And much
Because the House of Trent, which lived through eight
Mediocre kings, never held such/
As Jonathan.  Then, Ruam Tamarind,
The first, the holy one, leaving his hutch
In the snows of Nareb, and the glass-sharp wind,
Passed by the trumpets where hummingbirds spinned,

Passed by the bees' dark holes; and everyone
In Moiland/ welcomed him: for the last pale son
Of Henry of Trent, torn from his throne, now
Would/ be beheaded; for now the called one
Would be crowned.  Leomans flocked to bow,
Who would not be/ without their king, though kings
Had in two generations shown them how
To hate a royal lineage/ and things
Concerned in any way with monarchs' rings

Or sceptres.  Nareb's hermit was coming--
The famed, unvowed recluse.  And rumming
And strumming, the people feasted for days,
While Tamarind walked--singing, humming--
And on each morning prayed, and offered praise,
At Little holy Osteind's (preserved)
To best prepare himself within/ for ways
So unfamiliar; and learned what served,
What would not serve, ten millions of unnerved, 





Brian A. J. Salchert