_Lacon._ Sluggards, how now I Have you not been to gaze upon the sight?

To see the n.o.ble king cast off the gift Which he erewhile so earnestly did crave[?]

_Asph._ I am so tired with the weight of gold I bore to-day I could not budge a foot To see the finest sight Jove could display.

But tell us, Lacon, what he did and said.

_Lac._ Although he'd fain have run[,] his golden dress And heavy sandals made the poor king limp As leaning upon mine and the high priest's arm, He hastened to Pactolus. When he saw The stream--"Thanks to the G.o.ds!" he cried aloud In joy; then having cast aside his robes He leaped into the waves, and with his palm Throwing the waters high--"This is not gold," [62]

He cried, "I'm free, I have got rid of gold."

And then he drank, and seizing with delight A little leaf that floated down the stream, "Thou art not gold," he said--

_Zopyr._ But all this time-- Did you behold?--Did he take off his crown?--

_Lacon._ No:--It was strange to see him as he plunged Hold tight his crown with his left hand the while.

_Zopyr._ (_aside_) Alas, my fate! I thought they had been seen.

_Lac._ He ordered garments to the river side Of coa.r.s.est texture;--those that erst he wore He would not touch, for they were trimmed with gold.

_Zopyr._ And yet he did not throw away his crown?

_Lac._ He ever held it tight as if he thought Some charm attached to its remaining there.

Perhaps he is right;--know you, Zopyrion, If that strange voice this morning spoke the truth?

_Zopyr._ Nay guess;--think of what pa.s.sed & you can judge.

I dare not--I know nothing of his ears.

_Lac._ I am resolved some night when he sleeps sound To get a peep.--No more,'tis he that comes.

He has now lost the boon that Bacchus gave, Having bestowed it on the limpid waves.

Now over golden sands Pactolus runs, [63]

And as it flows creates a mine of wealth.

_Enter Midas, (with grapes in his hand)._

_Mid._ I see again the trees and smell the flowers With colours lovelier than the rainbow's self; I see the gifts of rich-haired Ceres piled And eat. (_holding up the grapes_) This is not yellow, dirty gold, But blooms with precious tints, purple and green.

I hate this palace and its golden floor, Its cornices and rafters all of gold:-- I'll build a little bower of freshest green, Canopied o'er with leaves & floored with moss:-- I'll dress in skins;--I'll drink from wooden cups And eat on wooden platters--sleep on flock; None but poor men shall dare attend on me.

All that is gold I'll banish from my court, Gilding shall be high treason to my state, The very name of gold shall be crime capital[.]

_Zopyr._ May we not keep our coin?

_Mid._ No, Zopyrion, None but the meanest peasants shall have gold.

It is a sordid, base and dirty thing:-- Look at the gra.s.s, the sky, the trees, the flowers, These are Joves treasures & they are not gold:-- [64]

Now they are mine, I am no longer cursed.-- The hapless river hates its golden sands, As it rolls over them, having my gift;-- Poor harmless sh.o.r.es! they now are dirty gold.

How I detest it! Do not the G.o.ds hate gold?

Nature displays the treasures that she loves, She hides gold deep in the earth & piles above Mountains & rocks to keep the monster down.

_Asph._ They say Apollo's sunny car is gold.

_Mid._ Aye, so it is for Gold belongs to him:-- But Phoebus is my bitterest enemy, And what pertains to him he makes my bane.

_Zopyr._ What [!] will your Majesty tell the world?--

_Mid._ Peace, vile gossip! Asphalion, come you here.

Look at those golden columns; those inlaid walls; The ground, the trees, the flowers & precious food That in my madness I did turn to gold:-- Pull it all down, I hate its sight and touch; Heap up my cars & waggons with the load And yoke my kine to drag it to the sea: Then crowned with flowers, ivy & Bacchic vine, And singing hymns to the immortal G.o.ds, We will ascend ships freighted with the gold, [65]

And where no plummet's line can sound the depth Of greedy Ocean, we will throw it in, All, all this frightful heap of yellow dirt.

Down through the dark, blue waters it will sink, Frightening the green-haired Nereids from their sport And the strange Tritons--the waves will close above And I, thank Bacchus, ne'er shall see it more!

And we will make all echoing heaven ring With our loud hymns of thanks, & joyous pour Libations in the deep, and reach the land, Rich, happy, free & great, that we have lost Man's curse, heart-bartering, soul-enchaining gold.

FINIS.