The Division of the World

The Division of the World

“Take thence the world!” call’d Zeus from his high summit
To all mankind. “Take, that which yours should be.
As heritage eterne to you I grant it—”
Divide it ye, yet brotherly!”

Then did all hands to preparations scurry,
Both young and old industrious became.
The farmer seiz’d the produce from the country,
The Junker through the woods stalk’d game.

The merchant in his stores had riches hoarded,
The abbot chose the noble vintage wine,
The king had all the roads and bridges boarded
And claim’d: “the tithe of all is mine.”

Quite late, just as division was accomplish’d
The poet near’d, he came from far away—”
Ah! nothing more remain’d to be distinguish’d
A lord o’er everything had sway!

“Ah! Woe is me! for why should I then solely
Forgotten be, I, thy most faithful son?”
Thus did he make his accusation loudly
And threw himself fore Jove’s high throne.

“If thou to dwell in dreamland have decided,”
Replied the god, “then quarrel not with me.
Where wert thou then, when I the world divided?”
“I was,“ the poet said, “by thee.”

“Mine eyes did hang on thy expression,
Upon they heaven’s harmony my ear—”
Forgive the spirit, which, by thy reflection
Enrapt, did lose the earthly sphere.”

“What can be done?“ said Zeus, “for all is given;
The crops, the hunt, the marts are no more free.
Wouldst thou abide with me within my heaven—”
Whene’er thou com’st, ’twill open be to thee.”