Two paunchy beasts they rode on and two they drove before. [Sidenote: _Of their Beasts_,] May the Saints all help us, the tiger-stripes they had! And the panniers upon them swelled full of stuffs and ore! The square buzzed and jostled at a sight so mad. They bawled in their beards, and their turbans they wried. [Sidenote: _And their Boast_,] They stopped by the stalls with curvetting and clatter. As bronze as the bracken their necks and faces dyed— And a stave they sat singing, to tell us of the matter. _“For your silks, to Sugarmago! For your dyes, to Isfahan! [Sidenote: _With its Burthen_] Weird fruits from the Isle o’ Lamaree. But for magic merchandise, For treasure-trove and spice, Here’s a catch and a carol to the great, grand Chan, The King of all the Kings across the sea!_ _“Here’s a catch and a carol to the great, grand Chan; [Sidenote: _And Chorus._] For we won through the deserts to his sunset barbican; And the mountains of his palace no Titan’s reach may span Where he wields his seignorie!_ “Red-as-blood skins of Panthers, so bright against the sun [Sidenote: _A first Stave Fearsome_,] On the walls of the halls where his pillared state is set They daze with a blaze no man may look upon. And with conduits of beverage those floors run wet. “His wives stiff with riches, they sit before him there. [Sidenote: _And a second Right hard To stomach_] Bird and beast at his feast make song and clapping cheer. And jugglers and enchanters, all walking on the air, Make fall eclipse and thunder—make moons and suns appear! “Once the Chan, by his enemies soreprest, and sorely spent, [Sidenote: _And a third, Which is a Laughable Thing._] Lay, so they say, in a thicket ’neath a tree Where the howl of an owl vexed his foes from their intent: Then that fowl for a holy bird of reverence made he! _“A catch and a carol to the great, grand Chan! [Sidenote: _We gape to Hear them end_,] Pastmasters of disasters, our desert caravan Won through all peril to his sunset barbican, Where he wields his seignorie! And crowns he gave us! We end where we began: A catch and a carol to the great, grand Chan, The King of all the Kings across the sea!_” Those mad, antic Merchants!... Their stripèd beasts did beat [Sidenote: _And are in Terror_,] The market-square suddenly with hooves of beaten gold! The ground yawned gaping and flamed beneath our feet! They plunged to Pits Abysmal with their wealth untold! And some say the Chan himself in anger dealt the stroke— [Sidenote: _And dread it is Devil’s Work!_] For sharing of his secrets with silly, common folk: But Holy, Blessed Mary, preserve us as you may Lest once more those mad Merchants come chanting from Cathay! NIGHT[54]