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Updated: June 16, 2025
"Better, O Sire, than mine," cried he, "I deem Chrysantas' gift to be." Yet the wise king his courtiers knew, And unto each had given his due. To all who watch and all who wait The king will come, or soon or late. Choose well: thy secret wish is known, And thou shalt surely have thine own A golden cup thy poor wealth's sign, Or on thy lips Love's seal divine.
But Chrysantas when he was going to strike the enemy checked himself when he heard the trumpet sounding a retreat: so it seemed better to him to obey the general's command than to follow his own inclination. But not one of us chooses, even when necessity summons, readily to obey it, but weeping and groaning we suffer what we do suffer, and we call them "circumstances."
It is strange, that Hannibal was never even wounded in a number of battles which it would weary one to recount; and I admire the conduct of Chrysantas in Xenophon's 'Cyropædia, who, when standing with his weapon drawn, about to strike an enemy, heard the trumpet sound the recall, and leaving his man, quietly and orderly retreated.
Cyrus the king in royal mood Portioned his gifts as seemed him good: To Artabasus, proud to hold The priceless boon, a cup of gold A rare-wrought thing: its jewelled brim Haloed a nectar sweet to him. No flavor fine it seemed to miss; But when the king stooped down, a kiss To leave upon Chrysantas' lips, The jewels paled in dull eclipse To Artabasus: hard and cold And empty grew the cup of gold.
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