In Oriental memories there dwells
A store of truths, dropped out of history,
But precious none the less; from sire to son,
From age to age a rich inheritance,
These grains of gold have passed; in ballads some
Are sung, when village loiterers sit down
To while the evening hour; in nurse's croon
Above a sleeping babe these myths are heard;
And when a fiery youth goes forth to war
His soul is kindled high with truths like these.