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AND OTHER POEMS 'tii^ iM.'o^-t-i «^ .^>mk Dl 8i.b THE DEATH OF CENONE, AKBAR^S DREAM, AND OTHER POEMS BY ALFRED LORD TENNYSON I'OET I.AUREATF. MACMILLAN AND CO. AND LONDON TORONTO: THE WILLIAMSON BOOK CO. 1892 A// rights reserved V Ly Copyright, 1892, By MACMILLAN AND CO. Set up and elecirotyped October, i8q2. Large faper edition printed October, iSq2. \* Typography by J. S. Cushing & Co., Boston, U.S.A. Presswork by Berwick & Smith, Boston, U.S.A. CONTENTS June Bracken and Hi^ather To THE Master of Balliol The Death of CEnone . St. Telemachus Akbar's Dream The Bandit's Death The Church-warden and the Curate Charity .... Kapioiani The Dawn The Making of Man The Dreamer Mechanophilus Riflemen form! PAGE I 3 5 15 23 47 55 67 77 81 85 87 90 93 3''*' ^ VI CONTENTS The Tourney .... The Eee and the Flower . The Wanderer Poets and Critics . A Voice spake out of the Skies Doubt and Prayer Faith The Silent Voices God and the Universe The Death of the Duke of Ci DALE ARENCE AND AVON- PACE 96 98 100 102 104 107 109 no . 112 JUNE BRACKEN AND HEATHER To There on the top of the down, The wild heather round me and over me June's high bhie, When I look'd at the bracken so b and the heather so brown, I thought to myself I would offer this book to you, This, and my love together. To you that are seventy-seven, JUNE BRACKEN AND HEATHER With a faith as clear as the heights of the June- blue heaven, And a fancy as summer-new As the green of the bracken amid the gloom of m « the heather. TO THE MASTER OF BALLIOL Dear Master in our classic town, You, loved by all the younger gown There at Balliol, Lay your Plato for one minute down. II And read a Grecian tale re-told, Which, cast in later Grecian mould, Quintus Calaber Somewhat lazily handled of old ; TO THE MASTER OF BALLIOL III And on this white midwinter day — For have the far-off hymns of May, All her melodies, All her harmonies echo'd away ? — IV To'H. ' ore you turn again 1. tiioughts that lift the soul of men. Hear my cataract's Downward thunder in hollow and glen, Till, led by dream and vague desire, The woman, gliding toward the pyre. Find her warrior Stark and dark in his funeral fire. LLIOL day — f May, ly?-^ of men, THE DEATH OF CENONE and glen, desire, le pyre. fire. THE DEATH OF CENONE CEnone sat within the cave from out Whose ivy-matted mouth she used to gaze Down at the Troad ; but the goodly view Was now one blank, and all the serpent vines Which on the touch of heavenly feet had risen, And gliding thro' the branches overbower'd The naked Three, were wither'd long ago, And thro' the sunless winter morning-mist In silence wept upon the flowerless earth. And while she stared at those dead cords that ran Copyrijiht, i8y«, by Mai.inillaii & Co. 7 s THE DEATH OF (EN ONE % f It Dark thro' the mist, and Unking tree to tree, But once were gayer than a dawning sky With many a pendent bell and fragrant star, Her Past became her Present, and she saw Him, climbing toward her with the golden fruit, Him, happy to be chosen Judge of Gods, Her husband in the flush of youth and dawn, Paris, himself as beauteous as a God. Anon from out the long ravine below, She heard a wailing cry, that seem'd at first Thin as the batlike shrillings of the Dead When driven to Hades, but, in coming near. Across the downward thunder of the brook Sounded HEnone'-; and on a sudden he, Paris, no longer beauteous as a God, Struck by a poison'd arrow in the fight. Lame, crooked, reeling, livid, thro' the mist THE DEATH OF (ENONE vv: Rose, like the wraith of his dead self, and moan'd * Q^none, my (Enone, while we dwelt Together in this valley — hai)py then — Too happy had I died within thine arms, Before the feud of Gods had marr'd our peace, And sunder'd each from each. I am dying now Pierced by a poison'd dart. Save me. Thou knowest, Taught by some God, whatever herb or balm May clear the blood from poison, and thy fame Is blown thro' all the Troad, and to thee The shepherd brings his adder-bitten lamb, The wounded warrior climbs from Troy to thee. My life and death are in thy hand. The Gods Avenge on stony hearts a fruitless prayer For pity. Let me owe my life to thee. I wrought thee bitter wrong, but thou forgive. ^f .1 Ir lO T//E DEATH OF (ENONE Forget it. Man is but the slave of Fate. (Enone, by thy love which once was mine, Help, heal me. I am poison'd to the heart.' * And I to mine ' she said ' Adulterer, Go back to thine adulteress and die ! j-.i t* I I He groan'd, he turn'd, and in the mist at once Became a shadow, sank and disappear'd. But, ere the mountain rolls into the plain. Fell headlong dead ; and of the shepherds one Their oldest, and the same wr«o first had found Paris, a naked babe, among the woods Of Ida, following lighted on him there. And shouted, and the shepherds heard and came. One raised the Prince, one sleek'd the squalid hair, One kiss'd his hand, another closed his eyes, And then, remembering the gay playmate rear'd THE DBA TH OF (EN ONE II Among them, and forgetful of the man, Whose crime had half unpeopled Ilion, these All that day long labour'd, hewing the pines, And built their shepherd-prince a funeral pile ; And, while the star of eve was drawing light From the dead sun, kindled the pyre, and all Stood round it, hush'd, or calling on his name. But when the white fog vanish'd like a ghost Before the day, and every topmost pine Spired into bluest heaven, still in her cave, Amazed, and ever seeming stared upon By ghastlier than the Gorgon head, a face, — His face deform'd by lurid blotch and blain — There, like a creature frozen to the heart Beyond all hope of warmth, CEnone sat Nc'- moving, till in front of that ravine Which drowsed in gloom, self-darkeu'd from the west, .-^s.it^-jiwa.'jr <^ ^1 12 THE DEATH OF (EN ONE i i i M The sunset blazed along the wall of Troy. Then her head sank, she slept, and thro' her dream A ghostly murmur floated, 'Come to me, ^Enone ! I can wrong thee now no more, (Enone, my CFnone,* and the dream Wail'd in her, when she woke beneath the stars. What star could burn so low? not Ilion yet. What light was there? She rose and slowly down, By the long torrent's ever-deepen'd roar. Paced, following, as in trance, the silent cry. She waked a bird of prey that scream'd and past ; She roused a snake that hissing writhed away ; A panther sprang across her path, she heard The shriek of some lost life among the pines, But when she gain'd the broader vale, and saw The ring of faces redden'd by the flames THE DEATH OF CENONE n Enfolding tliat dark body which had lain Of old in her embrace, paused — and then ask'd Falteringly, * Who lies on yonder pyre ? ' But every man was mute for reverence. Then moving quickly forward till the heat Smote on her brow, she lifted up a voice Of shrill command, • Who burns upon the pyre ? ' Whereon their oldest and their boldest said, ' He, whom thou wouldst not heal ! ' and all at once The morning light of happy marriage broke Thro' all the clouded years of widowhood. And muffling up her comely head, and crying • Husband ! ' she leapt upon the funeral pile, And mixt herself with him and past in fire. Mi^j^iAmm.-im^i*^ ** ST. TELEMACHUS . u 't— ST. TELEMACHUS Had the fierce ashes of some fiery peak Been hiirl'd so high they ranged about the globe For day by day, thro' many a blood-red eve, In that four-hundredth summer after Christ, The wrathful sunset glared against a cross Rear'd on the tumbled ruins of an old fane No longer sacred to the Sun, and flamed On one huge slope beyond, where in his cave The man, whose pious hand had built the cross, A man who never changed a word with men, Fasted and pray'd, Telemachus the Saint. Copyright, 1892, by Maciiiillan & Co. J17 ii 11 i8 ST. TELEMACHUS Eve after eve that haggard anchorite Would haunt the desolated fane, and there Gaze at the ruin, often mutter low * Vicisti Galilaee ' ; louder again. Spurning a shatter'd fragment of the God, ' Vicisti Galilaee ! ' but — when now Bathed in that lurid crimson — ask'd * Is earth On fire to the West? or is the Demon -god W^roth at his fall ? ' and heard an answer * Wake Thou deedless dreamer, lazying out a life Of self-suppression, not of selfless love.' And once a flight of shadowy fighters crost The disk, and once, he thought, a shape with wings Game sweeping by him, and pointed to the West, And at his ear he heard a whisper * Rome ' And in his heart he cried ' The call of God ! ' ST. TELEMACHUS 19 And call'd arose, and, slowly plunging down Thro' that disastrous glory, set his face By waste and field and town of alien tongue, Following a hundreei sunsets, and the sphere Of westward-wheeling stars ; and every dawn Struck from him his own shadow on to Rome. Foot-sore, way-worn, at length he touch'd his goal, The Christian city. All her splendour fail'd To lure those eyes that only yearn'd to see, Fleeting betwixt her coluran'd palace-walls. The shape with wings. Anon there past a crowd With shameless laughter, Pagan oath, and jest. Hard Romans brawling of their monstrous games ; He, all but deaf thro' age and weariness, And muttering to himself 'The call of (iod' And borne along by that full stream of men, IJke some old wreck on some indrawing sea, 20 ST. TELEMACHUS \S Gain'd their huge Colosseum. The caged beast Yell'd, as he yell'd of yore for Christian blood. Three slaves were trailing a dead lion away, One, a dead man. He stumbled in, and sat Blinded ; but when the momentary gloom, Made by the noonday blaze without, had left His aged eyes, he raised them, and beheld A blood-red awning waver overhead, The dust send up a steam of human blood. The gladiators moving toward their fight, And eighty thousand Christian faces watch Man murder man. A sudden strength from heaven, As some great shock may wake a palsied limb, Turn'd him again to boy, for up he sprang, And glided lightly down the stairs, and o'er The barrier that divided beast from man S7\ TELEMACHUS 21 Mi Slipt, and ran on, and flung himself between The gladiatorial swords, and call'd ' F'orbear In the great name of Him who died for men, Christ Jesus ! ' For one moment afterward A silence follow'd as of death, and then A hiss as from a wilderness of snakes, Then one deep roar as of a breaking sea, And then a shower of stones that stoned him dead, And then once more a silence as of death. His dream became a deed that woke the world. For while the frantic rabble in half-amaze Stared at him dead, thro' all the nobler hearts In that vast Oval ran a shudder of shame. The Baths, the Forum gabbled of his death, And preachers linger'd o'er his dying words, Which would not die, but echo'd on to reach ■r 22 ST. TELEMACHUS 'I Honorius, till he heard them, and decreed That Rome no more should wallow in this old lust Of Paganism, and make her festal hour Dark with the blood of man who murder'd man. h: !M (For Honorius, who succeeded to the sovereignty over Europe, supprest the gladiatorial combats practised of old in Rome, on occasion of the following event. There was one Telemachus, embracing the ascetic mode of life, who setting oat from the East and arriving at Rome for this very purpose, while that accursed spectacle was being per- formed, entered himself the circus, and descending into the arena, attempted to hold back those who wielded deadly weapons against each other. The spectators of the murder- ous fray, possest with the drunken glee of the demon who delights in such bloodshed, stoned to death the preacher of peace. The admirable Emperor learning this put a stop to that evil exhibition. — Theodoret's Ecclesiastical History^ \\ Id lust lan. ity over of old ere was fe, who for this ng per- into the . deadly murder- ion who acher of stop to AKBAR'S DREAM AKBAR'S DREAM An Inscription by Abul Fazl for a Temple in Kashmir (Blochmann xxxii.) O God in every temple 1 see people that see thee, and in every language I hear spoken, people praise thee. Polytheism and Isldm feel after thee. Each religion says, ' Thou art one, without equal.' If it be a mosque people murmur the holy prayer, and if it be a Christian Church, people ring the bell from love to Thee. Sometimes I frequent the Christian cloister, and some- times the mosque. But it is thou whom I search from temple to temple. Thy elect have no dealings with either heresy or orthodoxy ; for neither of them stands behind the screen of thy truth. Heresy to the heretic, and religion to the orthodox, Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co. 25 26 AK BAR'S DREAM A I \ : i ' \ \ \ But the dust of the rose-petal belongs to the heart of the perfume seller. Akbar and Abul Fazl before the palace at Futehpur-Sikri at night. ' Light of the nations ' ask'd his Chronicler Of Akbar ' what has darken'd thee to-night ? ' Then, after one quick glance upon the stars, And turning slowly toward him, Akbar said ' The shadow of a dream — an idle one It may be. Still I raised my heart to heaven, I pray'd against the dream. To pray, to do — To pray, to do according to the prayer, Are, both, to worship Alia, but the prayers. That have no successor in deed, are faint And pale in Alla's eyes, fair mothers they Dying in childbirth of dead sons. I vow'd Whate'er my dreams, I still would do the right I A K" BAR'S DREAM 27 Thro' all the vast dominion which a sword, That only conquers men to conquer peace, Has won me. Alia be my guide 1 But come, My noble friend, my faithful counsellor. Sit by my side. While thou art one with me, I seem no longer like a lonely man In the king's garden, gathering here and thtre From each fair plant the blossom choicest-grown To wreathe a crown not only for the king But in due time for every Mussulman, Brahmin, and Buddhist, Christian, and Parsee, Thro' all the warring world of Hindustan. Well spake thy brother in his hymn to heaven " Thy glory baffles wisdom. All the tracks Of science making toward Thy Perfectness Are blinding desert sand ; we scarce can spell E4 i i i i\ '\ li dS AKBAK'S DREAM The Alif of Thine Al])habet of Love." He knows Himself, men nor themselves nor Him, For every sphnter'd fraction of a sect Will clamour '' / am on the Perfect Way, All else is to perdition." Shall the rose Cry to the lotus "No flower thou"? the palm ' Call to the cypress *' I alone am fair"? The mango spurn the melon at his foot? " Mine is the one fruit Alia made for man." Look how the living pulse of Alia beats Thro' all His world. If every single star Should shriek its claim "I only am in heaven" Why that were such sphere-music as the Greek Had hardly dream'd of. There is light in ail. And light, with more or less of shade, in all % M Th N(i A An A KB A IV S DREAM 39 Man-modes of worship; but our Ulama, Who "sitting on green sofas contemplate The torment of the damn'd " already, these Are like wild brutes new-caged — the narrower The cage, the more their fury. Me they front With sullen brows. What wonder ! I decreed That even the dog was clean, that men may taste Swine-flesh, drink wine ; they know too that when- e er In our free Hall, where each philosophy Aftd mood of faith may hold its own, they blurt Their furious formalisms, I but hear The clash of tides that meet in narrow seas. Not the Great Voice not the true Deep. To drive A people from their ancient fold of Faith, And wall them up perforce in mine — unwise, 30 AKBAK'S DREAM i I ii Unkinglike ; — and the morning of my reign Was redden'd by that cloud of shame when I . . . I hate the rancour of their castes and creeds, I let men worship as they will, I reap No revenue from the field of unbelief. I cull from every faith and race the best And bravest soul for counsellor and friend. I loathe the very name of infidel. I stagger at the Koran and the sword. I shudder at the Christian and the stake ; Yet "Alia," says their sacred book, "is Love," ' And when the Goan Padre quoting Him, Issa Ben Mariam, his own prophet, cried " Love one another little ones " and " bless " Whom? even "your persecutors"! there methought The cloud was rifted by a purer gleam Than glances from the sun of our Islam. AKBAR'S DREAM 31 And thou rememberest what a fury shook Those pillars of a moulder'd faith, when he, That other, prophet of their fall, proclaimed His Master as ** the Sun of Righteousness," Yea, Alia here on earth, who caught and held His people by the bridle-rein of Truth. What art thou saying? "And was not Alia call'd In old Iran the Sun of Love? and Love The net of truth?" A voice from old Iran ! Nay, but I know it — his, the hoary Sheik, On whom the women shrieking "Atheist" flung Filth from the roof, the mystic melodist W^ho all but lost himself in Alia, him Ab{i Said a sun but dimlv seen Here, till the mortal morning mists of earth :1; 32 AKBAK'S DREAM Fade in the noon of heaven, when creed and race Shall bear false witness, each of each, no more. But find their limits by that larger light, And overstep them, moving easily Thro' after-ages in the love of Truth, The truth of Love. The sun, the sun ! they rail At me the Zoroastrian. Let the Sun, Who heats our earth to yield us grain and fruit. And laughs upon thy field as well as mine. And warms the blood of Shiah and Sunnee, Symbol the Eternal ! Yea and may not kings P^xpress Him also by their warmth of love For all they rule — by equal law for all? By deeds a light to men? But no such light ■m^;^ I Glanced from our Presence on tlie face of one, AK BAR'S DREAM IZ Who breaking in upon us yestermorn, With all the Hells a-glare in either eye, Yell'd "hast thou brought us down a new Koran From heaven? art thou the Prophet? canst thou work Miracles?" and the wild horse, anger, plunged To fling me, and fail'd. Miracles ! no, not I Nor he, nor any. I can but lift the torch Of Reason in the dusky cave of Life, And gaze on this great miracle, the World, Adoring That who made, and makes, and is. And is not, what I gaze on — all else Form, Ritual, varying with the tribes of men. Ay but, my friend, thou knovvest 1 hold that forms Are needful : only let the hand that rules, With politic care, with utter gentleness. I m AKBAR'S DREAM Mould them for all his people. Vi And what are furms? Fair garments, plain or rich, and fitting close Or flying looselier, warm'd but by the heart Within them, moved but by the living limb, And cast aside, when old, for newer, — Forms ! The Spiritual in Nature's market-place — The silent Alphabet-of-heaven-in-man Made vocal — banners blazoning a Power That is not seen and rules from far away — A silken cord let down from Paradise, When fine Philosophies would fail, to draw The crowd from wallowing in the mire of earth, And all the more, when these behold their Lord, Who shaped the forms, obey them, and himself Here on this bank in some way live the life Beyond the bridge, and serve tliat Infinite } AK BAR'S DREAM 35 Within us, as without, that All-in-all, And over all, the never-changing One And ever-changing Many, in praise of Whom The Christian bell, the cry from off the mosque, And vaguer voices of Polytheism Make but one music, harmonising, " Pray." There westward — under yon slow-falling star. The Christians own a Spiritual Head ; And following thy true counsel, by thine aid. Myself am such in our Islam, for no Mirage of glory, but for power to fuse My myriads into union under one ; To hunt the tiger of oppression out I'rom office ; and to spread the Divine Faith Like c:alming oil on all their stormy creeds. ■^ ^mv And fill the hollows between wave and wave ; To nurse my children on the milk of Truth, 36 AK BAR'S DREAM ( 1 And alchemise old hates into the gold Of Love, and make it current ; and beat back The menacing poison of intolerant priests, Those cobras ever setting up their hoods — One Alia ! one Kali fa ! Still — at times A doubt, a fear, — and yester afternoon I dream'd, — thou knowest how deep a well of I i . love My heart is for my son, Saleem, mine heir, — And yet so wild and wayward that my dream — He glares askance at thee as one of those Who mix the wines of heresy in the cup Of counsel — so — I pray thee Well, 1 dream'd That stone by stone I renr'd a sacred fane, A temple, neither Pagod, Mosque, nor Church, A KHAR'S DREAM 37 But loftier, simpler, always open-door'd To every breath from heaven, and Truth and Peace And Love and Justice came and dwelt therein ; But while we stood rejoicing, I and thou, I heard a mocking laugh " the new Koran ! " And on the sudden, and with a cry " Saleem " Thou, thou — I saw thee fall before me, and then Me too the black-wing'd Azrael overcame. But Death had ears and eyes ; I watch'd my son, And those that follow'd, loosen, stone from stone. All my fair work ; and from the rr.in arose The shriek and curse of trampled millions, even As in the time before ; but while I groan'd. From out the sunset pour'd an alien race. Who fitted stone to stone again, and Truth, Peace, Love and Justice came and dwelt therein, Nor in the field without were seen or heard 38 AK BAR'S DREAM Fire^: of Siittee, nor wail of baby- wife, Or Indian widow; and in sleep I said "All praise to Alia by whatever hands My mission be accomplish'd ! " but we hear Music : our palace is awake, and morn Has lifted the dark eyelash of thfe Night From off the rosy cheek of waking Day. Our hymn to the sun. They sing it. Let us go.' Hymn i 1 I Once again thou flamest heavenward, once again we see thee rise. Every morning is thy birthday gladdening human hearts and eyes. AKBAR'S DREAM 39 Every morning here we greet it, bowing lowly down before thee, Thee the Godlike, thee the changeless in thine ever-changing skies. II Shadow-maker, shadow-slayer, arrowing light from clime to clime, Hear thy myriad laureates hail thee monarch in their woodland rhyme. Warble bird, and open flower, .and, men, below the dome of azure Kneel adoring Him the Timeless in the flame that measures Time ! (•! i'i' 'I I 'I f 1 If rf i *1 NOTES TO AKBAR'S DREAM The great Mogul Emperor Akbar was born October 14, 1542, and died 1605. At 13 he succeeded his father Huniayun; at 18 he himself assumed the sole charge of government. He subdued and ruled over fifteen large provinces; his empire included all India north of the Vindhya Mountains — in the south of India he was not so successful. His tolerance of religions and his abhorrence of religious persecution put our Tudors to shame. He invented a new eclectic religion by which he hoped to unite all creeds, castes and peoples : and his legislation was remarkable for vigour, justice and humanity. * 77/1' ^/ory baffles wisdom!' The Emperor quotes from a hymn to the Deity by Faizi, brother of Abul Fazl, Akbar's chief friend and minister, who wrote the Ain i Akbari (Annals of Akbar). His influence on his age was immense. It may be that he and his brother Faizi led Akbar's mind away from 40 NOTES TO AKBAR'S DREAM 41 Islam and the Prophet — this charge is brought against him by every Muhammatlan writer; but Abul Fazl also led his sovereign to a true appreciation of his duties, and from the moment that he entered Court, the problem of success- fully ruling over mixed races, which Islam in few other countries had to solve, was carefully considered, and the policy of toleration was the result (Blochmann xxix.) Abul Fazl thus gives an account of himself * The advice of my Father with difficulty kept me back from acts of folly; my mind had no rest and my heart felt itself drawn to the sages of Mongolia or to the hermits on Lebanon. I longed for interviews with the Llamas of Tibet or with the padres of i^ortugal, and I would gladly sit with the priests of the Parsis and the learned of the Zendavesta. I was sick of the learned of my own land.' He became the intimate friend and adviser of Akbar, and helped him in his tolerant system of government. Professor Blochmann writes ' Impressed with a favourable idea of the value of his Hindu subjects, he (Akbar) had resolved when pensively sitting in the evenings on the solitary stone at Futehpur-Sikri to rule with an even hand all men in his dominions; but as the extreme views of the learned and the lawyers continually urged him to persecute instead of to heal, he instituted discussions, because, believing him- self to be in error, he thouglit it his duty as ruler to inquire.' 'These discussions took place every Tlu'rsday night in the Ibadat-khana a building at Futehpur-Sikri, erected for the purpose' (Malleson). i ■I K'-i ^i 42 NOTES TO AK BAR'S DREAM In these discussions Abul Fazl became a great power, and he induced the chief of the disputants to draw up a docu- ment defining the ' divine Faith ' as it was called, and assign- ing to Akbar the rank of a Mujahid, or supreme khalifah, the vicegerent of the one true God, Abul Fazl was finally murdered at the instigation of Akbar's ',jn Saiim, who in his Memoirs declares that it was Abul Fazl who had perverted his father's mind so that he denied the divine mission of Mahomet, and turned away his love from his son. Faizi, When Vkbar conquered the North-West Provinces of India, Faizi, then 20, began his life as a poet, and earned his living as a physician. He is reported to have been very generous and to have treated the poor for n-./aiing. His fame reached Akbar's ears who commanded him to come to the camp at Chitor. Akbar was delighted with his varied knowledge and scholarship and macr^ the poet teacher to his sons. Faizi at 33 was appointed Chief Poet (1588). He collected a fine library of 4300 MSS. and died at the age of 40 (1595) when Akbar incorporated his collection of rare books in the Imperial Library. The Warring World of Hindostan. Akbar's rapid con- quests and the good government of his fifteen provinces with their complete military, civil and political systems make him conspicuous among the great kings of history. The Goan Padre. Abul Fazl relates that * one night the NOTES TO AKBAK'S DREAM 43 Ibadat-khana was brightened by the presence of Padre Ro- dolpho, who for intelligence and wisdom was unrivalled among Christian doctors. Several carping and bigoted men attacked him and this afforded an opportunity for the dis- play of the calm judgment and justice of the assembly. These men brought forward the old received assertions, and did not attempt to arrive at truth by reasoning. Their statements were torn to pieces, and they were nearly put to shame, when they began to attack the contradictions of the Gospel, but they could not prove their assertions. With per- fect calmness, and earnest conviction of the truth he replied to their arguments.' . *vl !i| Abi'i Sa^hi. ' Love is the net of Truth, Love is the noose of God ' is a quotation from the great Sufee poet Abd Sa'td — born A.D. 968, died at *he age of 83. He is a mystical poet, and some of his expressions have been compared to our George Herbert. Of Shaikh Abft Sa'td it is recorded that he said, ' when my affairs had reacht a certain pitch I buried under the dust my books and opened a shop on my own account {i.e. began to teach with authority), and verily men represented mc as that which I was not, until it came to this, that they went to the Qadht and testified against me of unbe- lieverhood; and women got upon the roofs and cast unclean things upon me.' ( Vide reprint from article in National Review, March, 1891, by C. J. Pickering.) V f Aziz, I am not aware that there is any record of such 44 NOTES TO AK BAR'S DREAM m U ' \ I: ■ i ,v "I fi 1 1 intrusion upon the kind's privacy, l)ut the expressions in the text occur in a letter sent by Akl)ar's foster-ljrother Aziz, who refused to come to court when summoned and threw up his government, and ' after writing an insolent and reproachful letter to Akbar in which he asked him if he had received a book from heaven, or if he could work miracles like Mahomet that he presumed to introduce a new religion, warned him that he was on the way to eternal perdition, and concluded with a prayer to God to bring him back into the path of salvation' (Klphinstone). 'The Koran, the Old and New Testament, and the Psalms of David arc called /'oo/cs by way of excellence, and their followers "People of the Book"' (Elphinstone). Akbar according to Abdel Kadir had his son Murad instructed in the (iospel, and used to make him begin his lessons ' In the name of Christ ' instead of in the usual way ' In the name of God.' To drive A people from their ancient fold of Truth, etc. jMalleson says ' This must have happened because Akbar states it, but of the forced conversions I have found no record. This must have taken place whilst he was still a minor, and whilst the chief authority was wielded by Bairam.' ' / reap no revenue from the field of unbelief ' The Hindus are fond of pilgrimages, and Akbar removed NOTES TO A A' BAR'S DA'EAM 45 a remunerative tax raised by his predecessors on pilgrimages. He also abolished the fezza or capitation tax on those who differed from the Mahomedan faith. He discouraged all excessive prayers, fasts and pilgrimages. Sati. Akbar decreed that every v^'idovv who showed the least desire not to be burnt on her husband's funeral pyre, should be let go free and unharmed. Baby-wife. He forbad marriage before the age of puberty. Indian widow. Akbar ordained that remarriage was lawful. \. ^i Mtisic. ' Abi it a watch before daybreak,' says Abul Fazl, the musicians played to the king in the palace. * His Majesty had such a knowledge of the science of music as trained musicians do not possess.' ' 77ie Divine Faith.'' The Divine Faith slowly passed away under the immediate successors of Akbar. An idea of what the Divine Faith was may be gathered from the inscription at the head of the poem. The document referred to, Abul Fazl says 'brought about excellent results (i) the Court became a gathering place of the sages and learned of all creeds; the good doctrines of all religious systems were recognized, and their defects were not allowed to obscure their good features; (2) perfect toleration or peace with all ■('! u ^^ t i 46 NOTES TO AK BAR'S DREAM i ■■/' ' was established; and (3) the perverse and evil-minded were covered with shame on seeing the disinterested motives of His Majesty, and these stood in the pillory of disgrace.' Dated September 1579 — Ragab 987 (Blochmann xiv.) THE BANDIT'S DEATH 'M ( 1 ' t i?' ..1 ■-'I TO SIR WALTER SCOTT » O GREAT AM) GALLANT Sco IT, True gentleman heart, blood and bone, i would it had been my lot to have seen thee, and heard thee, and known. t 1 i ^ I have adopted Sir Walter Scott's version of the following story as given in his last journal (Death of II Bizarro) — but I have taken the Uberty of making some slight alterations. (( i THE BANDIT'S DEATH Sir, do you see this dagger? nay, why do you start aside? I was not going to stab you, tho' I am the Bandit's bride. You have set a price on his head : I may claim it without a lie. What have I here in the cloth? I will show it you by-and-by. Sir, I was once a wife. I had one brief summer of bliss . % i Copyright, 1892, by Macniillan & Co. 49 k i: ■1 M j I' 50 T//E BANDIT'S DEATH K. \ But the Bandit had vvoo'd me in vain, and he siabb'd my Piero with this. And he dragg'd me up there to his cave in the mountain, and there one day He had left his dagger behind him. I found it. I hid it away. For he reek'd with the blood of Piero; his kisses were red with his crime. And I cried to the Saints to avenge me. They heard, they bided their time. In a while I bore him a son, and he loved to dandle the child, And that was a link between l..s ; but I — to be * t reconciled ? — he THE BANDIT'S DEATH 51 No, by the Mother of God, tho' I think I hated him less, And — well, if I sinn'd last night, I will find the Priest and confess. Listen ! we three were alone in the dell at the close of the day. I was lilting a song to the babe, and it laugh'd like a dawn in May. t M I'li Then on a sudden we saw your soldiers crossing the riclge, And he caught my little one from me : we dipt down under the bridge ti By the great dead pine — you know it — and heard, as we crouch'd below, X. I» THE BANDIT'S DEATH The clatter of arms, and voices, and men passing to and fro. ^*; Black was the night when we crept away — not a star in the sky — Hush'd as the heart of the grave, till the little one utter'd a cry. I whisper'd 'give it to me,' but he would not answer me — then He gript it so hard by the throat that the boy never cried again. We return'd to his cave — the link was broken — he sobb'd and he wept, And cursed himself; then he yawn'd, for the wretch could sleep, and he slept THE BANDIT'S DEATH 53 Ay, till dawn stole into the cave, and a ray red as blood Glanced on the strangled face — I could make Sleep Death, if I would — Glared on at the murder'd son, and the murderous father at rest, ... I drove the blade that had slain my husband thrice thro' his breast. :IJ boy He was loved at least by his dog : it was chain'd, but its horrible yell 'She has kill'd him, has kill'd him, has kill'd him' rang out all down thro' the dell, Till I felt I could end myself too with the dagger — so deafen'd and dazed — i> * 54 THE BANDIT'S DEATH u. Take it, and save me from it ! I fled. I was all but crazed With the grief that gnaw'd at my heart, and the weight that dragg'd at my hand ; But thanks to the Blessed Saints that I came on none of his band; I And the band will be scatter'd now their gallant captain is dead, For I with this dagger of his — do you doubt me ? Here is his head ! as all d the e on allant THE CHURCH-WARDEN AND THE CURATE me? i iii THE CHURCH-WARDEN AND THE CURATE This is writte'.i in the dialect which was current in my youth at Spilsby and in the country about it. Eh? good daay! good daay ! thaw it bean't not mooch of a daay, Nasty, casselty weather ! an' mea haafe down wi' my haay ! 57 iK-- .. .». 58 CIWKLH-WARDEN AND CURATE II How be the farm gittin on? noiiways. Gittin on i'deeiid ! Why, tonups was haiife on 'em fingers an' toas, an' the mare brokken-kneead, An' pigs didn't sell at fall, an' wa lost wer Hal- deny cow, An' it beats ma to knaw wot she died on, but wool's looking oop ony how. Ill An' soa they've maade tha a parson, an' thou'U git along, niver fear. Fur I bean chuch-warden mysen i' the parish fur fifteen year. CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE 59 Well — sin ther bea chuch-wardens, iher mun be parsons an' all, An' if t'one stick alongside t'uther the chuch weant happen a fall. IV Fur I wur a Baptis wonst, an' agean the toithe an' the raate, Till I fun that it vvarn't not the gaainist waay to the narra Gaate. An' I can't abear 'em, I can't, fur a lot on 'em coom'd ta-year — I wur down wi' the rheumatis then — to my pond to wesh thessens theere Sa I sticks like the ivin as long as I lives to the owd chuch now, f 60 CHURCH -WARDEN AND CURATE \S Fur they wesh'd their sins i' my pond, an' I doubts they poison'd the cow. Ay, an' ya seed the Bishop. They says 'at he coom'd fra nowt Burn i' traiide. Sa I warrants 'e niver said haafe wot 'e thowt. But 'e creeiipt an' 'e crawl'd along, till 'e feeald 'e could howd 'is oan, Then 'e married a great Yerl's darter, an' sits o' the Bishop's throan. VI Now I'll gie tha a bit o' my mind an' tha weant be taiikin' offence. CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE 6i Fur thou be a big scholard now wi' a hoonderd haacre o' sense — But sich an obstropulous lad — naiiy, naay — fur I minds tha sa well, Tha'd niver not hopple thy tongue, an' the tongue's sit afire o' Hell, As I says to my missis to-daiiy, when she hurl'd a plaiite at the cat An' anoother agean my noase. Ya was niver sa bad as that. vn But I minds when i' Howlaby beck won daily ya was ticklin' o' trout, An' keeiiper 'e seed ya an roon'd, an' 'e beal'd to ya ' Lad coom bout ' ^ CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE V r^ An' ya stood oop maakt i' the beck, an' ya tell'd 'im to knaw his awn plaace An' ya call'd 'im a clown, ya did, an' ya thraw'd the fish i' 'is faace. An' 'e torn'd as red as a stag-tuckey's wattles, but theer an' then }> I coamb'd 'im down, fur I promised ya'd niver not do it agean. i\ VIII An' I cotch'd tha wonst i' my garden, when thou was a height-year- howd, An' I fun thy pockets as full o' my pippins as iver they'd 'owd, An' thou was as peiirky as owt, an' tha maade me as mad as mad, CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE 63 But I says to tha * keeap 'em, an' welcome ' fur thou was the parson's lad. DC thou An' Parson 'e 'ears on it all, an' then taiikes kindly to me, An' then I wur chose Chuch-warden an' coom'd to the top o' the tree, Fur Quoloty's hall my friends, an' they maakes ma a help to the poor. When I gits the plaate fuller o' Soondays nor ony chuch-warden afoor, Fur if iver thy feyther 'ed riled me I kep' mysen nieeiik as a lamb, An' saw by the (iraiice o' the Lord, Mr. Harry, I ham wot I ham. 64 church-wardemV and curate But Parson 'e 7i'i7l speak out, saw, now 'e be sixty- seven, % i Si. • He'll niver swap Owlby an' Scratby fur owt but the Kingdom o' Heaven ; An' thou'U be 'is Curate 'ere, but, if iver tha means to git 'igher, Tha mun tackle the sins o' the Wo'ld, an' not the faults o' the Scjuire. An' I reckons tha'll light of a livin' somewheers i' the Wovvd or the Fen, If tha cottons down to thy betters, an' keeaps thy- sen to thysen. IJut niver not speiik plaain out, if tha wants to git forrardb a bit, But creeap along the hedge-bottoms, an' thou'U be a Bishop yit. CHURCH -WARDEN AND CURATE H XI Naiiy, but tha mun speiik hout to the Baptises here i' the town, P'ur moast on 'cm talks agean tithe, an' I'd hke tha to preach 'em down, Fur thefyQ been a-preachin' mca down, they heve, an' 1 haates 'em iiow. Fur they leaved their nasty sins i' my pond, an' it poison'd the cow. I\ I GLOSSARY fi i\ tt pi r ' ' Casselty,' casualty, chance weather. ' Haafe down wi' my haiiy,' while my grass is only half- mown. * Fingers an' toas,' a disease in turnips. ' Fall,' autumn. * If t'one stick alongside t'uther,' if the one hold by the other. One is pronounced like ' own.' ^ * Fun,' found. 'Gaainist,' nearest. * Ta-year,' this year. * Ivin,' ivy. * Obstropulous,' obstreperous — here the Curate makes a sign of deprecation. * Hopple ' or * hobble,' to tie the legs of a skittish cow when she is being milked. ' Heal'd,' bellowed. In such words as ' torned,' ' turned,' * hurled,' the r is hardly audible. * Stag-tuckey,' turkey-cock. ' Height-year-howd,' eight-year-old. « 'Owd,' hold. ' Pearky,' pert. * Wo'ld,' the world. Short o. * VVowd,' wold. 66 ly half- by the nakes a ish cow is hardly CHARITY ((:- i I i HiiWiH faiiw CHARITY What am I doing, you say to m**, * .. isting the sweet summer hours ' ? Haven't you eyes ? I am dressii ^ the grave of a woman with flowers. II For a woman min'd the world, as God's own scriptures tell, And a man ruin'd mine, but a woman, God bless her, kept me from Hell. Copyright, 1892, by Mucniillan & Co. 69 .»•■»..-.*,.-■ ia «« .*»■ # ..» ,«t. .*.v5 ^^ ;■ 70 CHARITY III Love nie ? O yes, no doubt — how long — till you threw me aside ! i} Dresses and laces ami jewels and never a ring for the bride. IV All very well just now to be calling me darling and i I ?» il. sweet, And after a while would it matter so much if I came on the street? W You when I met you first — when he brought you I — I turn'd away And the hard blue eyes have it still, that stare of a beast of prey. 'A. mlmmmmi^0L ■ ^ ■ f ■-■ • • »"** ■ ;/ -.nsw CHARITY 71 VI You were his friend — you — you — when he prom- ised to make me his bride, And you knew that he meant to betray me — you knew — you knew that he Hed. /•I t ■ 1 ill vn He married an heiress, an orphan with half a shire of estate, — I sent him a desolate wail and a curse, when I learn'd my fate. VIII For I used to play with the knife, creep down to the river-shore, Moan to myself ' one plunge — then quiet for ever- more.' '« I 7« CHARITY IX ' Would the man have a touch of remorse when he heard what an end was mine? Or brag to his fellow rakes of his conquest over their wine? t! ' i Money — my hire — his money — I sent him back what he gave, — Will you move a little that way? your shadow falls on the grave. XI Jl Two trains clash'd : then and there he was crush'd in a moment and died^ But the new-wedded wife was unharm'd, tho' sitting close at his side. CHARITY 73 XII She found my letter upon him, my wail of reproach and scorn ; I had cursed the woman he married, and him, and the day I was born. ^11 XIII They put him aside for ever, and after a week — no more — A stranger as welcome as Satan — a widow came to my door ; XIV So I turn'd my face to the wall, I was mad, I was raving-wild, J was close on that hour of dishonour, the birth of a baseborn child. 74 CHARITY XV h O you that can flatter your victims, and juggle, and lie and cajole, Man, can you even guess at the love of a soul for a soul? XVI I had cursed her as woman and wife, and in wife and woman I found The tenderest Christ- like creature that ever stept on the ground. XVII She watcii'd nie, she nursed nie, she fed me, she sat day and night by my bed. Till the joyless birthday came of a boy born happily \\S dead. CHARITY 75 XVIII And her name? what was it? I ask'd her. She said with a sudden glow On her patient face * My dear, I will tell you before I go.' XIX And I when I learnt it at last, I shriek'd, I sprang from my seat, I wept, and I kiss'd her hands, I flung myself down at her feet, 1 1 % XX And we pray'd together for //////, for ///;// who had given her the name. She has left mc enough to live on. T need no wnges of shame. ^; r 11 ', I If- 76 ClIAKITY XX! She died of a fever caught when a nurse in a hos- pital ward. She is high in the Heaven of Heavens, she is face to face with her Lord, xxri I I) K !»: And He sees not her Hke anywhere in this pitiless world of ours ! I have told you my tale, (iet you gone. I am dressing her grave with flowers. il' J KAPIOLANI Kapiolani \va a great chicftaiiiess who lived in the Sandwich Islands at the beginning of this century. She won the cause of Christianity by openly defying the priests of the terrible goddess Peele. In spite of their threats of vengeance she ascended the volcano Mauna- Loa, then clambered down over a bank of cinders 400 feet high to the great lake of lire (nine miles round) — Kilauea — the home and haunt of the goddess, and flung into the boiling lava the consecrated berries which it was sacrileite for a woman to handle. ) ^ f Wmkn from the terrors of Nature a people have fashion'tl and won hip a Spirit o*" I'A'il, Hlest be the Voice of the Teacher who calls to tlUMll ' Set yourselves free !' n