'^ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES f \ '% m m ^^^ra 15 W^ Sjtw^ffltfclSS p^ ^^Sk iC n«^wfnnfi^^ Iroi TALES IN V ^ i BY J. A. GOODCHILI), Author of'' Somnia Medici.'' " I judge the Author of these Poems to be one who is far more than a mere follower of my own." Tennyson. LONDON : HORACE COX, WINDSOR HOUSE, BREAM'S BUILDINGS, CHANCERY LANE, E.C. By the same Author, "Lyrics,' Price 5s. LONDON' : HORACE COX, WINDSOR HOUSE, BREAM's BUILDINGS, CHANCERY LANE, E.C. TR PREFACE. This volume is not for the Critic. I do not say that it is not for Review. Such preface needs explanation, and perhaps apology. I give the latter first, having no quarrel with Critics or Reviewers. Those of either class who have noticed my previous work have given it its full due, often more than its due ; and when the genuine Critic has taken it in hand, I have always found that the flaws pointed out were apparent from his point of view. I am not myself a professional critic of poetry, but a somewhat desultory student. Still, one who has written in rhythm for more than twenty years, and has added some thirty or forty new 91805S PREFACE. metres to the English language, must needs have examined a large number of metrical compositions in a more or less critical frame of mind. Now, if such critical moments yield a satisfaction in their solved results akin to that of a painter who observes the effects producible by various media or pigments, such satisfaction is genuine enough, but differs wholly from the pleasure obtainable by the unskilled observer of pictures which are not masterpieces of handling, and afford no lesson in technique. Judging from my own experience, a critical standpoint teaches us to admire the beauties, and to flatter ourselves with the idea that we could better the failures of form in art ; whilst we lose in measure the less analytical delight of sympathy with its expression of living thought. Hoping that this apology to the Critic will be found sufficient, 1 will proceed to explain my reason for the publication of this volume of "Tales in Verse." I have recently studied with great pleasure the eighth PREFACE. volume of that monumental series in which Mr. Miles has undertaken to abridge the labours of future histo- rians of the poetry of our century. In it we find eulogiums of the work of some seventy writers, together with fairly adequate specimens from the pages of the published volumes of a clear majority of this large number. The great mass of these excerpts are good, many of them are very good indeed, and have the highest interest for students of modern poetry. In fact, as I have said, I was delighted with my acquisition. Yet, when this same volume is placed before the average reader, it is with difficulty that he can be induced to take any interest in its contents, until such pieces as the " Cruise of the Rover," or the " Ballad of East and West " have been pointed out to him amongst them. Certainly these are as interesting to the student of verse as anything in the book, but he will find interest throughout, which is not the case with the public. In fact, the non-critic and the PREFACE. non-student seeks stories rather than sonnets, and finds marionettes more amusing than statuary. Of course, in the two instances I have quoted, the marionettes are the equals, or more than the equals, of most of the statuary. Still, poor though my puppets be, I have set up once more eight or nine of the litde sets which they have enacted with more or less applause on the stage afforded by " Somnia Medici," now almost out of print ; and I have added a like number of fresh scenes, to form a variety entertainment, dedicated, not to the Critic, but to the sovereign Public. CONTENTS. PAGE The Blast ok Lehel I The Organ-Builder II St. Anselm's Dream • 37 The Witch-Water. ■ 52 The Pride which Apes Humility . • 75 The Trinity of Thalkore • 11 Secrets ■ 90 The City ok Ad . . 1 10 Tessa . 121 Philemon . 129 In a Studio ..... • 136 CONTENTS. The Ascent of Kai Khosru . The Wizard During Her Majesty's Pleasure The Gnome .... The Idiot .... The Tale of Rabbi Joseph 143 165 188 193 217 228 THE BLAST OF LEHEL. By Augsburg flowed the Magyar host right reckless in its pride, Choked by the thronging drift of spoils and captives in its tide ; A thousand waggons heaped with wealth rolled on- ward with that wave, Which, eddying now beside the Lech, was filled beside the Save. Its crest was two score thousand men of our Hunga- rian race, But dastard Conrad at the tail brought Czechs and Germans base. We sang the songs of Hungar}-. We rambled far and near. We piled our shields upon the slaves, and bade them bear the spear, We stripped the oxhide from our feet, and waded in the rills, B 2 THE BLAST OF LEHEL. Where now the valley narrowed down between two wood-crowned hills ; Till suddenly we turned a bend, and from our front there ran A shout which brought each laggard troop to press into the van ; For there we saw three bowshots of¥ the mile of palisade Which saved the Kaiser's host that day, and brake the Magyar blade. Upon a hillock in its rear the German eagle flew. Whose eyrie 'twas not ours to spoil, though onward swift we drew ; For, as we hack and hew the fence which bore the crest of spears, Acryis heard behind ourbackswhich tingles in our ears. The dogs we trained are on our heels. Our rearmost rank is slain. Pierced from behind ! May God wipe out the Czech for such a stain ! We face us round, and swift beneath our swords the traitors fall. A thousand die. Ten thousantl flee, and Conrad first of all. THE BLAST OF LEHEL. 3 We reck not of the foes we leave, ilie bowmen on our f^ank, We press back to the narrow pass lieside the river bank. The stream is foul with traitor blood which shall be filled with ours. We seek but to the hiding place wherein base Conrad cowers ; Till in that fatal gorge is heard a horn from either side. Bavarian foemen gave that sign. A Saxon ho^-t replied. Spears ripple all adown the hills, and on the narrow plain Wherein we slay the Czechish dogs the arrows fall like rain. A deathly shudder thrills the mass pressed closely breast on fiank, Where living men bear up the dead : and there the chieftain sank Dead from his horse on brazen helms, antl fell not to the ground ; For in that press unwounded failed the strong mnn into swound ; B 2 4 THE BLAST OF LEHEL. And few might lift an arm to strike, and none might bend a bow. As like Leviathan in pain, we shudder to and fro, Once more is heard upon our rear the Kaiser's battle cry. We turn our heads and know the hour hath come wherein to die. The steel-clad knights of Italy, the riders of the Rhine Charge fiercely on our helpless bulk in many a glittering line. Our rearmost thrust the corpses down, and scrambling from their screen, Rush singly out upon those foes whose faces may be seen ; And German knights and Flemish boors and brag- gart Milan lords ]\Iay count their tale, and find small lioast when came our play of swords. For bursting through the press at last brake back a little band Upon their shining host, and cleared a path on either hand. Scarce two score men, but each a man of men, they thrust a road THE BLAST OF LEHEL. 5 Towards where they saw ihe Kaiser's helm, the grey steed he bestrode. A thousand knights were on that path, a sea of shining steel Which, rippling bright against the breast, lay crimson at the heel. Round Bolczo and round Bela Zach right fast their bravest fell. But nowhere sank the helms so swift as 'neaih thy blade, Lehel ! Our thin wedge split the Teuton ranks, as cleaves the axe the oak. On either side the chivalry of all the Empire broke ; The Kaiser Oito turned his steed behind a fence of spears ; But in behind our ^Magyars rushed the Tyrol moun- taineers. They leapt like wild-cats on our heels, they crept beneath the girth. The long knife flashed. The INIagyar steed fell shrieking to the earth. 'I"he (Germans charged, and horse and man sank in that angry swell. 6 THE BLAST OF LEHEL. But never rider never steed like thee and thine, Lehel ! The hour had come when all must die. The last man held his place. Like men they died, and took with pride their death- wounds in the face, Save seven, the wretched wights we know, at whom the women rail, \Mio crawling down the river's bank brought hither- ward their tale How sullen Lech rose high that day, and rolled a crimson flood \^'here all the wolves of Germany might slake their thirst with blood. The sunset sloped into the vale, and from each wooded hill The Saxons and Bavarians trooped to plunder at their will And, as they gathered o'er the field, they reached the mighty corse Of one who fenced by foemen slain lay crushed beneath his horse. And round about that wondrous form an eain its bark. Some hinted at a former love, and some of love of pelf, And fouler souls found garbage in themselves to smirch herself, The maid, who by the stricken tree stood innocent, amazed Before the evil spirits that this incantation raised. And finding not a cause, she turned and angel- shielded trod The road of prayer, iu lay her doubt before the throne of God. That eve, the weary master stood alone before his bride. 26 THE ORGAN-BUILDER. Blind of the light of love, and blind for all joy else beside. His faith had seen its perfect work, but here faith failed to read The sacrifice that love had laid before his feet indeed ; And more, he failed to read as his the " Me?ie " on the wall— " Thy kingdom is divided "gainst itself, and wanteth all The full completion of a man, the voice that sings above All songs of earth a Psalm of Gold, the voice of deathless love.'' His organ, still his organ, this was true and could not lie. His wife, then } Far beyond his range her love escaped on high. He sought on earth, and deemed he saw an earthly bait of sin Beneath the mask that stayed the eyes, whilst false- hood hid within. He took her face between his hands and gazed into her eyes, Wiih thought to prol)e their blackest depths, where dwelt the thing of lies. THE ORGAN-BUILDER. 27 But still a shadow was between, the shadow of his pride, The veiling bandage self puts on that self hath ne'er untied ; And self was with its handiwork, so might not love entice The bandacrc from the loved one's eves that hid its sacrifice. (.)h, troubled spirit of the mind, sweet soul unveiled and bare Before thy piteous shrine of love, that faced the vacant stare Of this the idol of thy heart, and saw no dawn illume The rising of thy sun of love, his empire to assume, Didst thou behold a clearer thing, and track him where he stayed Before the temple of his work, the image that he made .^ If so thy pain was less thine own, but deeper was thy wound, In pity thy Love's image la\- and bled upon the ground. 28 THE ORGAN-BUILDER. But quailing 'neath thy pitying gaze, cast down and ill-content, The master read not thy fair page for his admonish- ment. So, sore perplexed, he dropped his hands and half believed her true, And half mistrusted, but he dared not strive to read anew. Yet trusted her so far as this — that on her maiden cheek He laid one kiss in sad farewell, and knew she would not speak, And touched her forehead with his hand in pleasure of her hair ; Then passed in silence from the room, with sense that she was "ware He dared not bridge the gulf between ; so wandered into night. Amid the muddy rose-strewn ways which morn had seen so bright ; Then fled no matter whither, save that thither no man came With the organ-tale of Rosenheim and therewithal his shame. THE ORGAN-BUILDER. 29 A noble heart the master's, and although fierce pangs assail One outstretched on the rack of doubt, he did not \vholl\- fail Before the silence of the skies, but, groping in the dark, He clambered slo\vly from the pits, until he saw a spark W'liere far above the heaven must be, and bent himself to bind His weary feet for wayfaring in kindness to his kind. And soon by spells he toiled again, and passed from town to town. Recasting work of feebler hands, but nevermore sat down To build an organ all complete ; thus earned his daily bread. The fruit of sorrow, scanty meals, but many a mouth it fed. And many blessed the hand that gave, but awe-struck failed to bless The stricken tree whose branches bore no oil of blessedness ; Till, as the dreary years ran on, though withered at the roots. 30 THE ORGAN-BUILDER. A gentle stir of sap rose up and thrilled the upper shoots. If bare and lightning-scathed the trunk, yet little children played Close round the hollows of its knees and climbed it unafraid ; So by-and-by the darkened sky let fall its softest rain, Till buds for kindly fruit beset each withered branch again, And, warm with a returning sun, the broken olive knew Whence came the frost which froze to hail its earlier rain and dew. And mourned the fruitless famine years, recountina: all the cost Of fruits which self had robbed from love to be devoured of frost. Last, casting off his pride, he saw the vision of the truth, As once of old she stood before the bridegroom of her youth. Twenty years have passed away Since the master musician's wedding day. THE ORGAN-BCILDER. 31 And now no flowers make bright the street, But hands clasp silently when men meet, And brighter than flowers the teardrops fall, For men grieve with a grief that has knit them all. Awestruck children, grave and still. Lean close upon mothers' hearts that thrill ^^'ith the sob they stifle. A sound of woe Through the crowded street sways to and fro, Sighing along like the frosty breeze That strips the last leaf among naked trees, Whilst a dark procession onward moves ^\'ilh the double casket of all men's loves, To lay down sorrow as seemeth meet In the minster before the mercy-seat. That the Man of Sorrows may see the face Of their grief ere it rest in its hidden place. For the outer casket beneath the pall Held an inner treasured of one and all. No sorrow of sickness in all the land But hath known ihc help of a gentle hand ; No thirst of soul l)ut a deeper grief That knew the fountain had lirought relief, And the widow's prayer had been answereil Bv one that was lavish in dailv bread ; 32 THE ORGAN-BUILDER. Whilst an angel passed manifest through the wall Of the weary prison and hospital. With her garment of love, to clothe the nude When the demon of sorrow knelt subdued, Clothed and right-minded, a thing of good. Now all was over ; this form no more Should walk unveiled among rich and poor ; P'or a virgin the marriage-feast awaits Hath carried her lamp past the palace gates ; And this in the casket that men prize Is her relic, the robe of her old tlisguise, That had foiled the love which, young and blind, Twenty years since had failed to find Such truth as a man may ne'er surmise Till the bandage of self be off his eyes. But, with self that has dwindled through weary years Till the last scale falls with the gush of tears, Walks he unknown, whom once this crowd Had vaunted ; a grizzled man and bowed. Now, had recognition but whispered him, This crowd would have torn him limb from limb. And now, as he mingled with the rest, Each word was sword-point within his breast. THE ORGAN-BUILDER. 33 And seeing as once he should have seen, He cried to her, " Pity me unclean, Who could not enter to thy shrine Of innocence, nor knew for mine The fault, and mine thy heart had I Not lacked all wisdom to descry. ( ) Lord, 1 pray thee, if there be Place of repentance, pity me, And tell her spirit that my own Knows now the song it should have known. Too late, too late !" The master bowed Unnoticed 'mid the sobbing crowd Close by the altar rails, beneath The snow-white covering of death That hides the coflin of a maid ; Whilst now the ancient bishop paid, Scant-breathed, his trilnue to the dead. He ceased at last, and loud arose Grief's answer at the sermon's close : When lo, there came a sudden thrill. And sorrow died till all was still. And all seemed waiting, whilst their blood Grew warm beneath a sudden flood D 34 THE ORGAN-BUILDER. Of sunshine, for a tempest fled Beyond the darkened vaults o'erhead, And from the darkness, Hght cried out, Keep silent ye that wail in doubt. And Silence reigned there trebly blessed In sabbath stillness of her rest, As when by the Creator's feet She lay, His seven days' toil complete ; Till down her foldless garment stole A ripple — 'twas a newborn soul. And Silence, yielding up her dead To the Almighty Father, fled. Then spake this new thing and adored The perfect vision of its Lord, Whilst angels joined the anthem given When souls repentant enter heaven. Earthwards thence some echo rolled Of " Mictham," the voice of their "Psalm of Gold," And filled with that music without alloy, The organ pealed of it's maker's joy. Then many that lay in the tombs awoke To join in the unknown song that it spoke; THE ORCAX-Bl'ILDER. 35 Whilst somewhat came forth from every heart That, rendin? the veils of the flesh apart, Rose up through the minster's roof, in flight Through the wonder-world of a nightless light; Where the Waters of Life that flood thereby, P'low pulsing that measureless mclotly ; And every created hulihle sprays, To blend again in the stream of praise. Which with (Jolden I'salms of all things complete Is the wave that swells round the Saviour's feet. But none thereafter in Rosenheim Dare tell his tlream of that organ's chime ; To the times of their end were their visions sealed. Speech hath not spoken nor ear revealed ; But each man knew, though his dream was dim, How the soul of that music had entered him, And clun"' to some note that vet might blend With the Psalm of (Jold at his latter end. Anil all knew the bridegroom had found his ])ride. Though these upon earth had been sundered wide ; For. where his heart first its bridal kept, They found him, lying like one that slept : And reail in his face the lioly calm D 2 36 THE ORG AX -BUILDER. Of him that heareth the Golden Psahii. And God that had given liis soul release Bid yet another depart in peace, For back on the ebb of the Psalm of Gold Went their bishop, being an hundred years old, Having seen sahation, and cast out A devil that compassed him sore with doubt, When the fairest ewe-lamb in all his flock Had been set for a mark and a gazing-stock. Till it "scaped the tangles of briar and thorn ; Then, that one who the sword of faith had worn Had met with mysterious overthrow In the battle of love with the ghostly foe. But the voice of that anthem stilled his heart ; So in peace he girded him to depart Like Simeon, entering into bliss, Having seen. INIay our last end be like his. ST. ANS ELM'S DREAM. WITH AX INTRODUCTION UY BROTIIKR ALPHEGE, MOXK OF CANTERBURY. Ye young men say, " This time is worst of times ; " But I, that " time grows better from the worse, And each new wrong provides its remedy '" — For in my youth were sorrows worse than ours. Sore wrongs had England in King William's day; Yet William was a king made strong bv (xod To stifle tumult and to aid the Church. He set stern laws ui)on our cloister here, And some rebelled : l)ut Lanfranc tamed us all, And brought us to the rigid rule of Bee, Which galled at first ; but, grown a habitude. Became a power whicli wrought for righteousness : And Lanfranc used the power for righteous use Until we gave obedience willingly — Obedience, not love. If we revered The wisdom and the truth that dwelt with him, SS ST. AX S ELM'S DREAM. His mind was all too lonely for our love. He harnessed Roman rules with Xorman pride, And conquered and bore down the English Church, — - Meet fellow-worker with his earthly lord Who conquered and bore down the Saxon realm, And, grasping England, would have peace therein ; But never loved the cai)tives of his hand. Thus was obedience safe in Church and realm, But fended in betwixt such narrow walls We scarce might breathe, lest in our breath was found Some whiff of treason, bringing punishment. Stern Lanfranc, bus}" with his Latin use, And honour past our use of Latin Saints, Despised our English usage for the monks; Nay, scarce believed that such an easy rule Had ever vantaged Christ'dom, or produced (Jne worthy of the title of a Samt. Augustin .^ Ves, for he was sent by Rome. But Alphege .'' No. The saintliest of our Saints, Truest to Christ, and kindliest to men. We might not keep his fesli\al, and 1, A boy about the cloisters, wept to find That English SaiiUs were no more Saints at all, Now that the I'oreigncrs with uncouth names ST. ANSELM'S DREAM. 3y Held all the altars. Oh, so far away Were Saints of Caen or Rome from English hearts — Proud Normans that would grant no English prayer — Far Romans that could hear no English cry. Sorely I mourned for Alphege and the rest Who toiled and died for God on English ground, And loved the English better than themselves. Then came the glad tlay of my lioyish years, A day that shall be with me till I die. That morn I wept beside the empty niche Where once St. Alphege stood with blessing hands, Close to our playground. For the prior removed St. Alphege, minded soon to fill liis place With St. Vitalis, newly sent from Caen, And blessed by Odo, Bishop of Bayeaux, Earl of our Kent and known too well therein. I wept, I say, and leaned with hidden face On the cold wall, when suddenly a hand Lay on my shoulder, and 1 turned in fear : But fear grew trust when I beheld the smile Of him who touched me ; for the soft tlark eyes Were lit with love for me and all mankiuil. '' Why dosl lliuu weep .-'" he said, and then I saw He stood not lonely, and I feared again. 40 ST. ANSELM'S DREAM. For there stood Lanfranc watting l)y his side — The terrible master, with the face that spoke Strong purpose, justice, things beyond my ken, But naught that answered to my boyish heart. " Speak, boy,'' he said, '' our brother Anselm waits." "Speak without fear, my son, and speak the truth," Said Anselm ; and I raised my eyes to his — The foreigner's who spake the English tongue With gentle accents to an English boy — And blurted out my woe, I know not how. That blessed Alphege. who alone could hear A child who could not pray in Latin yet. Was now no more a Saint, and had no day With Martyrs antl Apostles for his use, And I was born upon St. Alphege Day, Named from my Saint that was not Saint at all, And nevermore couUl listen to my prayer. Now Lanfranc listened with a straight thin line Of mouth and knitted brows ; as motionless As St. Vitalis who was come to lill The niche, snow-white and hopelessly remote. But Anselm gazed u]»on me in my tears And smiled, and from the smiling eyes a tear Rolled slowly. "Lord, the grief oi liiile ones ST. A NS ELM'S DREAM. 41 Is even as ours, wlio needs must see our way To reach Thee ; and this child has seen his jiaih Blocked by the empty niche." Then I.anfranc said, " 'Tis well to wean these Saxons from their Saints; A.nd this their Saint was never Saint at all, But Martvr, as thev have it. So, not I ; For Alphege died not in Ciod's holy cause, But man"s, no martyr for our Church"s Head. He perished standing for his serfs and thralls Against the King. No crown of martyr his." " No crown of martyr, but the crown of Christ," Said Anselm. " He who died to save mankind Died thus — a Lord who loved His serfs and thralls. This Alphege was more Christlike in his death Than some who fearing Hell had hopes of bliss." Then, gently laying hands upon my head — '* Thy Saint, my child, is now with Christ in Heaven. Pray to him there. Pray also unto Ch'-i>t To lead thee from the image to Himself ; Then wilt thou mourn no more the empty niche." So, having spoken till he saw the smile Upon his face rekindled in my own. He passed to where the proud Archbishop stood Somewhat removed ; and to and fro they paced, 42 ST. AXSELM'S DREAM. Conversing earnestly in foreign tongues; Till Lanfranc, turning suddenly his head, Said, " Boy, thy Saint shall find his niche again." I told the monks, but they believed me not. But there next morning in his olden place Stood Alphege, stretching English hands to bless. So was my boyish worst grown glad for me Beyond my former gladness in my Saint ; But in our house the times soon drew to worst, For William died, and Lanfranc. Now we learnt That painful service bound by rigid rules Of wise harsh rulers, strong within themselves, Is better, tenfold better, than the sway Of lawless lust made strong by brutal force. For Rufus filled the land with freebooters To seize the revenues of Holy Church, And through our peaceful cloisters roamed the world, With oaths and clash of arms and blasphemies. Ralph Flambard, Priest of God, but Mammon's slave, The friend of Rufus and all courtly sins. Trod down our tenants for the lust of gold ; Tortured the husbamlmen for greed or sport; Defiled our abbey in pure wantonness; Looked down upon cuu' Order, grudging e'en ST. ANSELM'S DREAM. 43 Dry husks to feed us, and ihe garb we wore ; And, worst of all. brought drunkenness and vice Into the holy hall where godly men, Archbishops, Saints, had ruled us since the days Of Si. Augustine, the good Saint from Rome. Our convent's peace was swallowed up in Hell, And Hell had vantage o'er us for a time. Ye all know how this Hell grew peace again After long years, when holy Anselm came To guide us and prepare the paths of peace. Not at the first, but after many falls. The Lord's bell-wether led his scattered sheep. As he himself hath written, to the tield. 'Whilst Rufus lived his toil was sore enough To save a little substance for the sheep. The \\olves were in the pasture. Rufus died Unshriven — •• Damned," we said : but Anselm's pra}'er Was strong for Rufus, and the righteous voice Availeth much with God. ' )ur Anselm's aid Was Henr}'s need. He helped him tu llie throne, And Henry sware it should be well with us. Bui well Willi Anselm .- Xo. For Henry's will Was mighty, like his father's, and his mind 44 ST. AN S ELM'S DREAM. jMore skilled in all intricacies and snares To humble our Archbishop to his slave. Free in his God was Anselm, and believed That God spake through His regent here on earth. He was as I, the hoy before the niche Of vanished Alphege ; for he went to Rome And found the Pope a feebler man than he ; Yet arave obedience, deeming this Clod's will. Thus to the end he battled for the Pope, And in the end he conquered : and the King, Though vanquished, loved him for his love and tiuth, And for the (^)ueen's sake, our Queen Kditha (We never calletl her Maud amongst ourselves). All these things ye have heard, and do not well To say that kings are worse than heretofore. Or monks and churchmen better. We have all Too far descended from our Father Christ : And Christian kings are better than the rule Of heathen Coesar or the Jewish priests Whom Christ in llesh obe)ed. Strive, do your work According to the good things ye discern ; And leave high evils that ye may not reach For God to slay in His appointed time. A William or a Henry might not turn ST. AXSELM'S DREAM. 45 The good in Anselm when he saw it clear. Although obedience was his strongest rule, And loyalty to kings, he held the need Of nations ; when his eye beheld a truth He .swerved not. For he said that Truth was (jod, And all our thoughts of good were one with God, As real as the things beneath our tread. And things we handle ; and our dreams in sleep, If good and pure of evil, were of God, And of His angels ; and he told us once A tale of boyhood and a dream he had, Which filled his life with gladness in his thought, Which, threading back the years, beheld the vale In sunny Italy where he was born, And nursed in admonition of the Lord Through happy childhood at his mother's knee. Adown that valley shone the silver peaks Of far-of¥ mountains ; and his childish thought Believed the City of the ^Mighty One — The King of kings who ruled his mother's soul — Lav on those gleaming countries in the blue ; And round it in the golden clouds of eve Passed Angels, Saints, and Martyrs of His Court, As in the gold mosaics of the apse 46 ST. ANSELM'S DREAM. Down at Aosta floated cherubim With purple wings around the pictured form Of the Great Prince, His Son, our dear Lord Christ. Such was his thought, and thus he told his dream. Lo, I was naked — naked utterly, Lone in a deep ravine. My body shone White on the sward, as, far against the sky, God's palace. Down the vale a stream ran by, And walls were at my side of steepest stone Untried by feet, and l\v no wing o'erflown. No sun was seen above me. Clear and blue The narrow path of sky passed on aloft To where the gleaming palace shut my view, Brighter than any peak my childhood knew ; Though I had sat to watch the mountains oft Twixt sunrise and the gloaming grey and soft. Beneath my feet a tender pasturage Was fair with lilies and anemones — A softest carpet for my pilgrimage Whereon I went, to journey as a page And proffer service, ignorantly wise. To God -an earthly monarch in mine eyes. ST. ANSELM'S DREAM. 47 There, up the vale I wandered, pausing now To pluck sweet flowers — narcissus of the vale, White on the turf, but, held aloft to show Its whiteness, soiled against the silver snow — My goal ; and all the coloured blooms were pale, Once plucked, and all their perfumesfaint and stale. Still on I passed, nor dreamed of weariness Until the vale grew broader for a while ; And here my valley donned a gaudier dress. Gay poppies, cistus, larkspur, golden cress Flecked its fair bosom, where it seemed to smile With rippling barley o'er a yellow mile. And by that field both men and women stood, All naked, shining souls beside my way, But toiling not — an idle multitude. Some drank, some slumbered overgorged with food. Some sat at dice or other foolish play, And few were toilino: in the field that dav. *o Yet one or two were deep among the corn. And one of these cried, " Servants of The King, Whv have ve tarried service all forsworn ? 48 ST. AXSELM'S DREAM. Why have ye let His field be choked with thorn ? Who shall plead for you when your tale you bring Before His steward at the evening? " Then said I in my heart, " Before the Prince I will these slothful labourers accuse ; For he who warns them faileth to convince These sluggards to their toil ; for no man since Hath turned to remedy his foul abuse Of service, toiling for his INIaster's use." Hence on I passetl until my way grew strait 'Gainst one rock wall, and 'neath it did ascend A stone- hewn stair, steep, rude, and desolate Of flowers and grass. Here, long interminate, I found that stair — a toilsome path to wend Onwards and upwards ever to the end. Beneath m\- left hand yawned a mouth of Hell — An awful chasm where the streamlet lay Black, with its waters hidden, like a well, But filled with sounds of fury. If I fell I perished utterl}', a castaway In caves that saw not any light of day. ST. AN S ELM'S DREAM. 49 How I toiled on I know not. At the last I gained a terrace, paved with malachite, Before two ebon doors. Through these I passed. And as I entered were those doors made fast By unseen hands ; and lo ! before me, white And lustrous, stood the palace, to requite My toils ascending. ¥xo\\\ the gate thereof Came forth The King with one Chief Servitor, And on the face of Each were looks of love, And o'er them in the air a Mystic Dove. Then fell I on my face, and, trembling sore, I lay full length and humbly did adore. Soon passed the question to my fainting soul, " Who art thou, child .' and wherefore art thou come .' " Again my heart spake out beyond control — A child's, that needs was truthful in the whole. " Anselm, the son of Gundulf, and my home Is far Aosta. Hither have I clomb " To proffer service as a groom or page Unto the Greatest King in all the earth ; 50 ST. ANSELM'S DREAM. And I will serve Him without food or wage, And be His knight when I am come to age. For now m}- mother taught me from my birth That other service hath luU little worth."' Then The King stooped to raise me by the hand, And said, '• Thou shalt be servant unto Me, And shalt perform ]My Seneschal's command When thou art given strength to understand. But long and painful shall thy day"s work be. Eat therefore of the bread He giveth thee." Then took his Seneschal the fairest bread Mine eyes had ever seen, and blessing it, He brake, and with the same my mouth He fed, Until my fear was vanquished, and I said, " Thy bread is meed of labour, and unfit Are all Thy sluggard harvesters to sit "Before Thy face at evening and partake Of this Th}- food."' He answered me again, " This is My body, and that food I brake For all that hunger, and their thirst 1 slake With wine — a flood that runneth not in vain. Scorn not, but help yon sluggards in the i)lain." ST. ANSELM'S DREAM. 51 Then did the palace vanish far away, And I was standing 'mid the tangled thorn And gaudy blossom I had passed that day, Girt with a reaping hook ; and by stood they Whom I accused, and, laughing me to scorn, Bade me clear brambles ere I reached the corn. So came a passion on me, and I woke In my own chamber, filled with joy and smart. And through my door the rays of morning broke. Long pondered I this dream before I spoke My vision to my mother, and apart My mother stored it for me in her heart. E 2 THE WITCH-WATER. " From all witches and wizards and long--tailed nig'ht-buzzards And creepsome thing's that run in hedg'e-bottoms. Good Lord, deliver us." North Country Prayer. " Brother mine," the old priest said, " Go forth, this night, and have no dread. Look not down lest thy feet shall stray. The staff in thy hand shall be thy stay ; And yon star shall guide thee on thy way. " Swiftly travel across the wold, For long is the road and the night acold ; With star and staff thou shalt not err, But take heed of the fay of the witch-water. Heed not her voice, nor look down on her, Lest she calch thee in her hold." THE WITCH-WATER. 53 'Twas the eve of the blessed Christmas-tide, And the spirits of Winter rose and cried, As the young priest passed from the abbey door To journey over the frozen moor With a wallet of gifts to feed the poor. The elves of the night-wind moaned in his ear, " Why art thou fled from the Yuletide cheer ? We, who fly on wings of the wind. Pass, and shall leave thee far behind, For steep is thy path and hard to And. " The road goes ever on and on. If thou wilt climb ihou shalt find anon, High on the fells, the snowdrift's wreath ; Nought below but the wind-swept heath, Clefts where a footstep astray is death, Never a couch but a stone. " Turn, look back to the abbey fire Ere the last faint guides to its warmth expire. Rest thee there, for thy safety's sake : Sleep awhile till the morning break, And the sun shall show thee the road thou shalt take. 54 'THE WITCH -WATER. " Why shouldst thou travel all this- night, When the ale goes round and the hearth shines bright ? Turn thee back to the cakes and mead. Who are these beggars that thou shalt feed, When thou thyself art in peril and need ? " The cliff before thee stands like a wall. A chasm is near, thou shalt surely fall. It is under thy feet like an open grave ! Look down ! look down ! 'tis the wild wolf's cave. If thou fall therein, who is here that may save.''" His eyes were raised and his heart was strong. He hearkened not to the night-wind's song. Over the hills his path he took Till it ran amid rocks by a foaming brook. And his eyes had never the star forsook, Nor his staff had led him wrong. The angry winds swept on and away, And he heard the voice of the stream where it lay. In a thousand little eddies and swells It echoed at midnight among the fells. THE WITCH-WATFR. 53 Like a myriad tinkling fairy bells, With the laughter of elves at play. " Thou art come, thou art come, thou brave young priest. Thou art come full late to our Vnletide feast. Come not to gaze on the stilly sky When the stars in the stream dance merrily To the sound of our joyous minstrelsy. " Nowell, Xowell, thou art come to the hall Where Yule is a merry festival. Look and see, fur thy star has lit A thousand winged torches that flit Around the couch whereon thou shalt sit. " Hark to the tide of tripping feel. The fays with dances thy coming greet. Bright out of the shadow their glances shine. Their tresses stream forth like a gleaming wine, And the fairest shall 'M\e thee kisses nine. o" " Golden-brown are tlie curls on her brow, And her bosom is whiter than drifted snow. 56 THE WITCH-WATER. Her song to welcome thee overrills With tender cooings and gleeful trills, And her kisses are sweet with the breath that fills The month when the violets blow. " Gems on her throat outshine thy star. Her eyes are soft as the roe deer's are. She hath made a bower in the lower lake, And set a feast thou shalt soon partake, For her heart has been troubled long for thy sake. Still on the star he kept his gaze, But he harked to the voice of the dancing fays, As he strode by the edge of the witch-water ; And his heart beat hard with the prisoned stir Of a bee in a meadow of gossamer, Or a doe in the nut-wood's maze. As he travelled above the waterfall Loud sang the fays in the fairy hall ; But a fiend laughed low in the water-race Where the stream sped on to its resting-place. " The stag hath come to llie witch's chase." THE WITCH-WATER. 57 The proud young priest said, " A fool thou art, I am come as a huntsman and no hart. The staff in my hand hath power to quell The utmost strength of the witch's spell ; And my star in the sky shall guide me well." Down and down went ever his track Till the witch's tarn on the night looked back. The trembling stars which lay in its breast Shivered like doves in an eagle's nest, Fair, but faint and never at rest. O'er peat and mosses his feet did pass, Soft as the springtide's softest grass ; And the dry brown water-flags did stir With whisperings dry as the drowsy whir Of a Summer noon in the Witch-water. " Look down, look down, oh thou wayworn fool, On the rest that waileth thee in the pool — On the smooth dark couch that is spread this night For the nymph with limbs as a foamflake white, With kisses nine thy love to requite. 58 THE WITCH-WATER. " Kisses nine for thee doth she keep That would stir a dead man from his sleep — Each a soul \vith a winged power To soar in the realms of joy one hour, And bring back seeds of the lotus-flower. " Thy star hath descended. Stoop and see. She holds it here in her hand for thee. Warm that hand as a nesting bird As she holds it forth."' The young priest heard, But he looked not adown nor spoke one word. Out of the cave where kelpies hide Came forth the witch of the waterside. Though her polished body gleamed elfin light Which her charms had robbed from the marish- sprite, Till the hoarfrost under her feet shone bright. 'O* Or ever the strong young priest was ware His hot cheek throbbed in a warmer air. And the star was shaken and seemed to swim Through flickering mist till its light grew dim; And his feet were a sorrow under him. THE WITCH -WATER. 59 The blooil to his temples leapt and stayed. Like a drunkard high on his path he swayed. W'eaklv the trusted staff he heUl, Whilst the heart in his bosom leapt and swelled. Then he bended down, and he behekl. The witch came uj) from the Witch-water. Like the star he had left were the eyes of her. Her hair was bright as the rippled gleam Of the rising moon on a mountain stream, And her face was fair as a poet's dream. Like a goddess in a heathen shrine Whose form hath been bathed with rosy wine, She stood before him : and smiled to see God's priest sink down on his bended knee, And she stooped and gave him kisses three. Low had he l>ent him down and knelt, lUit when the first warm kiss he felt Me bended lower and wept in shame. At the second he spake the Holy Name. At the third he leapt to his feet like a flame. 6o THE WITCH-WATER. He turned to flee, but a finger-tip The fair witch laid on his burning lip : And his limbs were too feeble beneath to fly, He was blinded and faint ; yet suddenly He drew from her touch with a bitter cry. Then kisses three she laid on his mouth ; The first might have healed a desert's drouth , And his spirit flowed forth as a stream that flows Amid thickets of jessamine and rose, 'Twixt fields where the sweet narcissus blows. The second was warm and still as the swoon Of a tropic glade at the Summer noon. The third kiss thrilled on his lips like the wire Mightily struck on a golden lyre To the voice of a passionate desire. But as from his heart its passion fell He heard her laugh like a fiend's in Hell ; And the staff in his hold was a fiery brand Whose haft was an anguish in his hand ; But therewith might he battle and withstand. THE WITCH-WATER. 6i Ere he raised it aloft and smote The arm of the witch was about his throat; His eyes were veiled in the witch's hair, And the witch's bosom, warm and bare, Lay on his own and rested there. Kisses three with his spirit strove. The first sped armed like the god of love From the witch's breast and held his own, Flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone, With a charm that stilled his limbs to stone. The second, quivering fiercely, crept Like a tiger ere it sprung and leapt On his heart, and mingling in his blood Rushed on through every vein, in flood Of a passion that might not be withstood. The third was close as the clasping girth Of ocean lies on the breast of earth. In a rest that spreadeth wide and deep, Wherein all tears that her tempests weep Sink down forgotten and fall asleep. 62 THE WITCH-WATER. Awhile he stood in the witch's arms In the trance she wrought with her magic charms. Above, the heaven with cloud grew dim, And forth from the darksome water's brim Rose a deadly mist to engirdle him. Slowly he knew how in that mist Stood a foeman whose face might not be wist, Save for gleam of his sword raised high to slay. Antl the witch who held him in his way Like a leaden weight on his bosom lay. He could not breathe for her closing arm, To strive with the coming terror's harm ; But his footsteps slid in the frosty track, And he fell where the ooze was thick and black And the lap of the waters reached his back. A lightning flash, or a wheeling blade Shone over him as he la}- in shade. Swiftly sprang the witch to the tide. Loud laughed the wave at the waterside As she sank, and the echoing bank replied. THE WITCH-WATER. 63 Wliere he lay with upHfted eye, The star above looked red from the sky, As in the deeply shadowed mine The long black shaft will the more define At its mouth a distant lanthorn's shine. Save for that light his life had flown In that deathly vapour left alone. Naught might he see and naught might feel, Nor did the silence steps reveal, But there rang in the cloud a thunder-peal. Slowly he rose on each clammy limb Which ached and faltered under him. The staff was still in his feeble hold, But the young priest's heart that had throbbed so bold Was weak and worn, in one hour grown old. No more he heanl the witch's song, Hut his own weak tread, as he falteretl along Thirsty and footsore, weary and worn, Till a dull red wrath in the sky was born Ere the East grew bright with the Christmas morn. 64 THE WITCH-WATER. But with dawning of light his eyes were ware Of sights which wakened a new despair. A sheihng stood on the frozen heath, Whereto he entered, and underneath Its roof lay an old man starved to death. God be our help ! In that place he found No living thing save a famished hound, With wolfish hunger and eyes blood-red, Which tore at the flesh of the newly dead. And the young priest, shuddering, gave him bread. As he went in haste from that fearsome door The fierce hound led him across the moor, Till they drew to a cottage near thereby, Whence a woman cried with a bitter cry, " Come hither and help us, or we die.'* Here was a pitiful sight to see, For a starving infant lay on her knee ; And the woman was withered before her prime By blasts of famine and toil and crime Which had broken her ere her summer time. THE WITCH-WATER. 6$ Famished children, filthy and bold, Fought for a place by a hearth long cold ; And they rushed out wildly and cried for food ; But the fierce hound gnashed at them where they stood, And out of its fangs flew drops of blood. Then the woman cursed though she trembled sore, And claimed a dole from the abbey's store. The priest in her lap laid bread and meat ; Hut neither she nor her babes would eat, For the foam of the hound was upon the meat. She screamed forth a curse with her bitter tongue, Wherewith the soul of the priest was wrung ; And he left her sitting gaunt and wan, With skeleton arm stretched forth to ban ; Till a terror followed him, and he ran. Long on the hillside did he hear Her cry and her curse, and fled in fear. The hound was ever at his side As he came upon stones spread far and wide In the waste, and there a beggar espied. 66 THE WITCH-WATER. And the beggar was bent by a hundred years, And worn with the tracks of a thousand cares. Blue with frost were his feet and his palms, And his breath was broken with gasps and qualms, But with quavering voice he craved an alms. The hound laid down with an angry snarl. As he drew forth an alms for that aged carle, — A flask of wine and a loaf of bread, To warm and feed him ; but ere he fed A drop of blood lay upon the bread. The beggar turned his bleary eye On the young priest's face, saying, " Let them lie. My end draws near, yet I will not lift Thy food to my lips. I spurn thy gift. Pass on ; for I would not have thy shrift." The beggar laid him dow^n on a stone. And the priest and the hound went on alone. The heart in his bosom lay like lead. As the wind of the moors sighed round his head, " Yon grey old man on the rocks lies dead." THE WITCH -WATER. 67 Wearily, wearily wenl he now, With beads of anguish upon his brow ; Till he came ihrough the gate of a barren close, Wherein stood blankly a ruineil house, And in it was neither man nur mouse. Here he leaned him against the wall, And sank to the grountl lest he should fall, And fed himself from the abbey's store, Hut the hound at each morsel fought and tore, Till his hands were foul with the clotted gore. The fierce hound might not he withstood Till all that remained was staineil with l)lood. liui when the meal of the hound was done. Save that it licked and snarled at a bone, He heard at his side a feeble moan. lie turned with a weary pain, and found .\ chiUl beside him upon the ground. Cold and hungry and well-nigh bare ; \'et he coultl not see but the child was fair, \\ iih innocent eyes 'neath its tangled hair. F 2 68 THE WITCH -WATER. Under the babe he stretched his arm, And drew it into his breast to warm. And the babe sighed wearily, and laid Its head on his breast : and the young priest praved In behalf of the child for the Christ-child's aid. He dared not offer the little child The bread which the wolfish hound defiled. But its limbs grew warmer on his breast, Till its crying ceased, and it lay at rest, Like a seabird fled from storm to its nest. .Slowly and tenderly he rose, With the sleeping child in his arms held close. Purposing only an aid to find. He struggled on in the teeth of the wind. And the feet of the hountl throbbed on behind. A chill in his heart began to creep, Lest the sleep of the chiUl were its last long sleep; For his numbed hantls felt not its pulses beat, And he bent him down and ran more fleet. Whilst the hound behind him snapped at his feet. THE WITCH -WATER. 69 On lie rushei.1 in hlindness and dreael, Till he came to a (looded river's bed. Ice was upon it, glassy anil black, Thin and yielding; but hard in his track Came the pants of the hound, and he looked not back. 'Neath him his feet did trciuble and glide As he strove to gain the further side. After him yet, with scramble and thud, The hounil slid onwards across the flood, And its hot breath tainted the air with l)lood. With a hundred ringing leaps ami darts Sprang fissures forth from the starrv starts Which each footstep left ; but on he leapt With a newer life : for the babe that slept In his bosom, now awoke and wept. The cry of the child was \o\ and pain. Though it lived, yet all might yet be vain ; But a breathing babe in his arms he bore When the treacherous ice was journeyed o'er, And he sprang with firmer tread to the shore. 70 THE WITCH -WATER. From a hillock at hand he heard the bell For the matin mass in St. John's Chapel. Thither he sped in utmost need. His wallet vas bare, and he might not feed The homid, which leaj^t at the child in greed. Weary and breathless, fearfid and faint, He gained the shrine of the blessed Saint ; And cried aloud for the priest to drive The hound from it.-? prey, and save alive The babe, and thereafter himself to shrive. But never an answer might he win ; So he entered and found no priest therein. Well nigh then he deemed he was lost ; But the hound stooil still nor the threshold crossed ; And he saw on the altar the nip and host. He said, "Let the sacrilege be mine,'" And took for the child tlu' cup of wine. And gave it the bread for its meat and drink, Saying, " Vea, though I stand on Gehenna's brink, Let it eat and live tliouL;"h I fall and sink." THE WITCH-WATEK. 71 A sudden tremor came over him. Wherein his senses diil swoon and swim. Whilst the babe refreshed with the holy food, Passed to the door where the fierce hound stood With the cup, and said. " Thou wilt drink this lilood." Scarce had he lapped with his tongue in the cup. When the priest from his swoon was lifted up. Fearfully he gazed around, And lo, at the door stood safe and sound The child, and it played with a milk-white hound. Down the hillock the playmates strayed, And the priest went after them, glad, yet afraid. And, behold, the abbey was close in sight. For his way had been backward all the night Since he lost the star that led him aright. In he went to the Christmas feast, ]\Iade ready for many a monk and priest. The Child before him went down the board. Whilst the hound was led Ijy a golden cord : But ashamed stood the priest, and he spake no word. 72 THE WITCH-WATER. Then the old priest greeted him, and smiled, Saying, "Friend, thou art come with a wondrous child. Oh, my father, bless us then, and abide At the feast that is spread for the Christmas-tide, And thy child and hound shall feed at thy side." " Father, nay, what mocking is this } Tis thy erring son, and thy hand I kiss In my shame." The old priest gazed at him Through mists where the ghosts of old faces swim, Till a light 'gan glimmer faint and dim. " We sent last night a young priest from our door, With gifts from our table for the poor. He went as the abbey's almoner The road that runs by the Witch-water, And thou shalt be surely his grandfather." " Alas," said the priest, " 'tis thy erring son. Thou sayest that but a night has run, And I tell thee, that in this night of fear Have fallen the snows of fourscore year. Curse me not, but give ear and hear." THE WITCH -WATER. 73 The friars and priests gazed on in awe, For a flame of fire on his brow they saw, And strange voices cried, " Hail to this holy tide !" Whilst the Child and the hound on his either side For a marvellous light stood glorified. A moment such vision was given them As dawned on the sheepfolds of Bethlehem. Then vanished the wondrous Child, but a friend Stood the hound by the priest, and where'er they wend Shall priest and hound be one to the end. On his brow was a golden glow, But his hair was whitened above his brow. Like a silver torrent his beard ran down Below the midmost of his gown, And his cheek was bloodless, and wrinkled, and brown. Said the old priest, " Shall he not wear the bell As our wether to guide and to lead us well ? His hound which hath brought him to our hall Shall be wise to gather sheep at his call ; And the love of the Child shall keep us all." 74 THE WITCH -WATER. On the day whereon the Lord was born, Began the feast that winter morn. For the wanderer was set the highest seat ; But he served his fellows and washed their feet, Till, when all were fed, he did sit and eat. THE PRIDE WHICH APES HUMILITY. " Or even as this publican." — What pride Of kings may match a saint"s self-sanctified ? Haroun al Raschid, Lord of Spain and Ind, Chief of the Faithful, wealthiest of mankind, Wlio each alternate year his journey took On foot to Mecca, as prescribes the Book, — Aaron the Orthodox, whose every need Must find the Prophet's guidance ere his deed. Proud and self-righteous, bowed his pride before The holier, prouder child his bond-slave bore. This stainless prince, who knew, nor dared to break Each perfect precept which the Master spake. Ate but of remnants, fasted day by day, Wore beggar's raiment, gave his own away Willi all liis substance ; though more learned than these. Yet crawled before the MoUahs on his knees ; Washed lazar's sores; and, all his riches spent. 76 THE PRIDE WHICH APES HUMILITY. Craved blows of hands which he might not content. Meekest of men, he hugged HumiHty. Wait until Pride shall venture to deny Her loftier stature ! Watch the Caliph's ire Break on his offspring crawling in the mire I " I will deny thee before kings," he said, " I thee amongst the Saints."' Such answer paid For all and more than all. He fled and wrought A tale of bricks — the daily wage they brought One dirhem and a sixth. A crust of bread He purchased with the part. The poor were fed With the one dirhem. Thus until he died Was rest from prayer by labour sanctified. Soon came the end. This scion of the throne Cast off the remnant of his flesh, unknown Amongst the brick kilns. Yet, before his eyes Closed to reopen upon Paradise, He sent his sire, — some treasure found abo\e, Warning or precept, blessing of his love, Or other holy thing to saints revealed .' — Nay ; but a costly gem he had concealed. His royal ring, the Caliph's gift at birth. This proudest Saint lived, died, a Prince on Earth. THE TRINITY OF THALKORE. Two sages ilwell in Tuadlistan, At populous Thalkore, Who. stretched at ease on the divan, Discussed the primal inward man Beneath the flesh he wore. The one was Rajali Loll Sumbunt, Skilled to extort replies From the great Brahmin, Dhinkur Punt ; Of mien ascetic, manners blunt. And wisest of the wise. Such thing, ere long they had agreed, Was formless, helpless, blind, Yet stirring on a course decreed By X — , its unknown normal need. Or pressure from behind. 78 THE TRINITY OF THALKORE. " In fact," said Dhinkur Punt, " man's form Is shapeless dough or clay. Which bakes in sunshine, melts in storm. Yet, mark this contrast, like a worm It sidles on its way. "And, shining on the plastic mass, Once and again we find Bubbles of opalescent gas. The phantoms in the mystic glass Of man"s Reflective Mind. " This dwarfs creation to its scope, Is measureless to test, Embraces Heaven in its hope, And warring, can with Shiva cope, Nor come off second best." Then answered Loll Sumbunt, " Thy words Are strong as Vishnu's own To bind our spirits in their cords And draw us ujjwards, till as lords We sit by \'islinu's throne. THE TRINITY OF THALKORE. 79 " But what is that which first did mould The dough ? I cannot see Its fingers grip me in their hold. Unlock this secret and unfold The source of you and me." " Great Rajah, you and I began From the unseen to grow. Some think that gods created man ; It may be, we ourselves did plan Unknowingly to know." " Some god?" said Loll Sumbunt, " but who? And how ? and why ? and where ? What god may teach us of things true ? What spirit lend mankind his clue From death or from despair ? " Within my city of Thalkore Three hundred gods at least Of lesser sort, and half a score Of greater, men bow down before, And thou, their wise high priest, 8o THE TRINITY OF THALKORE. " Should"st know the god which you and I Must close beside us feeL If of our ' wherefore ' and our ' why ' He hold the answer, standing nigh, This secret, then, reveal." " My king," said Dhinkur Punt, thy thought Is as mine own hath been. Full fifty years my soul hath sought An answer ; and the answer's ' nausht.' The gods are still unseen. " Nay, close the curtain, lest fools hear. If souls like ours be blind, — I speak for thine enlightened ear, — What if the gods which clods revere Be but an empty wind .'' " I sought for Bralun through fifty days Of fasting, lying low Beneath his idol's senseless gaze. His is an idol which displays The idlest smile I know. THE TRINITY OF THALKORE. 8i " I heaped up wealth on Vishnu's shrine. A creeping sowar stole The gems 'neath Vishnu's eyes divine. 'Twas I reclaimed the goods as mine, And shook that sowar's soul. " To Shiva I addressed my prayer. I had a thing to do He might have helped had he been there. 'Twas in his line. To win his care Full threescore beasts I slew. " To say the least, the god was slow- To move, and in the end I slew myself my private foe ; Then struck the Lord of Strife a blow He could not e'en defend. " And yet, perchance — Perchance means more Than any god I've seen. I've turned the matter o'er and o'er, Yet have not probed it to the core What great Perchance may mean. 82 THE TRINITY OF THAIKORE. " 'Twere blasphemy to smaller souls Than thine, O Loll Sumbunt; But, if a god the world controls, How comes it gods are picked in holes By thee and Dhinkur Punt? " And now, I would propose a test. Let every god appear Before thee. He who answers best Shall be the god of all the rest, And him we will revere." Said Loll Sumbunt, " Methinks I see Thy wisdom of advice. I will proclaim, as my decree, That greatest of the gods is he Who eats three grains of rice. " A god who can for man contrive, Or heed a priesthood's prayer. Will surely for their welfare strive, So no priest shall be left alive If no god eats his fare." THE TRINITY OF TIIALKORE. 83 Then to the palace of Thalkore Was summoned every priest, With greater idols half a score, And minor gods three hundred more. As for a sacred feast. But, when they heard the new-made law, And Dhinkur Punt's advice, And on a golden platter saw With horror, indignation, awe, That sacrilegious rice. They lifted with one voice a cry Of warning, fear, and rage, " Let Dhinkur Punt go forth to die. Ere yawns the earth and falls the sky To crush that impious sage." But Dhinkur Punt unawed arose And said, " Let all men see How these brave gods, with hands and toes And weapons, rise and strike their blows, And judge 'twixt you and me. G 2 84 THE TRINITY OF THALKORE. " But first, great gods, accept your task. He shall be lord and king Who first performs the thing we ask, And daily shall his image bask Before burnt-offering. " One hour is given to eat these grains Of simple, wholesome food. Surely some god will take the pains To save these priests, who thereby gains All priestly gratitude." The glass was turned. The priesthood prayed As ne'er they prayed before. The robes wherein they are arrayed Grow damp and clammy, as dismayed Their idols they implore. But Jkahm still wears his vapid smile, And Vishnu crowned with gifts. And all the other gods in file Hear silendy their cries the while, And none his arm u])lifts. THE TRINITY OF THALKORE. The sand runs low, and Loll Sumbunt, Descending from his throne, Inspects the platter. Dhinkur Punt Displays it to the priests in front. The rice is left alone ! Nay, from a neighbouring turret-vane Flies down a myna-bird. And from the platter steals a grain, But for the gods there still remain The second and the thirtl. The priest of Ganesha in fright Cries, " Lo, the gods appear. We failed to order them aright. Their king's the god of mynas bright, Whose image is not here. Adore, ye priests, the sacred bird." Saith Dhinkur Punt, " Behold Me eat the second. By my word, Our Rajah hath consumed the third. Are we of godlike mould ! " 86 THE TRINITY OF THALKORE. Then, Loll Sumbunt, "Our plan hath proved Man to his godhead blind. Hath not our wisdom heard and moved, When all these gods ye feared and loved Had left their slaves behind ? " Henceforth, as Dhinkur Punt and I Alone this thing discovered. Ye slaves, adore us, or ye die." Now, whilst he spake, that myna sly Above the platter hovered. The priests in terror bowed them down. Quoth Loll Sumbunt, " Prepare For us henceforth the flowery crown And sacred ghee. Let feasting crown In joy your past despair. " Great I, who ate the ordeal rice Ere Dhinkur Punt, and am Your chiefest god, choose something nice For my especial sacrifice. What say you now to ham } " THE TRINITY OF THALKORE, 87 The priests acclaimed ; but on his side Great Punt arose, and said, " If I be god, 'tis not for pride Of lusts which, still unsatisfied, Must slumber with the dead. Amidst the solemn secret things Wherewith my soul is big, An inward echo ever rings, That gods who are creation's kings Shall mingle not with pig, " I spoke but now of great Perchance. Perchance was with this bird — Our first example. Ignorance Walks both ways ; but twin gods advance When blended with a third. " This triune potence — " Here broke in The Rajah, " If such power Bid me love ham, can I be sin } I take my mandate, and begin My meal this very hour. 88 THE TRINITY OF THALKORE. " Whilst you work out the primal cause Why you yourself grow thinner ; I mean to follow out my laws, Not quibble over quirks and flaws Which spoil the taste of dinner." Said Dhinkur Punt, " The sacred light Which deity inspires To conquer darkness, seen aright, Sets chains of fleshly appetite And vanquishes desires." He argued on from noon to dark, Whilst feasting king and priest. Pausing at times his words to hark. Found those ideas best worth remark They understood the least. But, if his deity spake true. Or some insulted god Poured out his vengeance of the crew ; Or, if that watching myna knew Where great Perchance did nod, THE TRLMTY OF THALKORE. 89 And waked him : ere the next day came Lo, something was amiss — An anguish moved each feaster's frame In Thalkore known by some such name • As trichiniasis. The great god Punt beheld their doom, And watched tlicir latest breath ; Reasoned therefrom, Perchance might bloom Less fair in daylight than in gloom, So starved himself to death. In Tuadlistan '/is slill men's wont Their former gods to view With sneers, eat pig with Loll Stimhunt, Think that they think, like Dhinkur Punt, Whilst mynas are tabu. SECRETS, If we close the page of spirit, and we may not open fully, What is left ? — Skins graved and gilded with a title and a name — Just some outside letters pointing prose or poem, hinting duly If the life within be cleanly, or be locked with bars of shame. Closed on shame, or fenced with terror, barred in greed of self-possession, Fashion-bound in gaudy colours o'er a squalid page within. Veiled with sables, locked with iron in that dungeon's bare repression, Where the soul sits corpselike quailing 'neath the vampire eyes of Sin. SECRETS. yi Secrets ! Secrets ! We are secret each and all. A friend or foeman Here and there may glimpse a passage fair or foul, and love or hate Just dim shapes behind a lattice; or the sweet blind love of woman Groping entrance find a welcome at a hearth long desolate. One there was, a poet-painter, no composer and arranger Of mere harmonies of colour, nor of those who deem that Art Is a bondslave of the eyesight; but interpreter and changer Of the outward garb of Nature on her image in man's heart. Earth for him was spirit-peopled, and the faun and n}'mph and dr}'ad Piped in tield and danced in woodland as in Hellas long ago. And the river rolled before him lily-bunlened with a naiad 92 SECRETS. Floating down through fairer Edens than are left to man below. He had seen the witches' Sabbath, gleaned amongst the hills its terror ; Answered back in glee or anger to the spirits of the sea ; Watched the lake-throned mountain-monarch trail his purples through the mirror Hoary-headed under heaven, waiting on eternity. Day and night the heavens held him. Here man halts before the highest. Shut from present entrance, groping in that mighty temple-veil Of th' Eternal spread on all things, star-gemmed furthest, shadowed nighest, Clouds with us and suns beyond us till our utmost vision fail. Patterns of that web he painted, rosy dawns born soft and tender, Noonday skies of many natures, warm with summer, cold with frost, SECRETS. 93 Sunsets sinking from their passion, till ihc sun's supreme surrender When the Queen of Night reigns peerless girt by all the starry host. Call him dreamer or self-centered, he went forth to speak with Nature, Not God's near warm human nature, still, His work, His garment's hem, Whence his healing power goes outward to his ailing human creature As at touch of faith he yielded it in old Jerusalem. Here was medicine and refreshment, all which long his spirit needed. In these hidden beauties dwelling 'neath all raiment Nature wears. Other passion came not nigh him, nearer loves were left unheeded, Distant beauty moved him onward, disianl music stopped his ears. Youth had passed to middle manhood ere the many loved his vision, 94 SBCRBTS. And applauded. If it joyed him, he was cold to praise and proud. He had toiled when none stood by him, and grown great amidst derision Ere the voice that rules the market called around the gaping crowd. Here and there had been a fellow who had thanked him for some nearer Prospect out beyond the proven to the possible of mind. This was wise and that was foolish, and he thanked them for the truer Of their thought, and scarcely blamed them for the truths they left behind. Late, the many used the spyglass of the few, a/id then departed Wiser some ; but all the blindest thronged upon his peace, and cried, " Master, tliou hast set before us how fair Nature loving-hearted Wears thy colours as her champion's, blessed by thee and glorified. SECRETS. 95 " Fools," he thought, and shunned their praises, for he knew he might not know them. "Fools, and I a fool," he muttered, "who have catered for such guests Void of palate. Had I sought them, I had set their food below them. Easier far to garner windfalls than strive upwards for the best. " Still, the best I may not gather. ]Many a glorious thing shines yonder Out beyond my reach to grasp it, and the fruit I touch escapes Bruised and fading as I pluck it. Every moment as I ponder Doth it change in light and colour, and is seen in many shapes. " Change flows onwards with my pulses. If the changeful scene grew stilly For an hour and earth kept silence, she were but an icy tomb Crushed upon the corpse of spirit rigid, helpless, speechless, chilly 96 SECRETS. With its unborn visions stifled, and its eyeballs set in gloom. " Life and motion flee my canvas. I have handled dead things only, And embalmed the shrunken semblance of their momentary life. I am grey amongst my mummies, growing old with them and lonely. Corpses only are born to me of the Dream which is my wife. " I have failed, who recked not of it, of the law of man's communion, — Nearest, dearest gift of being, love of woman, love of child, — Buttressing the life of mortals with its sweet divergent ' union, Crowned for time ere Earth grew conscious, simple, mystic, undefiled." Thus the painter gazed regretful on his past of fame increasing, SECRETS. 97 Fed by works he knew, dim echoes of an inspiration fled. Defter handed, blinder hearted, on he painted without ceasing. Choice of treadmill, choice of vacance ; and the painter chose to tread. Life was bare, and dull, and hopeless, when a day there came which brought him Such a light as shines in summer at the rising of the sun, Gilded, dewy-fresh, and perfumed with a sweeter charm, which wrought him From his sickly mists of noontide to a morning just begun. By his pathway stood a maiden fair and winsome, kindly-nalured. Armed with all the tempting spirits which are homed in maiden eyes. Where a man may dream reflections of his own thought fairer featured Till his soul be (hH)wned in seeking for ihe mirrored dream's replies. H 98 SECRETS. She was young, scarce twenty summers, with the young heart's fearless vision To a better land before it, and a fairer than the past, Filled with wondrous towers and temples lit of Hope, the great magician. Till its keeps and dungeons darken as life's day is overcast. And she loved the painter's dreamland, with its peopling elf and fairy, Loved to pace with him, untiring, through the dim enchanted glen, Or stand spellbound in the moonlight of his moorlands wide and airy. Trod by creatures of his fancy coming down in forms of men. But a passion came upon him as he watched her eyes admiring Each new wonder and its maker, and his dreams burst forth anew — Freshest, fairest of his lifetime. He had found this last requiring, SECRETS. 99 And each elfin maid was woman, sweet and shy, and pure and true. Still, he spake not. Hope had made a less aspiring man unwary ; But in her his whole heart centred as the substance of its dream. Here he crystallized his longing not to waver or to vary, But at rest till sudden Summer hurled it headlong in full stream. Oh, the things her eyes said to him ! Though she guessed it not nor planned it, Yet the smile upon her lips he loved beyond his name and fame. Not one word those lips spoke to him but he hoarded it and scanned it, As the miser scans his jewels by a dim and hidden flame. So, at times he thought she loved him, and again his dream was darkened H 2 loo SECRETS. By her whims that brake in laughter, and he smiled with aching heart ; Yet he proved his power upon her, marking how she paused and hearkened To his teachings when he led her through the wonder- land of art. Long he wooed and long he waited, ever near her and unchidden. He had better loved her caution midst the toils his spirit wrought. Would she lightly fear or greatly finding all which yet lay hidden, Or cling closely to a captor who had snared her inmost thought } On a day the ice was broken, and he bared his heart before her. Not as often he had planned it, but the passionate word was said. He had loved her, he would guard her, honour always and adore her. His one thought, his hope, his anguish, the sole woman he might wed. SECRETS. loi Half in awe and all in wonder she was clasped into his bosom, Shaken with the sobs that shook him, scorched with kisses fierce and still. Tempest-tossed with words of madness, blind with Summer's fiery blossom Where she dreamed the peaceful Autumn of a heart restrained and still. Borne away she knew not whither, she gave answer, shrinking duly To his thought, at sudden presence of a lifetime's good and ill. Btit — the kiss she laid upon him was for him to presage truly How her heart should wake submissive to the passion of his will. Self-repressed and quiet spake he, bade her pause ere all was uttered. Search her heart and do the right thing, give full answer more at calm. But for him, her heart had pledged her, when it shyly rose and fluttered I02 SECRETS. To her lips to rest upon him in that moment's sovereign balm. Now, his quiet reassured her. Just the same still man as ever Dwelling far apart in dreamland. If his dream be at her feet, Let him lie there for a breathspace, whilst her tangled thoughts dissever The cold image of aforetime from its sudden life and heat. Yes, she liked him more than any, and had thought him wiser, better Than the most who stood around him ; but her heart had felt no touch Of the chain which binds a maiden, when her bosom hugs its fetter, And drawn closer to a master deems no nearness overmuch. She had long since known he loved her ; but she had not guessed the fashion SECRETS, 103 Of a late love long self-centred ; how she held within her hand All his past life with its dreams of joy and tenderness and passion To be drunk into her bosom 01 poured wasted on the sand. For a time then she forbade him, for a time again was tender, And he waited, wailed patient. He believed she did not know All her heart ; and meek obedience to each whim he chose to render. Saying only in his bosom, " She is mine, and time will show." Then she sent a formal answer, shaped by friends, and careful worded. And he knew it was not hers, and guessed its source, and smiled within, " Does she deem this scrawl speaks for her 'gainst that kiss in Heaven recorded ? She and I are twain no longer, though she blind her kith and kin. I04 • REGRETS. " I will wait again, wait silent, hope assured may well subdue me, Breathe, and think, and paint for her till she discerns how all my soul Clasped around her has the force to draw her spirit wholly to me, And we blend our plighted beings in perfection of the whole." Such his thought, and hers was troubled. Though submiss in outward seeming, He was near her, seeking ever to renew the claim forgone. And it irked her. Others watched them, and she shrank before the gleaming Of his hungry eyes upon her, till she longed to be alone. "At my mother's wish"' she wrote it. ''By your own " himself had written, "I obey and will obey you, and am bound your servant s'till." Is it well to own a slave that bends again the head once smitten ; SECRETS. 105 Creeping nearer to the footstool with each motion of the will ? With his steadfast hidden purpose " Till your heart elswhere be given I obey you" he hail told her; and obedience was grown To a claim that weighed upon her. Had he turned in wrath and striven She had braved him or obeyed him ? Which ? This thing was never known. "Till your heart elsewhere be given." Now it chanced a gay young wooer Made swift signs, not so ill-featured, not of those whose love is pain, But will lightly, glimpsing quarry, cry at once and turn pursuer. If she use him for a watchdog, why, the bear must turn again. Swift the wooing. Quickly plighted were the pair. One told the painter, io6 SECRETS. And he smiled and wished them happy ; but he saw her not again, For his deathpang was that moment ; and he sought his chamber fainter Than a deathstruck wolf to shelter, for in him a man lay slain. Had the beast still strength and sinews, he had laid his mark upon her And all women, — he had slain, defiled, and torn her with his hate, In his fire of fleshly fury, shrivelled conscience, love, and honour, With the hope that made life living in a world else desolate. Stronger souls may well rebuke him, most would spit upon and scorn him That his thought was first on vengeance fierce and cruel, subtly j)lanned ; Fiercer, lower than that other, crying when his mood had torn him, " Better thou went dead before me, though I slew thee with my hand." SECRETS. 107 All that night he lay in torment, Godless, loveless, evil-hearted, Dark throughout the hours of darkness ; till the dawning of the day Found the body living yet from which life's angel had departed And the Grave and Hell had entered ere the lips were senseless clay. Oh, the face he saw reflected from his mirror when he sought it. "One in ricll," he muttered truly, as that picture found his brain Of his soul in its damnation. "She shall look on it who wrought it. Though she wrought it in the shadow, she shall know her work again." Skill was in the practised fingers, and the brain their lord and master As they limned that ghastly visage, from the l)lood- shot eyeball's glare Streaming forth upon perdition 'neadi the forehead's drawn disaster. io8 SECRETS. To the dropped jaw's helpless terror in the heart's supreme despair. Such a face the painter painted ; his own fiend with his own features, From a background dark as midnight, gazing out with hopeless eyes On a darker fate before it. God hath made him no such creatures ; Sin alone hath shaped a shadow where the shadow never dies. Ere the dusk that face was painted, and that night the sluggish river Held a corpse. The next morn brought her this last present far away, Under cover, written A E I ; and she read that dread " for ever,"' Guessed his secret, and absolved him for the deed he did that day. Yet the face was ne'er uncovered. If her own heart told her of it, SECRETS. 109 Or his truer soul stood guardian hating all its body's hate, I know not. She kept this by her, covered still, and seemed to love it, Gazing on it oft in silence, and she took no other mate. For her younger lover left her, at her word, she did not wee]) it, So she loved not ; or loved deeper when she bade that this should be Buried with lier arms around it. Did she deem in death to keep it From the watching eyes of angels till beside his gift stood he .-' Secrets, secrets, w'e are secret, and his fellow no man knoweth Till the souls be met together and the judgment book unrolled ; But their eyes await each other when the final trumpet bloweth, For the fruit and spoil and issue of the hidden deeds of old. THE CITY OF AD. HosEiN, the camel driver, Scorched, and shrivelled, and spent, As a whirlwind-smitten locust, Lay at the door of my tent. Nigh to his end, and spake " Sleep not in sin, lest ye wake Where the sight of the city is sent." He swooned, and I gave him water, Pouring it forth on his breast, Till his soul returned, and he said, " Go not forth on my quest. Turn back ere thine eyes discern Its gold, lest thy soul shall burn In the city that dwells at rest." THE CITY OF AD. m Long time he lay as one dead ; And my goatskin was emptied in vain ; But I forced his jaw with my hand Till breath entered once again ; And life to his body o'erworn Came feebly, a thing newborn In weakness and weary pain. He spake, and his voice was small As a far-off desert wind ; " Fear, all men, the silent city. Seek not, lest ye shall find. Shmi it early and late. Go not in by its open gate, For thou leavest thy soul behind." I said, " Thy soul is afar. Death hath approached thee near. Around us is empty desert. Who buildeth a city here ?" His eyes were shrunk in his head. And his voice as the voice of the dead. Whilst he whispered the tale of fear. 112 THE CITY OF AD. " I tell thee not how I sought it. I will not point the way, Lest another reach that city, And perish without decay, And mine should be the sin Of the city, where all therein Are judged ere the Judgment Day. " Thou gazest upon me strangely, Deeming my words are mad ; Yet, thou knowest the tale of marvel, — The fate of the city. Ad. I have sought it day and night. Till mine eyes were damned in the sight Of the thing which they asked and had. " My camels had died in the desert. Alone I wandered on With my scanty food and water Till my strength seemed wellnigh gone ; Through a starlit dawn and dim. Till at morn this day by the rim Of the desert the citv shone. THE CITY OF AD. 113 " Its golden splendour of minars Rose up, like a sultan's crown, In the glory of rosy sunrise O'er the desert arid and brown. The sand, like a tawny flame Burned under my feet till I came To the gate of the golden town. ''Then I paused, but not for breath. ]\Iy feet had approached desire. i\Iy heart beat high like a god's, And the cords of mv limbs were wire, As I cried, ' Ye dead, all hail. To your treasure that shall not fail Though my lust may never tire.' " On the desert's desolation Wide is that entrance gate. Warder is none in the doorway. No voice foresayeth fate ; Yet one thing warneth of ill. l''or, deep in the entrance-sill Is graven the word 'Await.' 114 THE CITY OF AD. "Accursed, I heeded not, Or then had I turned to fly. Yet I sought it many a year With its treasures of days gone by- The town with the towers of gold, Which Djinns had builded of old, Where the Adamite Caliphs lie. " Through the outer and inner doors, Wrought by Naimar the Djinn, I passed ; and the open ways (^f the city were mine to win. I entered the broad white road ! I saw the judgment of God ! I saw the \'ision of Sin ! " A level marble way Cleaves through that city's heart There a brazen nation is standing, (Graved by no sculptor's art; But a people whose deed was ill, In their sins are standing still. And may never thence depart. THE CITY OF AD. 115 ' In all that evil citv Is none that God found just. With its men and women and children Dwell hatred, and craft, and lust. From five years upward the child Willi its parents' sin is defiled, And the infants alone are dust. " To image that brazen people What speech may this weak tongue frame, Sons of incarnate evil, They knew not pity or shame. A stalwart race and a strong, They fought to uphold the wrong, Till as lightning their jmlgment came. " At the voice of the Lord their sin Stood still, and doth alway stand In their many-mansioned city Which dwells in yon wastes of sand. Save the infants in dust, there is none In that city, no not one Escaped out of Shaitan's hand. I 2 n6 THE CITY OF AD. " Murder is in their street, And the slain is vile as he Who slew, and whose ambushed crime Lies bare to Eternity. False balance and loaded dice Lie open where every vice Unveils its hypocrisy. " Upon mocking open lips Is the blasphemy and lie. The glimmer of lust and greed Shines out of each brazen eye. The wild hand stretching forth Dwells yet in such deed of wrath, That I shrank as I passed it by. " But the golden idol-temple Is evil's foulest lair. To an image obscene the priesthood Bow still in their hellish prayer. There is blood on the outer wall, And blood on the inner hall, And blood on the altar-stair. THE CITY OF AD. 117 " Had I yet full years of life, The half might not be told Of the wealth in the long bazaars Where the merchants cheated and sold, Of gems which the women wore. Of treasures lying in store In palaces roofed with gold. ' Wrought armour and precious vessels Lie strewn in the market-place. There is marvel of sapphire and ruby On hilts of dagger and mace ; But I might not covet or take For that brazen people's sake With a demon in every face. " For high on the central palace In letters that I might read, Traced with immortal splendour. Hath the Lord set forth his deed On this city, of hope bereft, Wherein no good thing was left Which might gather a righteous seed. 118 THE CITY OF AD. " That town with its towers shall stand, Judged ere the Judgment Day, Till the heavens part like a scroll, Till the stars have died away. When the story of man is o'er, When time itself is no more. It shall linger without decay, — ' " It shall be for the angel's sorrow. Its vision shall not wane, Until Shaitan yield submission Praying that his sin be slain, It shall be beside his way In the hope of his latter day. Lest his sin rise up again." These things whispered Hosein, Withered, dry, and sere, As a plant of shrivelled cistus At falling of the 3'ear. His dim eyes turned on me, But my face they might not see, For that city yet was near. THE CITY OF AD. 119 And he whispered again, " Behold, There is death in life with sin. See yonder the towers of gold, But the gold is not to win. That brazen people stand To keep it from every hand Of them that go therein." I bore him within my lent And laid him on my bed. Once again from the pillow He lifted up his head ; Then slept and did not wake. Never again he spake, And at sunset his spirit fled. Then I rose up from his side. And stood at the door of my tent. On the thought of his tale of evil I pondered in wonderment As the sun sank to its rest ; Then, mine eyes went slowly West And the sight of the city was sent. i?o THE CITY OF AD. Before me the level sands Lay stretched in tawny flood. Where the sun had touched their ending Temples and turrets stood Crowning the sunset's track, On the dim horizon black — Black on the disk of blood. TESSA. From an unpublished tale by M. S. Tessa, Tessa, Tessa, Tessa, Where is Tessa gone ? Little Tessa in the morning Wandered forth alone. Sought for Nino, dark-haired Nino Through the myrtle-brake, Found at last her playmate standing Eager by the lake. " Tessa," cried he, " I have seen her. Seen the mountain-maid With her silver face and tresses, And her robe of shade. 122 TESSA. " Yes, this morning, ere the sunrise She has floated by l\;ssing over to her mountain Close against the sky. " With her eyes she called me onward To her shining home ()"er the lake and up the valley, . Tessa, will you come ? " Tessa raised her eyes and nodded, Hoping for a kiss, When he looked not down upon her, Laid her hand in his. — To his little boat she followed. Helped him raise the sail, '■' Nino was her stainless hero Seeking for the Grail. ,_ ;. Soon the lake was ferried over, And upon the land Nino bounded forth in triumph Holding Tessa's hand. TESSA. 123 Throui^h ihe fields they ran together Towards the mountain way. Tessa fain had plucked at blossoms, Nino would not stay. Up the slopes they trod more slowly Through the ling and heath. Little Tessa, somewhat weary. Panted now for breath. Soon the rocky wall before them Seemed their steps to stay. Nino, angry, frowned and pondered Till he found a way. " Nino, I am tired and hungry," Tessa whispered soft. Nino answered not, but drew her Up the paths aloft. Tessa strove her tears to smother, Clinging to him yet. On the mist which veiled the summit Nino's thought was set. 124 TESSA. " Is it not her robe," he muttered, " Where her beauties hide ? " Tessa shivered in the snow-draught Down the mountain side. " Nino, whither are we going ? All above is cloud. Let us run back to the sunsliine," Tessa sobbed aloud. " Let us go and search for berries In the tanglewood, Or get chestnuts for our breakfast," Silent Nino stood — Paused a moment — looked at Tessa — Half inclined to go ; Till a snowflake fell betwixt them ; Then he answered, " No." Tessa raised her face appealing, Marked his frozen frown. Saw his eyes gleam wrath in shadow, Dropped her own adown. TESSA. 12 = But her eyes were blind witli weeping As once more she strove With a strength beyond her childhood's Towards the cloud above. Steeper, stonier grew the pathway As the morning wore, Noontide found them still upsiriving, Weary-limbed and sore. " See yon gleam," cried Nino, gazing ; " 'Tis a fallen gem From the necklace on her bosom To her garment's hem." O' " Water," answered little Tessa, " Water in a pool. " I am thirsty. Ixt us rest there Till our feet be cool." Swifter toward the tarn they hurried Till they reached its brink. Shining ice was all that lay there, Tessa might not tlrink. 126 TESSA. But she saw her own face mirrored, Lean, and pinched, and wan, And on Nino's brow the furrows Of an aged man. "Nino, I am faint and footsore, All my limbs are pain, Nino, I am falling, falling. Help me up again." By the tarn a cross stood lonely. At its foot she lay. Nino loosed her clasp upon him. Holding still his way. And the mist closed from the summit Down the last ascent. Black, with many evil shadows, Round him as he went. In that cloud with searching fingers Found he still a road, Till he reached the craggy summit Where the snows abode. TESSA. 127 Spotless in its frozen silence Towered the mountain's crest. " Ah," he gasped, " I touch thy beauty, Loveliest and best. " I may gaze upon the lustre Of thy still white face, Fill my arms with all the treasure Of thy chaste embrace." But his limbs with frost had stiffened In the biting wind Ere he lay upon the summit With the world behind ; And above the snowflare only Mocked his glazing eye Till the whole grew dark as sunset Faded from the sky. Tessa, Tessa, what of Tessa Fallen "neath the cross ? Did she also die ere sunrise Knowing not his loss .•' £28 TESSA. Did she dream the cloud lay open To the deep clear dome ? And that stars stood there as angels Calling her to come ? Did she wake in pain next morning, And, descending slow, Reach once more the dewy blossoms Fed by mountain snow ? Or did someone find her sleeping, And with tender arm Gather little weary Tessa To a bosom warm ? These are questions. Mine no answer. I would learn of it ; But of Little Tessa"s story Most hath not been writ. PHILEMON. (A Tale by Marie Corelli.) Apart from every creature of his kind Their petty joys and failures, tears and praise, The sinless sage Philemon passed his days In watchings which, on earth, to earth were blind But sought the joy which fails not nor decays. From morn to morn more urgent grew his prayer, And evening found him still on bended knee " Great Lord of Heaven,'' he cried, " look down and see Thy servant, purged of every earthly care. Whose only longing is to bide with Thee. "Thou knowest, Lord, I have cast off my kin And friends and lovers, pleasure wealth and pride With every prize my fellows seek to win. That so my soul might be redeemed of sin And in Thine angel's sight be justified." K I30 PHILEMON. The blithe red squirrels scampered through the trees, The nesting blackbirds whistled from the spray, And bright flies shimmered in the woodland breeze Living the life God gave them day by day, About the hermit on his bended knees. Once, in the past, when plague and famine fell Upon the country, and a bitter wail Passed on from cot to homestead through the vale, The country people sought the hermit's cell With eyes whose eager prayer outstripped their tale. But meeker than themselves, he might not dare To sully with their needs his stainless prayer. He closed his chamber door, and prayed within For holier hopes than those they bade him share, Who dared to accuse the chastisement of sin. " Let sinners perish, if it be God's will. Let such keep silent, laying down their lust ; For these our bodies are but things of dust Shaped in corruption. Lord, 'lis thine to kill My own, but let my soul live with tlie just." PHILEMON. 131 So spake he, but they prayed to him again Till anger overcame their hope and fear, And curse and prayer came mingled to his ear. But all alike to him were joy and pain, Nor prayer nor curses would he heed or hear. At last all they that came for succour fled. Seeing their sick unaided at his gate, And on the mother's breast her babe lay dead ; But very evil were their eyes and dread Wherein the fount of tears was choked by hate. Then, long his life was lonely. Prayer unstirred By thought of man rose ever pure and sdll. Until one morn he wavered at the trill In the small throat of a presumptuous bird, Which perched and sang beside his window-sill. 'Twas but a moment that his ceaseless speech With God had faltered, but he shared the glow Of gladness in the joyous overflow Of life in the bird's song, and felt it teach Of nearer joys than those he longed to know. K 2 132 PHILEMON. He paused to hear the tiny creature sing, And smiled upon the smiHng earth beneath, Her annual youth renewed with fresh sweet breath; He marked her flowers, her birds upon the wing, And shared her triumph of returning Spring. Out into the sunshine, ere he guessed his fall, A moment he emerged from Sinai's cloud, Ere came the vision. Earthward past recal Had sunk his thought. How sinful, yet how small, 'Was this the charm to which his faith had bowed. The bird sang on. Philemon knew the sound, Now for the tempter's voice. Each joyous note Mocked his contrition. Sudden did he bound Upon his feet, and with his staff he smote A voiceless bunch of feathers to the around. O' Then came reward in a celestial light More fair than all his dreams of day or night. Which shone about the form of one that came With eyes of sunrise and with hair of flame. Which girt him with a garment wholly bright. PHILEMON. 133 Then on his face Philemon lay and prayed Before the angel. Surely not in vain Had he awaited. Surely every pain Should be requited. By immortal aid His soul had triumphed, and the fiend lay slain. The angel heard him not, but stooping low He breathed upon the tiny blood-stained thing Beside the threshold, and the bird took wing Unharmed, rejoicing. I'hen the warmer glow Died round the angel as he raised his brow. There stood he for awhile with patient eyes Searching the man Philemon to the core, And hearkening to his prayer without replies. As some wise teacher when he first descries A problem which shall long be pondered o'er. At last he spake. " No power is left to move This thing to Hell beneath or Heaven above. Both should escape him, empty as his thought Which dreamed God's earth w-as made a thing of naught. Till naught remains to puni>h or to love. 134 PHILEMON. " Wherewith may this be salted ? Savourless Are thought and prayer. Yet to this lovelessness My bird was loving, and against its will It answered for a moment to the thrill Of praise, thus somewhat lives that love may bless. " This is not man as God created him, A living spirit ; but a husk whose seed Has dwindled in the darkness of its greed To dwell 'neath heavens so remote and dim That sun and shower are absent from its need. " Let then a love of life at first arise. Let day and night endure a thousand years. So shall earth open on his blinded eyes, Her voices pass beyond his stubborn ears Till once again he shares her smiles and tears. " Let him learn daily of the bird and beast, The storm and sunshine, and the tree and flower Till, once more kin with Nature in her least And greatest, he may wait with her the hour Of change whereon the Lord descends in power. PHILEMON. 135 But, e'er his end, let him go forth again Amongst his fellows. Let his need abide Of human pardon. Lest his human pain And love which shall be born, should seem in vain If these earth's treasures be to him denied." There is a trackless hollow in that wood And never foot of man may pass that way ; But birds flit through the tangles blithe and gay ; And by the country folk 'tis understood That there the hermit lives without decay. And if their children question of the theme, They say he knows all secrets of the birth Of tree and flower. His brethren on the earth Are birds and beasts, and creatures of the stream ; So all past hates have perished in the dream. That with a silver beard about his feet He shall come forth a prophet, skilled to cure, And strong to comfort, and his love run sweet Out of the heart's deep chalice crystal-pure. Bound by long-suffering, steadfast to endure. IN A STUDIO. " No, not mine, Signer. Thank God that I Paint no such phantoms, to give the lie To the truth. Sapristi, it is not well To summon lost angels out of Hell. " From Heaven, you say. Yes, so to you It may be. Listen ! Your angel slew My comrade Martin ; and such a deed May rather from Hell than Heaven proceed ; But sit, Signor, on the sofa there, And judge her yourself if you have the care. "My comrade Martin, and near in blood. The blithest soul in our brotherhood. Young, brilliant, handsome, and free of stain As our fair young Raphael come again, Might have clambered up to the highest place IN A STUDIO. 137 In our art had he 'scaped from that demon's face ; But he met with a woman proud and light And handsome ; you know her perchance by sight, The Countess of Voltri. You know her? Yes. Then, Signor, you give perchance a guess That she sought his homage. She did in fine, As to-morrow she'd seek for yours or mine. No, not her portrait. You think that you See a trace of her features showing through .•' No ! the Countess is fair, but this I say. No demon beauty with strength to slay Such a soul as Martin's ; yet ever he Sketched out her face in his reverie, And painted her often, gave new grace To each subtle change of the woman's face ; And all good portraits ; but still he toiled Upon fresh studies. He was not foiled By her form or features. INIartin knew That he gave the lady all her due. But cursed them, and swore he had painted ill. And craved fresh sittings, and others still. So, toiling ever the long day through At these self-same features, Martin grew Haggard and thin, till I fain had torn 138 IN A STUDIO. Him from her. I said she had overworn Her reputation, and others were Of greater honour and not less fair : And he answered, ' Aye, but I seek to find A subtle something that lies behind, A wonder of beauty ; it will not stay On my canvas now, but it will some day.' " The Countess was pleased that the common voice Named her the handsome painter's choice. She had thrown a charm, or so they said, And he painted nothing but just her head, A head worth painting though all the same. They knew not he ever missed his aim. And painted not for the Countess" whim, But to grasp a shadow that fled from him : But she perhaps learnt that he loved her not, Or had portraits enough, so she forgot His hungry gloom, it disturbed her rest, And she liked a more cheerful lover best : So she sat no more, and my friend was left With his visions, raging like one bereft Of his senses. We saw him never more. For he thrust us forth, and he shut the door AV A STUDIO. 139 Of his room. Pepina, his servant-maid, Tells me he ever after staid Within, and that always overhead Hither and thither she heard him tread For a week, and the door was not unshut, Save at midnight to take the victuals put For his use on the sill, and he never took But bread and water. She tried to look Through the keyhole, but found it stopped. At last. When for days he had hardly broke his fast, She heaixl his easel drawn forth and guessed. From the hammer strokes that disturbed her rest, That he stretched a canvas. Then days passed by Whilst his food untouched on the sill did lie, And he gave small signs, but at length one night She started and woke from sleep in fright To hear him singing. She said the voice Was of heaven, but though it bid rejoice And triumi>h, it curdled her blood with fear. And she fled without that she might not hear; Then she came to me with the morning sun. And I knew that Martin's task was done ; So I burst the door, and stiff and cold 140 IN A STUDIO. He sat, the friend I had loved of old, His glazed eyes fixed in a ghastly stare Full on the face of that demon there, With the angel depth in her tender eyes And her lips like a rose-bloom of Paradise. " So, I knew how his soul had seen The face of the angel that might have been For the woman that was. Perchance in youth It had dwelt within her, for this is truth. That of spirits of evil since man's fall. Those likest angels are worst of all ; And this vampire phantom which Martin wooed. Had sapped his spirit, and drunk his blood. " Has the Countess seen it .'' Oh, yes she came,— Came on the arm of her newest flame ; Said she was sorry my friend was gone, She really fancied that he alone Could hit her features ; then, an aside To her friend, 'He went mad before he died.' Then to myself, ' I have heard the man Has painted me lately,' and with her fan IN A STUDIO. 141 She tapped his cheek as she whispered low, ' I m.Q2M you to buy it before I go.' So I answered her back : ' If my cousin died, It is no fresh food for your famished pride, And this last picture that Martin drew Is the face of a fairer fiend than vou :' And I drew the curtain. Slie turned to gaze With an angry mocking smile on her face, But she could not front it. Her proud eyes dropped, I fancy her heart for one moment stopped ; She grew so deathly her friend sped round To save her from fallinfr to the ground : And twice she raised up her head to look Once more at the picture, but could not brook Its gaze ; then she seized me by the arm As with sudden action to break the charm. And hissed, ' Tear, burn it, and I will pay Its price thrice over.' I answered : 'Nay, You at least shall know that this spirit vext May cross you in this world as in the next.' "Signer, I turn it. Here on its right Is a sketch of Capri, the evening light 142 IN A STUDIO. Fairly caught. Next a vintage subject. Then, This large group of our Naples fishermen. The Coliseum. You say that none Of the pictures please you, save this alone. Name my own price, you will buy but this. Demon or angel whiche'er it is. Nay, Signor, I sell not the living lie. When the Countess lies dying yon fiend shall die." THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. From farthest East to farthest West Full forty years the earth had rest, Glad planets blessed the harvesting, And peace grew plenteous at behest Of Khosru ; then he heard men sing Praise, not of God, but of the king. And this was evil in his sight ; For overmasterful delight Is even as a nightingale Whose rose-plot, glad with song all night. Beholds at dawn the serpent scale Of Zohak gleam within its pale. Thus Khosru feared ; for Zohak's blood Was in his veins. The nobler flood. Beloved of God, the Iranian strain 144 THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. Had lent him light ; but yet a cloud His mother brought, the ancient stain Of Turan dark in heart and brain. And so, when all men loved his sway. And gladly bent them to obey The wise commandments of their lord, Till no man rose to say him " nay,'' Kai Khosru trembled, seeing his word Even as Ormuzd's light adored. Thrown back upon himself, apart. He searched the chambers of his heart. Till mortal weakness dared not trust Its power to wield a Godhead's art In rule that like a northern gust Drives blindly on the desert's dust. Though happy years link far their chain, 'Tis naught to him who naught may gain. Yet mortal treasures heap a sieve That shall be empty if the rain Of heaven pour down ; then must men grieve. Their gain being loss beyond retrieve. THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. 145 Set high where all the world hi}' prone, This Shah looked downward from a throne Too high for mortal's help, if Pride Stole in unseen where all alone Kai Khosru knelt, and at his side Bore impious rule o'er nations wide. Being master of that secret spell Whereby the glorious Jemshid fell — ■ The earthly king that dared the sky, And, daring, reached the lowliest hell, Wherefrom no prayer ascends on high. Nor any call may hear reply. Thus, troubled in his soul, the King, 'Twixt man and God, felt manhood cling Too weighty for the awful sway Of lord o'er each created thing On earth, yet prospered day by day, Being ever mindful to obey. Too high for fellowship, adored By all that waited on his w^ord, Self-known with ignorant desires, 146 THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. Self-humbled only to the Lord, Yet awed with fear of mortal fires That, erring, flame our burial pyres, Kai Khosru, pondering, longed to flee Beyond mischance ; lest God's decree Struck one who out of darkness came, And, dazzled, lacked the strength to see In radiance of the beacon flame That lightens round the Godhead's Name. Humbled before his Lord, he crept From face of man ; and they that kept His doors gave word the Shah withdrew From toils of rule, or that he slept, Till various rumours rose and grew Of death or ills, but no man knew. Within Kai Khosru laid aside His robes, and, where the fountains tide Seven times he entered to their flood. Then, soul nor body would he hide. But naked 'neath God's heaven stood, In confidence of lowlihood. THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. 147 Five days unveiled and bare of state, He as a statue did await On God; yet dared not to require His answer — not importunate In prayer ; for why should mortals tire The Power that reads unbreathed desire ? Nor answer had he: but around, Upon the fifth day, rose the sound Of drums and trumpets in his ears, For lo, his anxious kin had found And brought for succour of their fears Wise Zal, the man of many years ; , And with liim, gin with shield and brand. Great Ruslum, champion of the land, The first of those that warred of old ; For these might enter and withstand Their monarch, being thereto made bold By age and service manifold. And forth with Ruslum rode the might Of Iran panoplied for fight ; Thus deep immured, Kai Khosru knew L 2 148 THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. Their war-shout. These he would not slight, So back the heavy doors he threw, And showed himself to men anew. First spake in anger ancient Zal, Girt round by wisdom as a wall : " My age thy ancestors reproved, But never did such thing befall As this, that any Shah removed A light of rule that all men loved. " Five hundred years I live. What thing Is this that thou hast done, O King, To bring thy ancient friends to shame .? From Ahriman such deed doth spring. Or Zohak's blood ; and sore thy blame That hast not walked by (Jrmuzd's flame. " The earUi is dreadful these five days. Thy throne being vacant, whence the rays Of wisdom should illume the earth In central Iran ; but thy ways Being turned to darkness, lo, our dearth Is greater, having approved thy worth." THE ASCENT OF KM KHOSRU. 149 Then not in anger Khosru spake, " My father, lest my purpose break, To thee I will confide my deed. Thy wisdom hath the power to slake My thirst of soul ; for sore my need Within the veils of truth to read. " And this is only for thine ear, Most wise of all men, and most dear To me as to my sires of old. Thou givest counsel without fear. And all thy words are tested gold C^f an experience untold. " Now read me this ; for I have neared The abyss of fortune, till I feared, Upon my pinnacle of power. That this my throne too highly reared Should falter, being built a tower That shakes 'neath heaven hour by hour. " For man is feeble; but the spark Of Ormuzd in him dreads the dark, Yet knows not whence the cloud shall come, I50 THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. Being blent with earth, and slow to mark, 'Mid pathless forests where we roam, The beacon-fire that guides us home. " And having all things, yet I tire. Being burthened with unknown desire ; And here I find not aught to gain ; Therefore I wait by Ormuzd's fire, His inmost counsel to attain. Lest all things here be wrought in vain." Then Zal bowed, weeping. " Wise, Khosru,' He said, " is this that thou wouldst do ; Yet fear I, looking to thy end. For near thou comest thereunto. And we that on thy light depend Shall miss thee, being of Ormuzd friend." Then spake Kai Khosru, and a glow Of Ormuzd"s light was on his brow. " For this God's world will He provide ; And I who seek His presence now. In vain my secret soul should hide From Him that hateth fleshly pride, THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. 151 " And therein causeth men to err, As Jemshid and the race of Tur, Who, set too proudly, lacked escape From darkness when the harbinger Of hell drew near them to undrape Their shivering souls from mortal shape. " And now once more I pass behind My curtains, having hope to find Pure light of heaven and God's decree ; But leave with thee command to mind This people. Thou their star shalt be, Till fuller light be lent to me." Then once again Kai Khosru went Apart ; and aged Zal, content That this was done by Ormuzd's will, Took up the reins of government, And from the throne once more the rill Of justice caused men's hearts to fill. This second vigil, as before Kai Khosru, having made fast the door. Washed seven times where the fountains play ; 152 THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. Then, naked 'neath the sky, he bore Cold, hunger, thirst, till morn grew gray At coming of the fortieth day. Then, as God's sun rose o'er His world With fleeting tear-drops thickly pearled, From out the ceaseless altar-flame High up to heaven a vapour curled. And heaven opened. Thence there came The shape that speaks in Ormuzd's name ; Whose voice is as the far-off call Of mountains thundrous in their fall ; Whose wings are as a sapphire stone ; Whose form a beryl's perfect ball Flecked o'er with mystic signs unknown. Wherein the seven spheres are shown. And from this beryl of his breast Stole forth the voice of God's behest Unto His servant; and this Word, That answered now Kai Khosru's quest. Was softer than a singing bird, And stronger than a flaming sword. THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. 153 " Lo ! thou art loved of God, my son, For well and truly hast thou done, And all the earth is bound in peace. Thy rest draws near. Thy race is run, Thy home provided ; for thy pleas Are heard of Him that gives release. " See, therefore, that all things be set In order, for tliou goest not yet ; Make meet provision in thy realm, Lest Iran, plunged in woes, forget How storm-winds drive and waves o'erwhelm A barque where all would hold the helm. " In days of peace the force to rule The tempest beats the air, a fool ; But he that loves what God hath made. Even to the worm within the pool, Is worthy that the crown be laid A star of blessing: on his head. 'O " For, love being always humble, he Shall feed the poor, the oppressed free And teach mankind a higher road 154 THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. Of kinship than legaHty.'' Thus spake the winged Word of God, The Serosch, and Kai Khosru bowed. And humble on his face he lay In thankfulness till close of day ; Then, being girded, forth he came To aged Zal, and knelt to pray. His visage kindled with the flame Of vision that no speech may frame. And white-haired. Zal, being purged of doubt. When men were gathered round about, Cried, " Hail, O Shah, the King of kings ! Shout, O ye joyful people, shout ! The Serosch o'er him spreads its wings. And secrets from the Lord he brings." 'O'^ Then sat Kai Khosru in his place. And all men trembled 'neath his gaze, Which pierced the hidden depths of thought ; Yet joy was graven on his face. Which then was as a mirror wrought Of gems to perfect lustre brought. THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. 155 But all his servants, one by one In order, came before the throne ; . And gifts of price Kai Khosru gave. To each was fitting favour shown, From Rustum, bravest of the brave, To Gurz, the meanest harem slave. Thus sixty days Kai Khosru's toil Was constant, for he made despoil Of all his treasures ; and his court Was filled with mirth and glad turmoil, For thither all the nobler sort Throughout the realm their homage brought But one man, of the royal blood, Stood hungry in that multitude Whose various needs were richly fed ; And him askance Kai Khosru viewed. Was this man worthy in his stead To bear the crown upon his head ? In Lohurasj) he longed to find The peaceful man who loved his kind. And chafed not at his own neglect. 156 THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. And peace dwelt in Kai Khosru's mind, When by known signs he might detect The certain sign of God's elect. Thus, when his lengthened task was done, The Shah sat on the crystal throne, On high he held the ox-headed mace, And wore Minuchir's ancient crown. Then, all being gathered to their place. He prayed in silence for a space. And lifting last his voice, he cried, " Friends all, of Iran's throne the pride, Mark well God's counsel, and attend, That so in light ye may abide. And Death in glorious robes, a friend. Draw near you at your latter end. " ]\Iy hour is come that I go hence. And each man here has recompense Of service meet. My eyes are wet With tears of parting. Knowing whence These tears arise, let none forget My love; but mourn not or regret; THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. 157 " For God hath chosen in my room A worthier than I to assume The crown of Iran, and fulfil His love to men ; His fires illume Prince Lohurasp, thus Ormuzd"s will Hath bound His blessing on you still." Then all men wondered ; Rustum turned, Bui spoke not, warrior-like, he spurned This man of peace, Shah Hushing's son. Then Khosru's wrath grew strong and burned. And loudly cried he, " God is One, Ye many 1 Whose will shall be done .' " This is of God beyond recall, And on that head doth judgment fall Which doth not Ormuzd's will obey. The love of all is lord of all. Shah Lohurasp being Lord this day, Tjiough Rustum's self his claim gainsay." Then on his head the crown of gold, 'Neath which Kai Kobad reigned of old, Kai Khosru set, and in his hand 158 THE ASCENT OF KAl KHOSRU. The ox-headed mace ; and round him rolled His scarf of Roum ; and bade him stand The Shah, that heareth not command. Then low before Shah Lohurasp Knelt white-haired Zal, his feet to clasp, Beholding Khosru's word was just ; For need was none the sword to grasp, But need is always back to thrust Man's deed towards man of hate or lust. And slowly all men joined applause, When wise Gudurz spake after pause, " New lights arise though old days wane, And Heaven is always in our cause ; Our harvest cometh after rain, And cloud is needful for our gain." " Great Shah of Shahs," spake Kai Khosru, " My task is done, thine is to ilo. Reign thou, God's slave, in majesty Of God's own justice ! lest anew I come ; for He hath said that I Pass forth from sight, but shall not die." THE ASCENT OF KM KHOSRU. i,^) Then cried wise Zal, "twixl joy and woe, " We would not, Khosru, thou shouldst go, For on thee shines the eternal force. And from thee streams of blessing flow ; But God that gave them holds their source, And Lohurasp shall guide their course." So, all his task being finished, A wise Shah sitting in his stead To whom all gave obedience due, His courser to the gate was led, And from his palace Kai Khosru Went, girded by a faithful few. White Zal, whose birth-hour no man knew. And valiant Gustahem and Gew, And Friburz, son of Kai Kaous, And of the royal kin some few 'Neath the chief standard-bearer Tus, In ancient songs made glorious ; The hale old man, Gudurz the wise ; And Byzun, light of ladies' eyes ; And, chief of all his warrior clan, i6o THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. On Ruksh, the war-horse without price, Rode Rustum, champion of man, The Prince of fair ZabouHstan. These, seven days onwards passed with him Beyond where distant hills were dim ; Then at the last they essayed to turn His purpose, resting by the rim Of the far desert, and to mourn. So, seeing their grief, Khosru did yearn In love, and said, " Ye try my heart. But it is well that I depart. Return now thither whence ye came ; For all this desert track is swart With sun that scorches as a flame, But here must 1 achieve my aim." But Rustum, with Gudurz and Zal, Alone were wise amongst them all, And in obedience bade "farewell," Lest fire from heaven should on them fall. The rest rode onward 'neath the spell Of Fate, unheeding what befell. THE ASCENT OF KM KHOSRU. i6i Along their weary desert way A furnace blazed through all that day On sands that tingled into sky, Where Deevs made mirage to betray I'he sun-blind chambers of the eye With many a mocking landscape's lie. But, weak and weary from the hot Dry sands, at eve they reached a grot, Whereby a crystal vessel was. Brimmed with fair water. This the spot Whence Kai Khosru should from them pass, Borne heavenward in tliat crystal vase. And when night fell, he drew aside To lave his body in that tide, And unto God his Maker prayed ; Then forth lie came, once more to guide The folk that still beside him stayed, With his last counsel for their aid. " My children," saitl he, " ye that sleep. Sleep on now ! but this counsel keep, M i62 THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. For ere the morning's light I go. Then pause not here to praise or weep, But flee before a coming woe, For all next night shall death-winds blow. " Be not enticed, though there appear At morn the sign that God is here. The blessing shall be changed to ban ; If any seek the heaven clear Of Ormuzd, vainly shall they scan A sky made dark by Ahriman." Then all were grieved, but, weary, slept Ere backward to the crystal stept Kai Khosru ; and his face was seen No more of men. When morning crept Abroad, the i)lace where he had been Was void, but al that spot a sheen Of gems lay thick upon the ground ; A hundred paces girt it round In a full circle ; thence the spread THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. 163 Of mighty gleamin<,^ wings was found, The shadow of the Serosch dread That speaks with man in Ormuzd's stead. Sore loath to leave went stalwart Gew, But he alone of all withdrew In heed of Khosru's w^ords of grace. The rest remained. Their fate they knew, Yet could not leave that blessed place Wherein the Serosch showed his face. But long ere night the battle-wail Of tempests rose, with shafts of hail ; And, though his force from Heaven was lent, Strong Gew was faint and nigh to fail, Returning by the path they went. Yet reached at last great Rustum's tent. At second sunrise ancient Zal Sent forth to seek what might befall ; But, passing by the self-same way. Brave Gew might not their grave recall, M 2 i64 THE ASCENT OF KAI KHOSRU. Or find that cave wherein they lay, Nor hath man found it to this day. Now, all the days of Lohurasp The ox-headed mace had heedful grasp ; And, judgment being not far to seek. Oppression died — a writhing asp Crushed helpless in an eagle's beak Which awed the proud man, fed the weak. THE WIZARD. There thvelt a Wizard wondrous in an Eden far aloof "Twixt silvern-gated Himala, and tiie heaped earth's topmost roof. As the mountain mists were his tresses, his face as a stone of the hill, Where lone in his hidden dwelling he 'bided watchful and still, Dim, and grey, antl forgotten ; his race and his place unknown To Ind and Cathay and Iran. Yet the vale which he held his own Was a watered land and a fruitful. Its forested slopes shone fair With blossom, and stirred with antlers of his beasts which feared no snare. Above, white-robed and silent, the guards of that mystery, Stood the virgin peaks of granite whereon none had looked save he. 1 66 THE WIZARD. Hoar at the valley's navel, set pillarwise as a cone Stood a boulder worn and weathered whereupon he had made his throne. There did he rest, and thence did he rule ; but at daylight's close, When the shadowed valley slept in the heart of the hills, arose Like a thin white mist from its summit by might of his magic skill ; And, floating above Himala, went forth unseen at his will To gather up living creatures, harmless, lovely, and meet Wherewith to plenish the pastures and woods of his far retreat. Thither he brought them and guarded diem, deathless and free from strife To dwell in their beauty before him fulfilled of a fearless life, Amidst blossom and herbage unfailing, and waters that flowed without cease. For naught failed in that happy valley, and its days and its years were of peace. THE WIZARD. 167 Full long was his watching and toil, till his eyes went forth by day, Like the tireless eyes of Memnon, from that pillar whereon he lay, O'er his chosen kingdom peopled and perfected at his will As a picture wherein the dreamland of its painter abideth still. Then, long did he cease from wandering, w-atching and waiting alone In his sabbath amongst the mountains, as a stone outstretched on a stone : And the hills that were rosy at sunrise, and the vale that was green at noon, Were golden all at the sunset, and silvern beneath the moon. The beasts and the birds were sportive at morn, in the heat had rest. And ate and were filled in the coolness, and slept when the sun went west ; And they strove not, and toiled not, and feared not, and knew not trouble or care. And naught of desire came thither, and never the need of prayer. i68 THE WIZARD. Thus, rounded and duly perfect, his soul had attained its dream Of order and peace and beauty. Yet the hope of a charm supreme Came slowly upon him, some trophy perchance of a newer birth Might yet be won to his Eden from the turmoil of outer Earth. So at length he arose from his sabbath, and passed unseen in his cloud Where the sun was the desert's scourge, where the wrath of the winds waxed loud, Where the asp lay coiled by the pathways, where the tiger basked by its lair. Where man was at strife with his fellow ; and many a thing was fair, For all that held harm had beauty ; but he weighed them greatest and least. And nothing of all might garner, neither serpent nor man nor beast. At the last, on his unseen journey, he passed by a pillared dome Whence he drew him the spoil of a life to bear to his hidden home, — THE WIZARD. ' 169 Babe which a queen had mothered, — king, and the son of a king He drew to his breast ; and ravished afar on his cloudy wing A spoil as sweet as a flowerbud, and pure as the purity Of the crystal crown of Himala in its whiteness of infancy. This child of a king was nurtured at the teat of a gentle hind, And the Wizard taught him of speech in the fashion of humankind, And his eyes were upon him ever in slumber or childhood's play, — Lights of his being, his stars of the night, and his suns by day. A sinless child and a sunny, wandered and leapt and ran With the creatures fair anil happy which feared not approach of man. Winding their throats with blossom. His brothers and sisters these, The fawns that leapt in the brushwood, birds that sang in the trees ; lyo THE WIZARD. But at eve he spake with the Wizard, and heard at his Hps the tale Of the stars that ghde in heaven, and clouds which thereunder sail. And names of his brothers and sisters. Now the child had neither fear, Nor hiding of soul, nor wrath. Thus bided they year by year. Nothing changed was the Wizard, but the boy to his stature grown Was godlike in strength and beauty, his locks from his shoulders blown In a torrent of rippled sunlight, and desire arose in his eyes More high than the mountain ramparts whence the stars and the sun arise, To soar in its dreams and wonder of the things which the eye saw not. And the hope of the unknown grew, till his longing heart forgot His comrades of old, antl his spirit was fledged for a flight to break ^I'he bounds of his mountain prison; yet nothing thereof he spake THE WIZARD. 171 To the lord of liis being ; but clambered in silence about the steeps 'Neath the stern, strong granite ridges whence the bubbling torrent o'erleaps. Yet he found no pass thereover, nor pathway to further quest And prospect-vantage of summits whereon the eagles rest With their eyes on blue horizons where vanished the yellow sands, And perished the unknown creatures which dwelt in those outer lands. E'en as he wandered, the eyes of the Wizard were on him by day. And at times his whisper dwelt in his ears if a peril lay In a slippery path; and once, as he clambered aloft in pride. That warning was heard unheeded. Then grey and stern at his side Stood the INIaster's self, and plucked liiin away from that perilous place And laid him upon the herbage ; and he looked in that ancient face. 172 THE WIZARD. And knew that his strong young limbs were naught, and his purpose known, So, yielded ; but sorrowed after for the dim hopes over- thrown, Whose spells were upon him ever. Then he rested upon the grass Watching the suns go forward, and the stars of the evening pass O'er the left and the right-hand barriers ; and longed as a bird to soar With the stars in the lofty spaces where they journeyed for evermore ; Or to question the silent moon of the lands where her path had been. And the sun of his nightly journeys over regions and realms unseen. He envied the lore of his master, and the power of his du.sky wing, But kept in his heart the matter, lest question answer bring To cease from search. At the last his wavering fancy fell On this that himself had told long since of the mighty spell THE WIZARD. 173 Of a lord of silence and slumber who ruled over earth, and drew Her si)irils of life that waken to sleep on her breast anew. If such sleep came once to that valley, the heart of its peace should fail And its beauty fade as a sunset; and its joy be a finished tale ; And its lord attain Nirvana, made perfect. At first he shook This thought from his heart, well-knowing his soul as an open book To the eyes that watched ; but fear is ever father of hate. And he hated his deedless life, and the bliss of a changeless state; And hope was the second born of fear, and of hate was knowledge of love Conceived in his darkness of heart which knew not what thing might move Therein, l)ut it stirred him with dreams of another of human kind. His equal in youth and beauty; his fellow in thought and mind ; 174 THE WIZARD. And he pondered and shaped this vision, till forth on the shades of night Stood a thought whereat he worshipped, sweeter than aught his sight Beheld in the sun, moon-radiant, slender, shapely and fair. With eyes of the night, and a cloud of the night was its star-gemmed hair; And its lips had tremulous secrets of a meaning unknown, unguessed In the night of his spirit darkness, in clouds of his angered breast. Oft he hated that vision, and longed with his hands to clasp Its white limbed slender beauty, and to rend it in his grasp ; To sunder the night of its tresses, to gaze on its form made bare. Make sightless the eyes, and silent the tremulous lips, and tear In shreds this dream which himself had fashioned ; then, once again Unfettered thereby, rejoice as a beast that knows no pain, THE WIZARD. 175 But leaps in the sun, and ieeds of the field, antl doth not heed The lures of man's soul to the graspless prize of a nameless deed. Always this vision vexed his heart as his footsteps fared In the lower flowery fields ; and at night his soul, unbared As his body beneath the stars, Mas searched of those midnight eyes In the face which his thought had fashioned, and stored with deep mysteries Of life and the things which he knew not, the strife and the endless sleep And their order of changeful chances, their end in the hidden deep. Me questioned himself of his master, dividing his power to reign In his heart with this fairer spirit, this thing which his soul did feign Of itself to be its keeper; and said, " We are nowise kin, If he see but the outside form, whilst this marvellous birth within 176 THE WIZARD. Is mine, mine only to fear and adore, and the might is mine Of those eyes where sunUght fails, which more than the smi divine Of thought and wisdom and purport of being. His eyes are grey As the mountain, and fade in my heart, and their light sinks fast away Before these, the children of night, which are waxen great In mine own despite, and are filled with the presage of future fate. Of all this mountain valley there is no tale left untold. As a child I have known and know it. Naught may mine eyes behold I\Iore perfect of beauty perchance. It is his as his hand hath willed To order and shape long since ; yet my spirit hath strength to build A thought that is born without it, a shape that he hath not sought. Oh vision of beauty, soul of my soul, shall thy strength be naught ? THE WIZARD. 177 Art thou prince of the world, this Death thai he wills not to drawn ancar? Sweet Death, thou art stronger, fairer than he. Bid him turn in fear Of thy footsteps athwart the mountains. Let me look on thy form, and lie In thine arms, with thy face downbended 'twixt mine and the narrow sky. Can I call thee? Yea, he hath tolii that if one life greatest or least Shall cease, thou shalt sunder the charm he hath laid upon bird and beast. Thou shalt co-iie in thy miglit, and thy magic be laid on his deathless vale And his spells be broken; hear me, hear me, I will not quail. Listen, oh unknown Death ! It is I that will do this thing. Thou hast taught me fear and desire. It is thou that shalt be my king. Yon lizard that basks in the sun ! Lo, now will 1 rend it in twain My life is thine ; in my hands shall thy secret of life remain." N 1 78 . THE WIZARD. But the keen bri2:ht eves of the hzard flashed on him in golden flame, And it fled from his hand and vanished ; and the Master's whisper came Persistent, slow to his heart, with solemn rebuke and strong, "Thou wouldst ofi:er up light to darkness; but not unto thee belong Darkness and light of others, until thou hast proved thy right By knowledge of good and evil. Dwell therefore in ceaseless light." At that word of the Wizard a whirlwind of flame engirdled him round With a wall of living light like the sun's. From the level ground It lifted an hundred cubits its billow of surging fires, And licked at the clouds of heaven with tongues of its snaky spires. Five hundred paces within was the meadow fair and green Unscathed and blossom-sprinkletl, as never that flame had been. THE WIZARD. 179 On his prison the prince gazed fearless. Where'er his eyeballs turned The rushing whiteness of flame in shadowless splen- dour burned, Till sightless of all but that fire were his eyes, and the field below Willi the sky above were molten as one in that terrible glow ; And his senses staggered as his who shall search for a plot or a plan Where Infinity folds its veil on the finite spirit of man. " I am nothing," he gasped, as he bowed in the midst of the fire-girt plain ; " My senses are weak, my strength is undone, and my life is vain. Passion avails not, and hope is blind. Yet, abiding still, I rest as a rock in the river, but stir not for good or for ill ; Till my spirit hath found it a spell to draw from the fire around Some spark akin to itself wherein desire maybe found.'' Long did thai eddying whirlpool dissolve into giddy light N 2 i8o THE WIZARD. All shapes and shadows of mind, his will and his body's might, Till it seemed he eddied therewith, an atom of tossing flame In the heart of its endless journey, nor gathered he whence it came Nor whither it sped for ever. O'ermastered and carried on By its force, he lived not with it, but swept in its stream alone. But at length this swooning of will fell from him. He felt below And knew that he lay on earth, and set his hand to his brow And felt that his body lived and moved, and that conscience brought Again the knowledge of self through the changeful doors of thought. Without was brightness of deathless life, but a deed to win Might yet be found in the hidden deeps of the soul within. Again would he mould in secret the image he erst- while made THE WIZARD. i8i Of a fellow with fair dim features, and eyes of alluring shade. He closed his own looking inwards, and clasped his palms on his breast, Empty, hungry, the dogs in leash of his spirit's quest. Slow was his inward searching, wistful, weary, vain ; In the thorns of his thought did he seek, but found nor quarry nor gain ; But hunger of heart and drouth of the breast; and his soul's desire Circled within, as without poured onward the river of fire. Then at the last did liis lids unclose, and the earth and sky Were still as that whirling flame, and his secrets of heart thereby Were pierced and bare in that light around, and he sank his head On his breast and groaned aloud, and low to himself he said — "This is the light of our life ; it is empty and void of gain ; And self in the deedless swirl of the shadowless fires is vain. 182 THE WIZARD. Little am I, and am nothing worth, but the thing once seen Was fairer than self, and sweeter than life. If it might have been That this was my death, it were better to die for the secret's worth Of the eyes that had slept in shade ere they woke in my spirit's birth, But they come not again at my call. O, thou sweet fairshadowing Death, I would yield thee all, and offer my life and my labour- ing breath To dream with thee once; would suffer all evil and pain for thy sake That a moment of life be thine ere my sleep that shall not awake. Why do I linger in helplessness here where no shadow 'bides? Yonder is fire, and its scorching flame is the wall which hides Thy lovelier kingdom. I flee to thy realm. Let my soul depart, It shall win thy fulness beyond, and behold thee at last as thou art." THE WIZARD. 183 Up on his feet he arose, and irocl with a measured tread To the wall of the furnace of flame, and proudly he raised his head, And looked on its fierceness, and felt its rage; but he brooked no stay, And, leaping therein, felt pain of a moment which passed away ; And then once more was the sky unveiled, and the mountains drew Their circle around his old home, unchanged, save that one thing new Was white in the shadow of trees. He looked and this new thing moved Before him fairer than he, and its face was the face he loved Though he knew not the name of love, and he bow'ed ashamed and afraid "Before the eyes of his dream, and the eyes were the eyes of a maid, White in the night of her tresses. E'en as he bent she turned In dread from a harmless snake. In a moment his foot had spurned 1 84 THE WIZARD. The snake from her path, and its life lay crushed 'neath his heel. At last Had life fled forth in the valley; and the heavens grew overcast As the Angel of Death came thither, winged with shadow and cloud, To gather spoils long forgotten, and his voices of storm cried loud As the forest groaned to the blast in the ears of the stricken brute, Of its limbs made bare of their leafage, its twigs of unripened fruit. Naught saw the prince of their terror, nor heeded he wind or storm, Shading his eyes with his hand as he knelt by the senseless form Of her who had sunken in weakness and fear, and he drew swift breath. Holding that beauty and weakness and fear were at one with death. But again, as he waited in awe, the Wizard stood by his side. And spake once more in whispers, " Thou hast chosen this as thy bride. THE WIZARD. 185 It is Love which is stronger than Death. In a while shall thy maid awake, Her beauty and weakness thine, who hast offered life for her sake. Add pain and toil to tliy i^ift, and thy day shall yet be blent Of blessing anti curse, but ilic curse shall fade, the blessing content, If ever before thee the spirit thou toiledst to fashion shall move, And if always as now thou wilt lay tlown self on the altar of love. The gates of my valley have opened and closed, and the world lies l)are. Thou hast chosen thy path with thy fellow-men, and thy feet shall fare Amid stones and thorns of the (.lesert, amidst cares and toils of the mart, In perils and hungers and pain of the body and sorrow of heart ; But this thou hast won is greater than these, if thy faith endure All tests at her side, and the deed of thy body and heart be pure. 1 86 THE WIZARD. But yet in a space ye shall sever, sinking in endless sleep The one or the other foremost. Ye stand by a plumbless deep, Take heed thou lookest not hack. By a forward gaze alone Is darkness revealed, and a path made straight, and that deep o'erfiown." Thus spake the Wizard wondrous ; and the Prince, his eyes upturned. Saw under the snows of Winter how his youth eternal burned ; And heard his voice as a star-sent voice of the angel Israfel, And guessed that his heart rejoiced, and mourned not his broken spell. And knew how a task had been his who had lived and had died, and whose seat Was sure on the summits of light, and sure in the depths at his feet. But e'en as he gazed the Wizard had passed ; and the maid arose ; Anil together they stood in silence and watched the storm to its close, THE WIZARD. 187 And saw the sun shine oui on a shimmering world below Where distant cities were seen, with a hurrying to and fro Of creatures like ants; and they heard deep cries of a far-off fight, And a shepherd's song from a liillside, and a child's shrill laugh of delight. Then hand in hand they went downward, nor recked what their road should bring. The maid whose eyes were more deep than death with the son of the king. And the valley is empty and barren, its beasts lie dead in the glen. But the Wizard is throned on Himala unseen of the sons of men. "DURING HER M AJ ESTY'S PLEASURE." So sad here ? No, no ; it is safer liere. Have you not heard ? Stoop low and listen, then. It frightens them to hear it, but they know. Hush ! closer, closer. Listen ; you can hear It trickle. Closer still ; its name is blond ! l"he world outside the wall is full of it, And all outside is horrible ; but we Have built the wall to keep it out, and still It trickles in at night beneath the gate. And lies in pools amongst our shrubberies. If you walk out about the garden paths, You hear it rustle underneath the leaves ; And then the thin black tongue glides like a snake Out of the shadow all around your feet, So slimy if you tried to move you'd fall ; DURING HER MAJESTTS PLEASURE. 189 And so you stand, until it spreads about, And rises on your dress and licks your knees. Sometimes '.t fills your mouth and stops your breath ; But it is worse, I fancy, when it crawls About your fingers, creeping in and out Between the flesh and hiding 'neath the nails. You cannot wash it there Do what you will, There is a thin red worm stays at their roots That eats and eats and eats into the flesh. You know, of course, how first it all began To run into the w^orld Folks never dreamed It could have done so, but we know it now. You did not know him. I, who knew him well. Could not believe it till I saw ; but she Perhaps guessed, and set a trap. She did not think There was enough of it to drown us all — Only enough for me, I think ; but now She is worse off than I, for she's outside. I spoke and warned him of her, bill he laughed. He was light-hearted, but }ou won"! believe He cares for her. He hated her as much As I do; more, for his blood follows her, And licks upon her till her flesh is grown All purple-sodden like a mulberry's. iQO DURING HER MAJESTY'S PLEASURE. You have not seen her. Have you seen his gun — A frozen serpent thing that turns and turns And wriggles in your hand until it points, And, though you wrench with both your hands, the mouth Keeps pointing, pointing, pointing, till it shoots? That is how all this blood was first let loose — Quite a small trickle when it first began ; But then, it will not dry or wash away. You can't get rid of it like other things, But it keeps oozing, oozing from a hole No bigger than my little finger's tip. I thought that it was nothing at the first — just two or three small drops. I sopped them up, But they kept growing on the handkerchief, And still fresh drops were welling up beneath. Then I pressed down my finger on the place, And kissed him on his lips, and begged and prayed Him not to bleed so, but he never spoke. I told him it was awful to lie there In the white moonlight ; but he would not speak. Then the black drops kept slowly climbing up. And gliding slowly, slowly down his skin DURING HER MAJESTY'S PLEASURE. igi Into the grass below. I lool;cd and looked, And dared not stir. I thought that it would stop And go to sleep, do anything but crawl. At last T could not bear it, and I screamed Out loud to wake him, pressing both my hands To stop it as it glided, but it spread And wormed beneath my fingers, and slid up Between them ; and I screamed and screamed for help. But no one came to stop it. Then the sun Began to rise ; and when I saw how red The world was at its edge, I knew the blood Was flooding all around us, till it oozed In the long grass beneath and stained my knees, And both my liands were clogged with it. I put Them uj) before my eyes ; the blood streamed through, And trickled on my face and through my lips, And filled my throat until T tried to swim Upon it. That was easy, but the sun Looked on the surface with such awful reds And purples that I dared not ope my eyes To look for any shelter, but I swam Right to that gate, I think, and so got in. 192 DURING HER MAJESTY'S PLEASURE. And here I think we are a httle safe, Only we hear it wash against the wall ; And in the night-time, if there be a moon, It creeps into my room beneath the door To crawl about the moonbeams ; but I hope That some day he will stop from bleeding so. If I were sure that she was drowned in it, I think I should slip quietly through the gate To go and find him underneath the trees, And kiss and press him till I made him speak, And pet him till he promised not to bleed. If she were dead, why, he would love me still, And surely give me anything I wished ; But now — hush ! hush ! and look another way. You must not tell the matron what I said. It frightens her to hear it. Though she knows The truth, she'd say that you and I arc mad. THE GNOME. The hall was domed with turquoise, antl its floor An opal parquet ; thence at utmost verge Of vision, pillared like an honeycomb, A thousand tunnels pierced the malachite Of the great mountain, slowly darkening on Through meshes of an endless labyrinth. Where he that wandered wandered on for aye From chamber unto chamber, path to path, Lofty, mysterious, like yet various. With magic emblems winking on the walls In dim metallic splendours — shifting tints That pass and repass on a python's skin. Untenanted by breathing forms were all Save this great, central, self-illumined dome, 'Neath which the goblin of the mountain kept His swarming captives, shut from outer air ; Yet gifted with a thousand prisoned hopes And passing pleasures. Here, the intricate dance 194 THE GNOME. Flashed gaily, like the flies about a pool ; There, laughter rippled from the plash of wit ; Here gluttons sat like bull-frogs, sucking down Aught edible that came within their range ; And miners, grublike, pierced the gemmy floor To plunder in the seams of gold beneath. Few wandered far beyond the outer bounds Of their great chamber, through the devious paths That dwelt in shadow, there to dimly read Strong spells which dwelt beneath mysterious signs ; To lose themselves whilst striving on to reach False ends of endless vistas, where their sight. Betrayed a thousand times, renewed its dream Of clearer vision in the stretch beyond. Others, apart in silent thought or prayer. Strove with the riddle of the sphynxlike Gnome — Master of all, who sat enthroned in state, Motionless, voiceless, like impassive Boudh Above his tinsel-burning worshippers. Dark was the image, adamantine, cold. His right hand grasped a sceptre, and his left Sank to the pavement. Round about his loins A serpent held his garment — carven jade Which blinked with bright innumerable scales THE GNOME. 195 Of rubied inlay. On his brow was set A silver crescent, low on midnight eyes Which, open, seemed to gaze on nothingness ; Yet many felt there lived a sense behind Which looked on things they saw not, and themselves Were very little in that vast unseen Whereon those eyes were open. Half unshut. His caverned mouth was voiceless ; yet might speak A spell before whose breath their dwelling-place Should shudder into atoms, and that hall And they themselves be cast away and lost, Crushed in the chaos of the mountain's womb. And buried and forgotten. But the Gnome As yet forebore ; and many worshipped him To win his favour, or to gain some boon Whereto their souls aspired. One of these, A maiden, willowy as the stem that bears The rosy-flowering lotus, moulded pure As Venus once in Cnidos stood to win The garnered suffrage of a wondering world. Came now before the Goblin, fain to seek A boon beyond the common gifts he gave To all his servants. Low she bent herself, With flushed warm cheek betwixt the insensate feet. o 2 196 THE GNOME. Her pearly arms the stone-cold ankles bound, Till even stone grew warmer ; and her lips With oft-repeated kisses sucked the chill From limbs of adamant, till rose a dew That gleamed with rainbow colours in her eyes And trickled downward to the dais-stone Whereon the Gnome-king sat. Then lo, it hissed And frothed into a spume which bubbled white Upon the pavement ; thence a centre globe Domed up with flashing tints of cheerless fire ; Then, rounding downwards, scaped the polished floor, And, floating, touched her thirsty lips, which drank No life-draught, but a thin, cold, perfumed air. That as she sucked it made her temples burn, Whilst in her eyes a myriad sparklets flashed, Which wandered into darkness. Then she rose, And, laughing lightly, stepped amongst the throng Of youths and maidens, where the living wreath Streamed circling o'er the gleaming wave-born tints Shrined in translucence of the crystal floor Whereon the idol rested, and his slaves Throbbed out their days of prisoned liberty. Where'er she passed the throng drew back amazed Before her new-found spell ; and all men sought THE GNOME. 197 To win the radiance flashing in her eye. Some gazed to draw back answer; some bent down And stooped to antics, thus to move her mirth And glance of toleration ; some brought forth The little golden grains which they had found By weary burrowing ; and, as to a child They rattled these between their grimy hands. Some raised wild shouts of welcome ; some the song Of praise or prayer ; and some on bended knee Swore deeds of valour, so she would but turn To bless them with such meed as spurs the leap From man to hero. One of these she chose Her earliest partner in the magic dance Whereto her charm impelled her. Breast to breast. Eye chained on eye, until they seemed to touch, Floated the partners circling swiftly round The giddy whirlpool once : and ere the end The maiden's eye had beaten down the youth's. And, pressing past all barriers of defence. Had reached his quivering heart ; then piercing it As with a barbed arrow, drew it forth : So with a sob ?ie shivered from her side. And, fallen, leaped afoot with wolfish cry. Stared blindly, rushed amid the fleeing crowd, 198 THE GNOME. And marked his way with fallen forms of those Whose terror stayed them helpless in his path. But soon behind him rose the shout of foes Thick clustered on his track with will to stay Such maniac fury ; and they tripped his feet, Whilst strong men bound him, striving to the last, Shrieking wild oaths and words of wickedness ; Till, gagged and blindfold, he was cast aside Unpitied. Then she laughed a stealthy laugh : " Surely my spell hath proved a gift of power, And bends the strongest here to helplessness ;" And, turning, smiled she on the face of one Who struck swift sparks of laughter, and the sounds Were pleasant in her ears, and she too laughed. Again the magic dance, again the lure. And from the shallows where his laughter dwelt She, laughing, drew the soul that lurks beneath All laughter, save an idiot's ; so his voice Jarred tinkling on in dull monotony. Mirthless as any harsh cicala's drone ; And when their dance had end, he sat apart Companionless, avoided e'en of those Who, late his courtiers, echoed every jest And rang it round the hall until, worn out. THE GNOME. 199 It died away in corners. But she laughed, Beholding jest in this mysterious loss Of life in his dead charm ; and praised her own, Saying within her heart, " I yet shall rule His fellows and my spell shall make me queen — Queen in an abject world of worshippers." So for a third time she glanced round and smiled A moment on the shining sands which one Held tight within his fingers; and his eye Wandered up helpless to her as he rose To stand her partner. While she took his hand. Her subtle charm wound snakelike to his heart, And bit it. Then he stretched his hands to clutch Her slippery form, that, circling, slipped away Adown the mazes of her magic dance. Whilst he stood spellbound till she came again, And found him with his treasure slid away. And talons like a raven's, clutching air Or tearing his own l)osom. Down he sank And moaned, and set himself with idle toil To gather one by one the million grains Of gold dust scattered by her garments sweep O'er all the polished pavement ; and she laughed, Beholding bootless toil, and bootless gain, 200 THE GNOME. And hopeless loss, and hopeless pain in loss. " Truly the Gnome did well," she said, " to grant To me my charm that conquers all the rest. Is there not one that will sing praise with me, And make a song thereon that all shall sing When I have proved my might upon them all .''" Then stepped a young man eager from the crowd, And said, " I have a heart that flows in song. Show me thy charm, that I may know its worth." Then with strong searching in the lustrous depths, Or seeming depths, wherein her secret spell Lay half-unveiled, half-hidden, to his breast He clasped her unresisting ; and his voice Sang words in cadence with her rhythmic dance. The fountain's flow runs smoothly slow. The naiad lurks within. Blow south winds, blow, seek to and fro Her rippled smile to win. Upon the stream white lilies gleam ; More white she sleeps beneath. A poet's theme shall warm lier dream To blossom in its breath. THE GNOME. 201 Sing loud, my lyre, for my desire Grows swift and hot and strong ; Though raging fire, it shall not lire My burning wings of song. My charm, my lays, are fire, whose blaze Shall warm her with the blast Of incensed praise, till she obeys And love hath hound her fast. All-perfect harm, thy wondrous charm Shall yet be knit with mine. Stretch forth thine arm, my kiss shall warm Thv snow with rubv wine. Flame on, my heart, nor dread thy smart ; Pursue and have no fear. Through all her art thy warnHh shall part Her veils and draw her near. Oh fair, too fair, a furnace flare Roars fiercely on to seek ; And, sweet, I swear its angry glare Shall tinge with rose thy cheek. 202 THE GNOME. Yea, red with rose were all thy snows ; If tamed by warmer air, Thy lids should close in love's repose, And find their summer there. Again, again, and still in vain My fiery darts I fling. From heart and brain let lightnings rain Upon the frozen spring. Flow forth, my soul, to reach thy goal. One golden-molten flood That shall not cool upon the pool. But stain it red with blood. Ye heavens, the crash ! What lightnings flash From floods of melted gold ! The naiad's dream beneath the stream Is tranquil as of old. The stream is sand ? A desert land, And all its sands are cold ; And endless fire of my desire Is Hell my heart to hold ! THE GNOME. 203 His song brake wildly, and the maiden stood Unflushed, unwarmed, fair, supple, virginal ; Ikit with a strange contraction in her eyes, That marred their windows to a pinhole's point; Whence, half in awe, she watched to see the fate Of this her latest victim. Back he reeled, As one who, rushing foremost towards a breach. Reels, with stunned eyes and ears before the sight Of rocking towers 'mid thunders of the mine ; Then staggers, blindly duteous, towards the foe P^ntrenched beyond a crater's mouth, where yawned The sudden Tophet man prepares for man. Thus thunder-smitten, once his burning hand Touched on her pearly shoulder, and the touch That failed to warm her, scorched her with a flame That singed the whiteness So she shrank away, And shivered ; knowing now that all this charm Was not fled from him, though the best was lost. Then from her side he swerved with outstretched palms. Bared bosom, and such hunger in his eyes As drives the shipwrecked mariner to tear His flesh in very madness. Pale, aghast, Shrank all men from his pathway, till he neared 204 THE GNOME. The silent monarch of their prison-house, One with the mountain and the soul thereof. Dull crashed his heedless brow against the feet Of the great idol. Then he raised his eyes And fixed them on the still impassive face, And, stretching both his hands, shrieked out a curse On him, and on himself, his hour of birth. His prison, and his gaoler's gift of song, And her that brake the gift ; but chief on this, — The lord of all, and heedless of them all. Then with a maniac's shriek of rage he sprung Full on the goblin form, and beat his fists And crushed his flesh upon it, as he strove With idle effort to uproot its base. Next he brought stones, and hurled them one by one, To fall in splinters, broken ere they touched The charm-environed image ; and he sang The rune of hate, the remnant of his charm That yet might serve in warfare. Give place, give place, for thy gifts are base, O hated Hate of this hateful tomb. Where the ' oison of adders fills the womb THE GNOME. 205 Of this cavern chill, where thy slaves fulfil The purport of thy face. A Hate thou art, being shut apart From all that tremble and look to thee. The hate thou hast given my sword shall be. Thou hast lent me thy charm and lliy jjower of harm, And it yet shall find thy heart. For the winged word shall be sharp like a sword. And the fire of my hate shall forge the point Till it search thy armour joint by joint. And Hell laugh low at thy overthrow When thy Hate hath proved thy lord. Again he wrestled, but a rising chill Filled all the air around the Goblin's form, And numbed his limbs with icy agonies; Till, falling back once more, he groaned aloud. Fiery furnace, fatal gift. That hath spent its flame too swifi, Yet may not be slaked by tears ; 2n6 THE GNOME. Stinging ashes shall it be In the eyes of all that see My despair through all the years. Salt and acrid is its dust, And my dross shall lie as rust On the heart of these thy slaves, Till no more their praise they bring, Cursed magician, tyrant king, Prince of ghouls, and lord of graves. Lord of vampire hosts, thine eyes Shall behold the hell that lies 'Neath thy specious, glittering show ; And the demons of thy pit, Clothed no more as angels, sit Blackened fiends amid thy snow. Boast no more of lofty place. Ruling o'er a realm so base, Where shall be delight in power ? Rule, but rule a hideous realm Which the waves of death o"er\vhelm Till Death seize thee in his hour. THE GNOME. Then in his c\cs ihe cavern's inliorn hirhl Throughout the mountain faded utterly Before his incantation ; and the voice Of mirth or tumult died, till midnight's chill Without its calm was on his heart and brain. His breath he heard, and this alone was fear, Lest haply it should hide some fainter sound Of darkness-ambushed terror. Yet his heart Beat fierce its march — a warrior trampling on Through night and frost and forest ; and he stretched His hand once more and knew the (ioblin sal Silent, unmoved in darkness ; then he sang The taunt of cowardice that hides in gloom. A lord and a king, thou hast bid me to sing. I have sung of thy hateful realm ; And I sing thy affright, and the fall of night, And the death that shall overwhelm. For where are thy arms, and thy lying charms, And thy slaves that bow the knee. Thy hall of state, and each breathing hate. In this shadow where none may see .' 207 2o8 THE GNOME. But I know thee near, and I have thee here, For a coward in vain shall flee ; And my song is a spear to thy open ear, And its point shall be sharp to thee. Then with new-awakened force he clasped the throat Of the still statue, shouting in his ear The charms himself had lent ; and calling him To wake in anguish of the nightmare trance, With share in sorrows that his slaves endured. Thus long he fought and battled, his strong hands Grown iron upon marble, or such stone, Cold, hard, unyielding, as the idol's limbs Gave to his touch ; and everywhere he searched For some defenceless passage where his sword Might enter, but he found none ; and his foe. Gripped fiercely, struggled not ; nor used a spell To slay him, as a man will hear the threat Of infants and regard not, tolerant. Yet seven times the foe rushed on to break With tide of flesh and blood on adamant ; And at the seventh time, as he crushed his arms Around the pillared throat, there rose a heat Responsive to his own ; and lo, its might THE GNOME. 209 Held him eiu haincil, his arms about the neck Of him he fought with ; and his weary head Fell on the Goblin's bosom, where he hung As silent as the statue, till his eyes Drooped down in slumber and their war had end. Around the hall this while the merry dance Had circled on and on, nor had it paused Observant of his strife ; for when the night Had fallen ui)on him, 'twas for him alone. The rest, each centred on his private thought. Swung round its pivot, nor could pass beyond ; Save that, in comet ovals of their dance Drawn near at times, they heard above their strain Of dull mechanic music, discords break — Dim echoes of the curses huried by him Who once was with them ; and the cause of all Heard too and trembled, lest her victim came Back from the wizard with new curse or charm To slay her. Yet she danced as at the first ; And, dance by dance, she danced men's hearts away. And some were slain thereby ; and some rushed forth To slay their fellows : some would slay themselves. Or riot out the heartless lees of life. So still she laughed and still she praised her charm. 2IO THE GNOME. Nor marked the stealthy whisper to and fro That slowly rose, until the thing was grown A full-blown jest and shouted in her ear. For envious eyes were swift to mark the change That came upon herself, and each new dance. Though swifter, madder, merrier than the last, Brought with its panting close an added year. At first the dances and the years gave power To lead her to the end ; but soon began A trouble that her charm had failed to bring The partner she desired ; and at her side Stood victims hardly worthy in her eyes. Yet even these showed fight, and left her fierce And weary with much striving ere they fell. She raged, but trusted wholly in her charm. And when she heard tlie jest believed it not ; Till weary desperation failed to find Fresh victims, and she circled on alone — Alone with feeble limbs and wrinkled brow. Alone with sunken breast and thin grey hairs. Powerless to cease, and powerless to command Support of vassals, like a leaf she spun Through scorching eddies, sucking each their year Of freshness from her juices ; till her robe THE GNOME, 211 Hung loose on mummied flesh, and ears and tongue Were helpless. Yet the bleary eyes beneath The parchment eyelids strove to give the sign That waked her charm at first, and all her hope, A deathless torment, was to use it still. But as she danced ihe mockery grew fierce And cruel round her. Death in gay attire, Crowned with red roses, whitewashed like a clown. Gemmed like an Indian begum, balmed with musk, And dancing in the ballet with the nymphs, Moved all to laughter ; but her latest dance Brought terror also, for the ghastly truth Of Death grinned through the whitewash, and the round She danced was closed for ever ; and her charm, That dwelt with her first servant, last lier lord, Being cold of nature, froze : else had she prayed Long since for succour when her slaves rebelled. Now he that fought the Goblin, and lay soothed To peace and slumber on his foeman's breast. Slept long : but, when his earlier foe sank down In icy stillness, woke ; and, coming forth, Beheld, and dimly recognizing, knelt ; 1' 2 212 THE GNOME. Nay, warm from peaceful slumber, strove to warm The frozen heart ; and once she oped her eyes And shuddered. Then awhile he deemed her dead; Yet bent once more to chafe the shrivelled limbs, And once again, when further toil seemed vain, The lids unclosed, and in the eyes he saw A gleam of borrowed light, nor knew that this Was his own face dull-mirrored. Then the veil Dropped wholly, and his patient toil was o'er. " Art thou fled to any rest .' " Sang he. " Is such end of curse and blessing best .' Tell me. Gift of gain and loss, what end You know } Gift of death is gift of friend Or foe .? New the path and changed the spell For you. Is it heaven .? Is it hell .? Speak true ! Thou hast scattered all in vain Tliv charm. THE GNOME. 213 Used for ill, ihyself shall gain What harm ? Answer, answer at my call. Speak clear ! Phantom terrors that ajipal Seem near. Though the horror sting my soul, Tell me If a fiend hath our control ? " Sang he. Then from the dead he raised his eager eyes To seek again the friend, and foe and friend And present keeper, whose deep secrets lay Too far for careless seekers, or for those Whose distant quest is made through spy- glasses. And silent sat the image as before ; But, to his piercing eyes, the burnished breast Changed slowly ; and a warm transparent glow- Shone through the torso from a lambent heart ; Whence myriatl blood jets coursed. Thus life and warmth Were manifest, and l(iud the suppliant sang. 214 THE GNOME. Hail to thee, hail to thee, king ! Manifest now as my lord, Thy slave hath beheld a new thing, And the truth shall be mine to record. Long have I dreamed in the dark, Long I believed thee a stone ; But thine eyes have been faithful to mark, And we fight not our battles alone. Take me again to thy breast, Teach me to suffer and weep. There like a babe would I rest. Thence as thy child would I creep. Teach me thy primer of mind, Teach by the shade and the tear, Teach by the pains of my kind, Teach by the type of a year. Tell me of things that lie hid Far in the glooms of the past; Tell me of uses forbid, Hint of our fate at the last. Tell me of rest and of task, Birth, and the duties of day, Sin that hath stood as thy mask, Age, and our passing away. THE GNOME. 215 And lo, the image moved, and stretched a hand, And from the hand ran down anointing oil Upon his head, which rained upon his breast In streams of pleasant odours ; and he felt His life rise up within him, as a seed That bursts its husk ; and more than man he grew Before the wondering eyes of those around, Till, Atlas-like, he bore the turquoise vault Upon his shoulder, stooping. Then he raised His mighty form until the mountain walls Quaked, and the trembling rocks were rent in twain ; And the great mountain's sunimil upward thrust Upon his spreading palms, was heaved aloft And hurled, with thunders of a bursting sun, Beyond the ken of diose that stood beneath. Who, gazing awestruck through the open rent, f^aw night in heaven and under night the stars. Then first they knew their strong deliverer Gifted with wings to fly with. These he spread Betwixt them and the stars, and silently Flew far into the bosom of the night. Then some awaited, hoping his return ; 2i6 THE GNOME. And some hoped naught, but mourned the vanished dome ; And some took heed of nothing. Three bent down To crave tlieir monarch for a gift Hke his : And on his gift they reasoned, speaking low. One said, " He is king above our king."" The next, " Our king is lord in night above As in this hill below ; and this man goes To sit beneath him as a silent star."" The third, " This opener of our prison-house Is as a brother to the king that rules This cavern ; and the stars revealed above Are many mansions "neath our mountain's king, Or kindred rulers ; and the man we saw Shall sit with these perchance ; or, failing this, Find other kingship. If he rule the dance Of her that held llic gift which strove with his, And nigh destroyed him, he shall still be blessed, Guiding her feet into a worthier use Of that our master lent her for our bane. Where none behold, I hang across yon sky A curtain pictured with our cavern's tales, — A veil of time before eternity Where space lies roofless 'neath the infinite." THE IDIOT. LoiTKRiNG through drowsy pathways of my Hfe, I came upon an orchard land, apart From all the stirs that fill the outer world. Here, sitting down, I dozed amongst the rest, Or, half awake, I watched them, marking all The rustics and their queen, who, snowy- haired And velvet-tippeted, around her court Wandered each day with praises or rebukes For those who ([uestioned not her kindly sway. She seemed the only gentlewoman there. Dwelt at the Hall, an apple-faced old maid With soft grey eyes ; and all who saw her doffed Their caps respectful, save an aged man, Fourscore perchance, whose vacant c\e bespoke 2i8 THE IDIOT. The loss of reason. Scanning him again, I saw he was not of the rustic mould, But something worse or better. Day by day He sat dejected on the self-same seat, Regarding neither wind nor rain, his eyes Set on one window of the ivied Hall. Nor spake he to the passers-by ; but oft I saw the old maid trotting on her rounds Regard him with a tender glance, and touch His shoulder with a thin and mittened hand. And, standing thus, would follow up his gaze To the same window. Sometimes in his ear She spoke soft words ; but he, as deaf and blind. Gave back no answer. Once I saw a tear Brushed from her eye, departing ; and I asked Of one who knew the village chronicle, The old man's name, the old love's history. She, starting back at my request, amazed. Agape in wonder at my ignorance, Called all the powers to witness it ; and then, Glad with a chance that never rose before. Told all the story as T tell it here, Save that I after found one little thread To weave into its pattern. Now the tale : THE IDIOT. 2iy Nigh fifty years before : The mighty days Of the great conflict fresh in all men"s minds, Ay, even down in sleepy Wittenden A thing to brag of over drowsy ale, How old George Barford's son had won his stripes At Waterloo , and Widow Beddoe's boy Had fallen. Local heroes of renown. The last a poacher — ' None the worse for that,' The farmers said, but said it aftertvards. Suddenly, flashed into the village life A gay lieutenant in the Navy, son To the last vicar, bearing on his coat The medals which he won at Trafalgar ; Child of the village, which for twelve long years Had missed the cheery echoes of his voice. That rung in stronger accents than of old, But glad as ever ; gladdest when his shout Had cheered his sailors clambering up the sides Of some great Spanish vessel from the deck Of his small sloop. So all the village made Him hero of the hour. Chief at the Hall The stately welcome of his father's friend Its widowed mistress, holding by her side Her little daughter, sunny-haired and fresh, 220 THE IDIOT. A country daisy, with an open eye Regardant of the sun. And all the warmth Which tropic suns had gendered in his blood Flushed to his face beholding. He recalled A shy sweet infant whom he used to bear Down sunny lanes to roll amidst the hay ; Or raised upon broad shoulders to draw down The topmost filberts in the coppices. And now the child was gone, or lingered yet But in unsullied childish faith in one, Her earliest hero, and perchance her last. But he that met her, little hero-like. Cast down his eyes and stammered : till the dame, Who wished him well for his good father's sake, Pronounced him awkward. But she brought him in And made good cheer, and drew forth all the tale Of Nelson, told afresh witli moist blue eyes And lips that quivered. Soon she made a feast To half the county gentry ; they should know How Wittendcn had borne its little part In making up the annals of the time. So half the county met to hear and praise ; And the young squires who owned contiguous lands, And diought, perchance, to better their estate, THE IDIOT. 221 Looked black as lluinder when they saw him lead The heiress down ihe avenue of ehns To the great booth erected for the feast. She, timidly observant, as she sat, Thought only " Is there any like him ? " " None," Her bosom answered. He on his side saw Xo other eyes, save those two speedwells lurncd In trust to watch his lips, which, all unused To tell the story of his own success, Moved clumsily enough until he reached The praise of England's hero and his own. Then, with a sudden glory in his eyes. The voice that rang amidst the battle smoke Burst forth as when he shouted from the mast, A tattered flag of Gallia in his hand ; And ringing, dropped to utter tenderness And manly pathos o'er the hero's fall. So all who heard applauded ; but a few Smiled, or grew frigid, marking the clasped hands And streaming eyes of her who sat beside, Unconscious save of him and of his thought. He also, turning, caught her thus entranced, And knew his hope, and felt it like a flood 'Whelm all his being. But the dame, removed 222 THE IDIOT. By the long table, nothing marked or guessed. Thereafter, the feasl finished, and the folk Returning homeward through the mazy lanes, There came one hour of peace at early eve, When these two, pacing down the avenue. Turned to the Grecian temple on the right And shared their gladness, told the same old tale Eve heard of Adam in their paradise. And he, in Eden sitting with his Eve, Was like a child who sees the present joy. Nor dreams of any sorrow till it comes : But, late returning homeward to the Hall, Her arm in his and humid were her eyes, His also filled with joy that verged on tears. They found the old dame frigid and sedate. With formal courtesy, and boding brows That questioned of their converse. Nothing loth. He rushed in sailor fashion on his fate. And blurted all his tale into her ears. Who listened unresponsive. " Nay," she said, " Her daughter, poor Sir William's only child. Was but an infant, knowing now in nought, Would learn her station later. Much she grieved That one who, older, should have thought it shame THE IDIOT. 223 To trifle with her inexperience, Had wronged llieir hospitality, and brought A sorrow to a house that had deserved A kindlier treatment." Then she bade " adieu," Scorning to ban him for his father's sake, And also that perchance she felt some touch Of pity for the misery and shame Which crimsoned all his cheek, and seamed his brow With veins that filled to bursting. Stumbling forth With strong limbs feeble to support the weight Of sorrow in his bosom, he laid hands Upon his nag that stood before the door. And clambering slowly to the saddle, drove The spurs into his unexpectant side. Who, starting wildly, galloped down the lanes, And o'er the open fields that lay beyond. And out into the bosom of the night, As wolves were at his heels. And the fierce wolves That tore his master's bosom, goaded him Beyond his strength to flee them till he fell Heart-broken ; and his master, helpless Hung Forth upon thirsty earth that drank his blood. Lay senseless, with the crisp curls steeped in gore. Twas thus a shepherd found him at the day. 224 THE IDIOT. Carried from thence into a hospital The life that girt its limbs to flee, returned To find its mansion stripped of every sense Save some vague memory of departed love. Thus was his body decently interred, Not in a grave, but in asylum walls, And ate, and drank, and slept, as though the soul Were still its tenant, as perchance it was, Though folded in such sleep as that which wraps The good King Arthur in Avilion. So there his remnant lingered, till at length The village mistress, passing from her throne Made room for her successor, the pale maid Who, long obedient to her mother's will. Had lingered with clippetl wings within the cage ; And, finding now her liberty at last. Took small advantage save for fuller works Amongst her poor, and that she journeyed forth To greet the shadow of old love, and strove To give such tenderness as might repair The outward blemish of his darkened house. Not that he knew her. Hardly knew the place Save for one spot, the old moss-covered seat, Whence in the summer evenings long ago THE IDIOT. 225 He watched her curtain waving in the wind To catch her shadowed outhne. Here he sat The long day through. She took him in at eve And played to him to soothe him, but he strode Forward and back the long night through in grief, And onl\' on that seat found any rest. Such was the tale ; and here's the thread I found To bind it : for 1 won the old maid's grace By some slight works of service to her poor ; And so she took me in, and cockered me With couniry dainties, luscious clotted creams, And melons from her hothouses, and pines, And various cakes washed down with home-made draughts, Some cloying and some nasty. To refuse Were treason, so I drank against my will. And soon it happened that for some slight call — A trifling cough, I think, that craved my skill— I was admitted, marshalled by her maid. Into her maiden chamber, bright with chintz And flowers, and great old china gods that leered Upon their mistress, but their swollen l)ulks Full, not with knavish mirth, but lavender. Q 226 THE IDIOT. Here, when her handmaid had laid bare her throat, I saw a large flat locket from a chain Hang, worn and polished, on her wrinkled breast. She saw my eye fall on it, and she drew It from her heart and set it in my hand Without a word, as one who felt that I Knew all it spoke of. I, who touched the clasp With reverence, saw a faded miniature In vapid nerveless stipple. Just a face, Handsome enough if well and truly drawn ; But simpering lips and eyes of stony glare Robbed it of beauty, save that in my thought I set it by the poor old shade below And saw the contrast. As I gave it back. Kissing her withered hand in gratitude As for a secret shown in sacred trust, She simply said, "I wished iV'AXyoii should see The real John Somers." "The real John Somers," kind old loving heart, I cannot see him here. If eyes of love May gaze through fifty years and see his spring Of life run fresh with waters, it is well. He, too, may deem he sees his real maid THE IDIOT. 227 In some disordered flashes of his trance. But neither sees the other till the veil Upon the souls of both be lifted uj). Then shall he know what love and patient trust Are his for ever ; and the maid he loved, Turning like Mary from the sepulchre, Behold the real John Somers. Not the shade She loved in youth, but, being purified In a new birth, in glory strange and bright And lovelier than this shadow of her dreams. Q 2 THE TALE OE RABBI JOSEPH. ADAPTED FROM DE QUINCEY. Joseph Ben Josaphat, a rabbi gray, Knelt from high noon till eventide to pray ; Then, risen, gazed afar o'er Mamre's plain To watch the twilights lingering citron wane; And saw a sudden mote that moved. A deer, Perchance ? Nay, 'twas a man in haste. Drawn near, He paused respectful, knelt him down, and bowed, Hands laid on breast, before he gasped aloud ; " Swift, holy Rabbi ! Swift, a sheep to tend. A daughter of our race draws nigh her end, One grievously tormented. Fiends of hell Gather against the child of Israel." The Rabbi girt his robe : a friend to all His race, he answered gladly at tlicir call ; And with his guide passed from the cavern's mouth Unto the grove of Hebron by the south. THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. 229 There, found a palace built of wood and stone And ivory, rich as that which Solomon Gave the Egyptian woman. Heavy palls Of Sidon's broidering waved on painted walls 'Twixt fluted stems with brazen capitals. All priceless things lay scattered without heed ; The Persian crystal, and the Indian bead ; The perfect forms of Greece, and bowls by hands Of Sinim wrought, the farthest of far lands. All these the Rabbi heeded not, but passed Into the richest chamber, and the last, All gold and amber. In its close recess Lay one of unimagined loveliness Wrapped in soft silks of Shiraz, but a glow Of flame unsteady flickered on her brow. Or left it ash-white, and her eyes' black wells Shrank not in light. Reflective shadow dwells In such defies the sun, they watch near wings Of Azrael, sunless are his shadowings. The sufferer shivered as the Rabbi laitl His palm upon her burning brow to aid A heat, no freshness of the night-breeze fanned, With the cool contact of his pitying hand. 230 THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. She turned like one tormented. As a leaf Shivers and shrinks in the sirocco's breath, So every muscle shrank. Each tendon thrilled Like bowstring springing ; and the Rabbi skilled To mark, knew now that one of the unblest Had seized that lovely dwelling for his rest. Then drew he forth an unguent from his gown. Which wise men of old time had handed down. (Such Daniel made, and touched therewith and healed The herb-fed king, and led him from his field To sit upon the throne.) Therewith her lips He touched, then nostrils, eyes, and finger-tips. Next he made fire of shittim wood, thereon Laid aloes, frankincense, and cinnamon. And, as the fume rose, bore her from her bed, And 'mid the vapours bended down her head. Then died all fire from out her face again. It froze to one blue mask of icy pain. She shrieked as one in torture, but the \\\)S, Moved not ; her glassy eyes had no eclipse ; No breath stirred, but 'twas horrible to hear The blasphemy, the hate, the filth, the fear, The shriek for mercy, and the viler note Of mocking laughter from that moveless throat. THE TALE OE RABBI JOSEPH. 231 " Spare me this incense torment. Spare To smite mine ears with sound of prayer. Is vengeance wanting ? Lo ! the sky Is thick with wings of those that fly Hither, at bidding of the Lord, To cleave me with the venomed sword. Look forth ! each holds a flaming scourge Thrice knotted. What hast thou to urge .'' " When mitlst a slorni the sudden lightning's shock Hurls down some mighty pinnacle of rock Upon a tiger leaping in the grasp Of death, so sudden sprang she in his clasp Maddened with dreatl. Her eyeballs from their caves Leapt GUI like souls accursed from their graves, Despairing, hating, seeing nought but dire Tormenting fiends behind, in front hut fire. Then, issuing forth, the parting demon tore With one last agony the shape he wore. To one last scream of helpless hate gave vent. And fled despairing to his punishment. Slowl}- the breath returned to that weak frame. And, gazing up, she spoke the Rabbi's name, 232 THE TALE Ob RABBI JOSEPH. Who, slowly rising, in his aged arms Took the frail burden of her mortal charms, And gently laid it where to east a ray Shone through the porch and heralded the day. A fresh sweet breeze, by thyme and violets Balsamed with perfume, cooled the steaming sweats Of Israel's daughter; but her face still bore The marks of many sorrows gone before ; And though the spirit speaking was her own. She told its tale in many a varied tone Of joy or anguish : and the Rabbi heard That tale rejoicing, but he spake no word. " Listen and fear ! I for a while Was dweller in the land of Nile ; Rich, powerful, courted, hated, vile, A murderer, adulterer, A sensual king's worst minister. I fell ; and stript and bare, I sought the wild beast's lair ; In raging heat, accurst. Tortured by pains and thirst, 1 found a refuge from the glare, THE TALE OE RAHHl JOSEPH. ' 233 An empty tomb, and entered there. Amidst foul bones that stank Corrupt, 1 failed and sank, An outcast parched and lone, Who late stood by the throne. Each dried limb shrank To skin and bone. But ihirsl was nought Beside the thought Of hate, my own. Joy ! could I drink a flood Of the accuser's blood ! Joy ! could I tear The heart laid bare I Watch with a gloating eye The fierce despair. The agony ! '' 1 tore myself. 1 thrust My nails into the dust. I cursed with failing breath. My tongue clave to my teeth. E'en hatred failed, and soon I sank into a swoon. 23+ THE TALE OE RABBI JOSEPH. " I woke, a pitcher to my mouth. Who is it that would aid my drouth ? An aged man and sinister, He seemed the devil's minister. I cursed, and he the while Sat with a listening smile, Approving what I said By motion of his head. Stronger, I cursed again, and he Proffered his drink once more to me. ' What fiend art thou .? ' I said ; ' wouldst give Life to a hate that loathes to live .? It starves and perishes with heat. I spue thy water, spurn thy meat. I burn for blood. Revenges sweet, I crave nought else. I will not eat.' " The old man turned. His glance Pierced through me like a lance. His mouth curved to a smile So bestial, so vile, I, even I, felt fright To read that look aright. THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. 2.^5 He spoke. ' A lucky fate Is thine, to satiate A thirst that is so sore In floods of human gore. Hate fills thy heart with flame. My hatred is the same, And I myself will give Thine fuel by which to live. The hearts of those who sent Thee into banishment. Their fortunes, and their lives. Their children, and their wives, Are thine. Lo ! I, lliy friend. Have saved thee to this end, Will raise thee from the dust, Will satisfy each lust. Will give thee wealth and power And Egypt for thy dower. Oh, son of Abraham (Friend of the great I AM) — Now for a hundred years Cast off all doubts and fears. Rule all men at thy will, Torture, and burn, and kill. 236 THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. Spend wealth, nor fear decrease, Drink wine and live at ease. The fairest of the land Are all at thy command. All's thine, all at thy feet, Till once again we meet, Then shalt thou dwell with me And must my servant be ; But that's a distant day A century away. A hundred years to cloy Thy vengeance, and enjoy All things thy burning heart Can dream of wealth and art. And beauty and success. Behold, I give no less.' " I grasped the old man's scorching hand. I stood upright at his command. I watched him fill a golden cup ; I seized it, paused not, drank it up. I sucked it to its utmost drain, 1 lelt it burn into my brain. THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. 237 I looked around, and he was gone, And in the lomb I stood alone. " None could have known me as I stood ; Fresh tides of youth coursed in my blood. No more myself, the form I bore Was stronger, comelier than of yore ; No longer naked as before, The richest broidered robes I wore, And arms with jewelled hilts, each thing Worthy the ransom of a king ; Whilst yellow-glistening in the gloom, Were piles of gold that filled the tomb. I took small heed of what was shown. My vengeance filled my heart alone. And I rejoiced. Twas bliss to know I held the scales of joy and woe ; And such revenge might be my own As never yet the years had known. I would wrench forth such bitter cries From foes in mortal agonies As Hell had hardly heard arise ; A vengeance shouhl my soul devise, To shake men's hearts', appal the skies. 238 THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. " I drank my fill. I lashed the state Of Egypt with the rod of hate. I was the tempting fiend who school'd The vilest kings that ever ruled, A nation's shame, mankind's disgrace, A dastard and a mongrel race. I had revenge, invented woes Too fierce, too nameless to disclose. For all who in my former life Had dared contend with me in strife. I had my spies. The lightest breath Was laden with the dread of death, Till men dare hardly speak my name So swift so sure my vengeance came : And foes in torment hid apart The hatred that devoured their heart. I feasted to excess. I drank, I wallowed in all vileness rank. No surfeit on my strength prevailed, No purposes of evil failed. " At length, when 1 had drained dry All pleasures to satiety. Could no fresh sensual crimes invent, THE TALE OF RABBI JUSEPH. 239 Devise no fiercer punishment, It grew my chief delight to win My fellows to my life of sin, Construct the snare or spread the gin That innocence was taken in. An easy task. That bestial court Was but the foulest, last resort Of crimes that in another place, If found, had need to hide their face. Here, they walked open, looked not down, Danced naked, blushed not, wore the crown. I bought old age, corrupted youth. Set falsehood high, trod down the truth. Prompted oppression, closed the door Of justice to the wronged and poor. " And sitting thus in my estate I feared no foe, controlled no hate. Ofttimes assassins lay in wait To slay me, ambushed at my gate. I feared them not. My spies revealed The shadows where they lay concealed ; And hunters, stealing forth to slay The tiger, met it in their way. 240 THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. To fall themselves its latest prey. So all the land lay still. Men fled My presence, smitten sore with dread ; No promise there that time would stay My hand. I lived without decay, Unchanged, more awful day by day. I hardly watched the years roll by ; I hardly deemed that I could die ; I knew not that my time drew nigh ; The changeless dial of the sky Watched all men change save only I. " We held an orgie that the morn Beheld reluctant. Pale and worn The king sat. I alone arose As fresh as at the twilight's close. The old man, changeless in his might To sin. The youth, at morning light Nerveless and feeble. Lo ! a train Of camels wending o'er the plain, From the far desert come, to bring The Arab tribute to the king. I looked. Though these and he were met, Both should be fishes in mv net. THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. 241 I would be king myself, and rule, No longer guide diis faineant fool : Lust roused him to no fresh excess ; False, but loo feeble to oppress, lie was too weak for w'ickedness. " I watched the string of camels wend Across tlie plain, and towards me bend, Halt at the city gate. J. might Have seen the sheik himself alight, Save that I turned antl saw the king, Drunken, cast off his covering, And, reeling feebly to my side. Gaze down upon the prospect wide. 'Twas but a push. He reeled and fell Mid slaves who raised a hideous yell, Desisting sudden from their sport. To raise their master from the court Dead, without doubt ; and I the while Turned back with a contemptuous smile, To shrink in terror from the eye Of him I met in days gone b\-, The desert sheik. I knew the hour Was his, and fled my dream of power ; 242 THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. I sickened 'neath his loathsome stare, And snatched a dagger in despair, Striving to plunge it in my side. His mastering hand my thought denied, He dropped my arm again and smiled On one as helpless as a child, And smiling said, ' The years are flown, And I am come to claim my own. I who am Sammael, Prince in the lowest hell, Lord both of man and beast In all this sensual East, Come hither now to claim Thee, child of Abraham, (Loved of the great I AM). Though of that race divine, Now art thou surely mine. Pass then to Hell's despair, Wait till I claim thee there.' *' His visage flashed with flame. His voice as thunder came. I fell before his feet. He raised his spear to beat THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. 243 A chasm to the glow Of endless fires below. Sudden I heard a groan Of anguish break his tone. A gleam of lightning shone And wrapped Iiiiii like a gown, Writhing from head to feet, In white and awful heat; The radiance from the eyes Of one from Paradise Who fights with powers of Hell For sons of Israel. The foul fiend sent a rutldy dart, Thrice venomed, downwards at my heart. The angel caught it on his shield And smote with lightnings blue and steeled Such blows he could not choose but yield, And giving back he groaned aloud, Then vanished in a thunder cloud ; Whilst the avenger looking down Rebuked me, anger in his frown : " ' Son of man thou that hast sinned, Traitor and worst of thv kind, R 2 244 THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. Know thai the Infinite Mind Sends me to scourge and to bind. Thou of thy race wert the bane, Stained with all sensual stain, Cursed with the curses of Cain. Mercy — is judgment and pain. Thou as a beast shall be fed, Gall of affliction thy bread, Scorch of the sun on thine head. No man my vengeance hath fled. Kneel ! I have said.' " I saw him bend to touch my brow. I shrank as from a mortal blow ; I felt a sudden stab of pain Shoot through my forehead, numb my brain. " I bounded out of the palace gate, I leapt down the terraces, elate ; I swam through the Nile, and I scoured the sand With a force that 1 cared not to understand. I sped o'er the plains like a rushing wind Till I lost the last trace of the towers behind, And saw but the desert levels dry THE TALK OF RARE I JOSEPH. 245 With their flickering rim 'neath the scorching sky. I marked out a tent where the Arabs slept, And a strange thirst filled me as on I swept. They arose from their rest as I drew more near With a savage clamour, and shrieks of fear. I'here was one who rushed forth and hurled a lance. 1 felt ihc dull point from my shoulder glance, And maddened I S])rang with a savage roar; He was down 'neath my feet in a pool of gore, My teeth in his throat, whence the stream ran red. I sated my drouth whilst his comrades fled. I left his carcase, I neared the brink Of a pool, and I bent me down to drink. " It was a blood-stained lion's face That from the pool returned my gaze. " I leapt. I clove the air With howls of fierce despair. I shuddered at the sound. And startetl boun^l on bound. My mane adown the wind Streamed stiffly out behind. My blazing eyeballs, hot 246 THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. As fiery coals, saw not. I shunned not thorn nor shock Of precipice or rock. My sole desire to fly This loathsome shape and die. " And e'en its savage strength Grew faint with toil at length. Its shuddering limbs grew wet, Its glaring eyeballs set. Its feet were flayed. I fell To heritage of Hell. I loathed this bestial form Now weaker than the worm ; I shuddered that the day Could mark me as I lay. I longed for shades of night To bur\- me from sight ; But there with calm bright eyes, The stars gaze and despise ; The unruffled moon looks down, And the still mountains frown. I would have hid my ills In caverns of the hills : THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. 247 But there the awful face Of Sammael filled each place. Small rest, small refuge there From terror or despair. I could not die. The beast Rose up, and won its feast Upon the wolf that came To profit by its shame. The angel's word was sure. Perforce I must endure, " I had endured. The sun had risen Uncounted ages un my prison. The thoughts that filled my tortured mind Traced all the paths that lay behind, Saw all my sins in letters clear Of blood, the tale from year to year Horrible, ghastly. Lo, the scroll vSpared not one jot, contained the whole. But all the present was the brute's, And had its bestial attributes. It had the instincts of its form. And shivered in the winter storm. Or blistered 'neath the cloudless sun, 248 THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. Until at length, at length, begun Decay ; and all its mighty thews Grew stiff and feeble with disuse. Its eyes grew dim, its jaws grew weak, It scarce had strength its prey to seek ; It dragged its feeble carcase old To profit by a shepherd's fold. And as the trembling beasts, dismayed, Fled bleating, lo ! there came in aid Their shepherd, and my slow dim eyes Watched him approaching with surprise. In sight of this old man and poor, I dreamed of hope unfelt before. Nay surely, surely 'twas the same. I drooped my head in sudden shame, And sought to breathe the angel's name. Then, kneeling humbly in the dust. My heart received his sudden thrust. I sprang in pain. A scorching light Flashed, and burnt blue, and ilied in night. " I was wrapped in a garment of heavy dew As I slid from the womb of the night anew. I swam in a vapour that all around THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. 249 Quivered and writhed wiili the thunder's sound. I reeled as a lightning blazed, and then Thick darkness enveloped me round again. Blinded, I buffeted through the swirl Of the eddying mist, and I clove the whirl Of a raging blast, as I strove to soar Through shadows around me, behind, before. I struggled. I gasped. I was failing fast. Lo ! is there a brightness above at last .' One last effort and o'er my head The mist wave broke, and the sun shone red. The eye of the skv from the dome downbent Seemed anigh in the clear bright firmament, Keeping watch on my sin and its punishment. What was the prison he gazed upon, Whence my bursting heart drew a scream alone. Striving for speech in its walls of bone .' It hovered with mighty wings outspread In circles, or through the ether fled Like an arrow by some strong bowman sped. I gazed on the shadowed form that fell On a wreath of vapour. I read the spell ; An eagle now, it was mine to soar Through realms of wonder undreamed before. 250 THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. Lo ! far beneath me in blazing light Lay the changing seas of the cloud-realm white, Lapping shining forms clad in bright attire, The mountain islets, each snowy spire Standing a finger to point a road From the cloudland up to the light of God. " But still the beast ! oh, still the beast, I must dip my beak in the bloody feast, And stoop from the paths of that higher way To sate my appetite day by day. Summers and winters, sun and storm, Passed me, and still I bore this form. The sordid meal of the eagle o'er, The soul used the eagle's wings to soar Far from the land of slow beasts and trees, To float alone on the wild fresh breeze, And behold all wonders of lands and seas ; To gaze on the little things that man Has toiled like tlie careful ant to plan. Or contemplate desert mountains trod Of no man, raised by a thought of God. I saw on their summits the smoke that curled From the awful fires of the under- world. THE TALE OF RAH HI JOSEPH. 251 I sailed o'er the forge of the thunder brand, And marked where it smote in the Master's hand ; I harked to the never-ending roar Of the tides that pulse on the ocean's shore. I followed the clouds that unceasing roll At the Master's bidding from pole to pole, Drawers of water, slaves that toil With burdens of corn and wine and oil, And all good gifts ; and higli above I saw that the sun looked down in love, A servant ; and now I dared to gaze Upon him undazzled, nor shunned that face Whicli alone in the firmament apart Had searched every wound of the lion's heart, And had broken his spirit by slow degrees To seek for his pardon upon his knees. So all these things working slow but sure, Gave me the hope of a final cure For my sin, and poised aloft my moan. ' Would I liatl known, oh, wouUl I had known ! ' " It may be a century had flown, Ere all I have spoken became my own. In moments only by slow (.iegrees 252 THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. Was faith worked out and my soul at ease, Ever the eagle's instinct broke The threads of my hope as they awoke, And severed the webs from my toiling mind. To leave them streaming adown the wind ; But at length one morn as a radiance soft Of gold from the world's edge rose aloft, And climbing to heaven yet wrapped the earth In embraces golden, I mourned the dearth Of those below me who could not see The glory, the rapture, revealed to me. And I spake to the sun as he rose to view, ' Would God that they knew — would God they knew ! ' " A storm uprose. An awful sound Of gathered whirlwinds hurtled round. The hurricane came swooping past; I reeled, a feather in its blast, And caught with failing sight the eyes Of him, the Son of Paradise, My soul's tormentor. Yet methought It was a kindlier glance I caught. Then in that rushing mighty wind A lightning flashed, and I was blind ; THE TALE UF RAHBI JOSE ['II. 253 And down ihc whirlwiiurs eddying rings, Drifted lo eartli with broken wings. " It was high noon when I awoke In a mud dwelling filled wiih smoke. Strange forms around gave wondering cries Of gladness when they saw me rise. What was I now .' A peasant's child, Born midst the mountains steep and wild ; Who, last night fallen into swoon, Had waked past hope that summer noon. In all the neighbouring mountain glades She was the loveliest of the maids. Therefore her kindred's hearts were glad To find the choicest thing they had No more in fear of death. They sold Their pearl next day for heavy gold To a slave merchant who approved My form. 'Twas such as monarchs loved. He bore me neither sad nor gay, But musing, patient far away. I was the sultan's toy, his sport. When first I entered at his court ; Sat with the sensual at their feast, 254 THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. Where every jest betrayed the beast; Gazed helpless at each cruel show — The murderous lash, the headsman's blow ; Obeyed the tyrant on the throne ; But kept my secret prayer my own, ' Oh, would to Cxod that these had known ! ' " Another took my place. The brow That once approved was frigid now. ' Modesty ! 'Twas a harem slave, Himself had smiled and she looked grave. Enough ! ' My tender back was flayed By scourges, and my debt was paid. " Then was I passed from hand to hand. Obedient to each new command. Each one more brutal, more unkind, And each more bestial in his mind. I would have shown them, if I could. Things higher than they understood ; I strove with some. There was no gain, Save of an increase to my pain. None would turn back, and none believed The bitterness wherein I grieved ; THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. 255 But heaped worse insult. If they gave Smiles of approval to their slave, It was worse torture, for their smile Was Sammael's own corrupt and vile ; And my cold forehead brake in dew — ' Would God they knew — would God they knew ! ' "Though soiled by these, I still was fair, And each new day brought new despair ; Till at the last my tempter came. No more the old man, but the same. A strong fierce youth, he gazed on me, And drooped his eyes, as modesty Prevailed ; then at my feet he knelt To speak the love his bosom felt ; And well his voice was tuned to move My heart that only longed for love. So my soul yearned to one who came To seek me in my servile shame, Spake me as equal, nay, obeyed The lightest sign my finger made. Though soft and tender unto me, A wild son of the plains was he ; >50 THE TALE OE RABBI JOSEPH. And he would bear me from the sink Of cities, fresh, sweet air to drink. So I beheved him. Sore oppressed And wretched, love might yet be blessed. I gave assent. He strained my form In wildest rapture. 'Twas a storm Of passion girt me, and his kiss Burnt through my lips, a fire, a bliss, Too fierce, too piercing to endure. "Twas the heart's blister, not its cure ; For gazing into eyes that sent Flame to mine own, I read the intent — The purpose of the fiend of Hell, And shriekmg Sammael's name, I fell. " Ah, God, 'twas dreary. Soon he came Once more. I called on Abram's name; But nought prevailed to make him flee. He offered now fresh baits to me — Freedom, repose, long nights of ease. Long days of joy, ay, all the peace My bosom craved ; but I reviled His offers, spake myself the child, Self-willed no more, of Abraham, THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. 257 Obedient to the great I AM. I might have spoken unto stone : He offered now a queenly throne, Where I might sit and win all hearts, Might serve my race, encourage arts, And be a nation's joy and pride. No more to servile masters tied, But free to grace with my right hand The noblest chief in all my land. 'Twas vain. My soul had learnt a way To scorn its prison house of clay. Though this be soiled and must endure. The soul within might yet be pure. " Then, foiled, he bore me hither. This His palace, and all here is his. For here he deemed that from the brink Of pleasure stumbling, I might sink. This body lapped in all that could Break down its strength and hardihood. Here oftentimes, as now this night. He drove my spirit forth in flight Into the darkness, and this breast Received the demon as its guest. 258 THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. That I mighl find it feeble when My wandering soul came home again. In all its pains I had my share, Ay, often was I nigh despair ; But now methinks 'twas given me This night my angel's face to see. And lo, from a great sun he smiled, And spake in comfort, ' Abram's child, The sun that shineth in his might Shall be thy resting-place this night.' Soon may I take his hand to go. Oh, Rabbi, think'st thou this is so 1 " The Rabbi bowed his head in holy fear. Perchance he deemed that awful Presence near Then prayed aloud the prayers for those who dwell Beneath the shadowy wings of Azrael. Daughters of Jacolx Soon the damsel spake : " Lo, thou art weary, father, for my sake ; And now for me, my father, pray no more, But pray that God send peace to Zion's shore." The Rabbi prayed ; and, as he wept, her voice THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. 259 Blent with his own, whilst tongues that did rejoice Filled all the air with songs of wondrous love That from the earth ascending died above ; And Rabbi Joseph raising not his head, Yet knew within his heart her spirit fled With others upwards, and the golden cord Loosed, was drawn heavenwards by her loving Lord. Then turned he from the gate ; and, looking back, Saw but the hillside, chilly, waste, and black, And the wide plain before was void and bare, His visions faded, and that palace air ; Or — was he dreaming now ? The Rabbi took The scroll he carried of the Pentateuch ; There was his tear upon the lines he read. Whilst perfume lingered by sweet incense shed, And, gazing upwards at the risen sun, He deemed he saw a mote die thereupon. Lo ! are not these things written in the book Of Rabbi Joseph ? He who will may look 26o THE TALE OF RABBI JOSEPH. Upon the writing. All is entered there In his own script with conscientious care. But credible ? Nay, friends, for faith is rare, And all things bubbles, dreams that burst in air. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below FEB «g?ign»-p MAR U \1 mi Mi- k' -lOm-ll, '50 (2555)470 ^. '^ AN VESTS'/- Uk-'Si^ J rffT ^ i »»« S| '^3Kj K*.^