The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird Fifth Edition: With a Memoir by the Rev. Jardine Wallace |
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| TALES OF THE SIEGE OF JERUSALEM. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird |  |
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TALES OF THE SIEGE OF JERUSALEM.
First Tale: Herodion and Azala.
I. PART I.
High mission theirs and blest! the Prophets share
Jehovah's mind, Jehovah's word they bear
From land to land, to peoples and to kings,
Borne fear-defying on the Spirit's wings.
Then, then, they wait not through time's dull delay;
Theirs the far vision of the unborn day,
Long glories sleeping in their seed they scan,
And taste the future joys ordained for Man.
But bring the balance. Here the blood is spilt
Of peopled kingdoms by o'erlording Guilt;
There pleasure yields but sorrows—oh, they be
Too many for the good which earth must see.
Hence joy is his o'erbalanced far by pain,
Whose spirit kens the Future's coming train;
Unblest by hope where certainty appears:
And knowledge saddens through protracted years.
For he is human still. Then scorn and hate
Too oft the prophet's warning voice await,
From those for whom the awful charge he bears
To instruct his spirit in their future cares:
So keen their hate, he scarcely can repress
Unhallowed joy at their ordained distress.
If right his heart, yet his the growing wo
Their ills increasing with their scorn to know;
While new-commissioned threats from God on high
Still tell their worth who turn not but will die.
And thus his large heart's but prerogative
With deeper awe, with trembling still to live.
Jehovah's mind, Jehovah's word they bear
From land to land, to peoples and to kings,
Borne fear-defying on the Spirit's wings.
Then, then, they wait not through time's dull delay;
Theirs the far vision of the unborn day,
Long glories sleeping in their seed they scan,
And taste the future joys ordained for Man.
But bring the balance. Here the blood is spilt
Of peopled kingdoms by o'erlording Guilt;
There pleasure yields but sorrows—oh, they be
Too many for the good which earth must see.
Hence joy is his o'erbalanced far by pain,
Whose spirit kens the Future's coming train;
Unblest by hope where certainty appears:
And knowledge saddens through protracted years.
For he is human still. Then scorn and hate
Too oft the prophet's warning voice await,
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To instruct his spirit in their future cares:
So keen their hate, he scarcely can repress
Unhallowed joy at their ordained distress.
If right his heart, yet his the growing wo
Their ills increasing with their scorn to know;
While new-commissioned threats from God on high
Still tell their worth who turn not but will die.
And thus his large heart's but prerogative
With deeper awe, with trembling still to live.
Those joys, how solemn, these majestic woes
Beseem the forms that young Azala shows,
Wrought of her needle round her father's halls:
Their life, their type, their burden she recalls,
As round she leads Herodion by the hand,
And points them there, the prophets of the land.
She, him to please, sprung of a prophet's line,
And far in battle, wrought the bold design;
Yea more she wishes now, great-hearted maid,
Their patriot lessons on his spirit laid,
As back to war he goes: Two orphans they,
Who loved each other from their earliest day,
And now betrothed; but both are self-denied,
And Judah must be saved ere she will be his bride.
No need to nerve his valour, if unbent
By love he slack not: this she must prevent;
And showed the prophets, that his soul might draw
Strength from those forms august, strength from those heads of awe
And lion faces: thus she strengthened him,
That stag-eyed daughter of Jerusalem.
Beseem the forms that young Azala shows,
Wrought of her needle round her father's halls:
Their life, their type, their burden she recalls,
As round she leads Herodion by the hand,
And points them there, the prophets of the land.
She, him to please, sprung of a prophet's line,
And far in battle, wrought the bold design;
Yea more she wishes now, great-hearted maid,
Their patriot lessons on his spirit laid,
As back to war he goes: Two orphans they,
Who loved each other from their earliest day,
And now betrothed; but both are self-denied,
And Judah must be saved ere she will be his bride.
No need to nerve his valour, if unbent
By love he slack not: this she must prevent;
And showed the prophets, that his soul might draw
Strength from those forms august, strength from those heads of awe
And lion faces: thus she strengthened him,
That stag-eyed daughter of Jerusalem.
Lo! Judah's Shepherd-King: He bore with grace
A golden harp: high looked his Heavenward face,
Kindling to song divine. Behind him rose
Mount Zion's pomp of beauty and repose.
A golden harp: high looked his Heavenward face,
Kindling to song divine. Behind him rose
Mount Zion's pomp of beauty and repose.
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Behold! behold, uplifted through the air,
The swift Ezekiel by his lock of hair!
Near burned the Appearance undefinedly dread,
Whose hand put forth upraised him by the head.
Within its fierce reflection cast abroad,
The Prophet's forehead like a furnace glowed.
From terror half, half from his vehement mind,
His lurid hair impetuous streamed behind.
The swift Ezekiel by his lock of hair!
Near burned the Appearance undefinedly dread,
Whose hand put forth upraised him by the head.
Within its fierce reflection cast abroad,
The Prophet's forehead like a furnace glowed.
From terror half, half from his vehement mind,
His lurid hair impetuous streamed behind.
But lo! young Daniel in the Den, the glare
Of lions round him in the twilight there.
Seemed some, as plunged they headlong to devour,
In difficult check caught by a viewless Power;
Bowed their curbed necks, their wrenchèd heads subdued,
Half turned they hung in dreadful attitude.
Others bent slept; but still their fronts were racked
With lust of blood, their forms were still unslacked,
As if at once their hungry rage had been
Drowned in deep sleep by that vast Power unseen.
The rest, with peace upon their massive brows,
Gaze on the Prophet as in prayer he bows.
Of lions round him in the twilight there.
Seemed some, as plunged they headlong to devour,
In difficult check caught by a viewless Power;
Bowed their curbed necks, their wrenchèd heads subdued,
Half turned they hung in dreadful attitude.
Others bent slept; but still their fronts were racked
With lust of blood, their forms were still unslacked,
As if at once their hungry rage had been
Drowned in deep sleep by that vast Power unseen.
The rest, with peace upon their massive brows,
Gaze on the Prophet as in prayer he bows.
Divine of beauty more young seers they saw,
And ancients laden with prophetic awe:
Bards they as well as prophets, forth in song
Their spirits rushed against the tops of Wrong.
And ancients laden with prophetic awe:
Bards they as well as prophets, forth in song
Their spirits rushed against the tops of Wrong.
Herodion went. Land of such men, for thee
The great Deliverer how he longed to be!
The great Deliverer how he longed to be!
II. PART II.
Slow o'er Herodion went the night and day,
As deeply wounded on his bed he lay.
Well had he fought to stop, while yet afar,
The growing triumphs of the Roman war;
Well had he fought to stay the overthrow
Of Zion now beleaguered by the foe.
Wounded he fell; but snatched from instant fate,
His soldiers drew him from the embattled gate,
And bore him home. Azala tends him there,
And waits and watches with unwearied care.
All this might yield a heart-appeasing thought,
To bear him calmly through his present lot;
But his the fiery nature that could ill
Endure an arm less active than his will.
Electric blood, an energy of frame
Beyond the stuff of mortals, gave him fame
Even when a boy; a patriot spirit bore
The bold young warrior on from shore to shore.
But Rome came on; and Zion's now the stage
Whereon his loftier battles he must wage.
How, when her gates were widely open flung,
Forth like a panther of the wild he sprung,
Far flinging back, as on the foe he leapt,
The sable locks that o'er his shoulders swept,
Redundant from beneath a hoop of gold
Which, set with jewels, round his head was rolled!
With glory came command: though young, he led
A band of veterans, of their foes the dread,
Gray men enseamed with scars from many a brunt;
And proud were they to have him in their front,
Clashing their arms around him, shaking each
His angry beard singed in the fiery breach.
How thus, a patriot, and in honour's quest
Fierce, could this wounded hero calmly rest?
Sterner his pangs to think that feuds within
His country tore with suicidal sin.
But hark! Half-raised, he listened to the fight,
His soul commixed with the tumultuous night;
Far-plunging, grappling through the battle-tide,
He gloried bearing down the Roman side;
Till died the uproar suddenly, and shocked
His spirit to a present sense that mocked
The ideal toil, but left him, trembling yet,
From off his brow to wipe no fancied sweat.
As deeply wounded on his bed he lay.
Well had he fought to stop, while yet afar,
The growing triumphs of the Roman war;
Well had he fought to stay the overthrow
Of Zion now beleaguered by the foe.
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His soldiers drew him from the embattled gate,
And bore him home. Azala tends him there,
And waits and watches with unwearied care.
All this might yield a heart-appeasing thought,
To bear him calmly through his present lot;
But his the fiery nature that could ill
Endure an arm less active than his will.
Electric blood, an energy of frame
Beyond the stuff of mortals, gave him fame
Even when a boy; a patriot spirit bore
The bold young warrior on from shore to shore.
But Rome came on; and Zion's now the stage
Whereon his loftier battles he must wage.
How, when her gates were widely open flung,
Forth like a panther of the wild he sprung,
Far flinging back, as on the foe he leapt,
The sable locks that o'er his shoulders swept,
Redundant from beneath a hoop of gold
Which, set with jewels, round his head was rolled!
With glory came command: though young, he led
A band of veterans, of their foes the dread,
Gray men enseamed with scars from many a brunt;
And proud were they to have him in their front,
Clashing their arms around him, shaking each
His angry beard singed in the fiery breach.
How thus, a patriot, and in honour's quest
Fierce, could this wounded hero calmly rest?
Sterner his pangs to think that feuds within
His country tore with suicidal sin.
But hark! Half-raised, he listened to the fight,
His soul commixed with the tumultuous night;
Far-plunging, grappling through the battle-tide,
He gloried bearing down the Roman side;
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His spirit to a present sense that mocked
The ideal toil, but left him, trembling yet,
From off his brow to wipe no fancied sweat.
II.
Day passed: Azala came not. Night came o'er him:An aged nurse, Josepha, stood before him.
“What shall we do?” exclaimed she, fear-subdued:
“At noon Azala went to seek us food;
For bread and water hardly now we find,
Though daily portions are to you assigned:
Herself scarce eats, or seems frail bread to need;
Her own high thoughts her own dear body feed.
A sword she took: I fear the worst: for you
What quest would she not dare, so loving true?
She's not come home: the battle raged: this hour
The Holy Hill is in the enemy's power;
I fear she's slain; I've sought her far and wide,
But found her not; yet search must still be tried.
Oh, could you rise! and quick! for still this night
The foe's grim pause but tells the ready fight.
I fear you cannot?” Up Herodion sprung,
A hasty mantle o'er his vest he flung;
By fiery fever to his limbs was lent
Unnatural strength: forth with the Nurse he went.
III.
They sought Azala. All was strange repose,Like that which waits the Earthquake's coming throes;
For now the sword had cut its myriads down,
And famine thinned the many-peopled town,
And scarce the feeble residue could meet,
Or make be heard their voices in the street.
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The slain unburied in their festering state;
In these thick times of blood all reverence fled,
All hope, the living cared not for the dead.
They sought, but found her not. Loud tumults rise,
And ruddy wavings fire the midnight skies.
Home slow they went: they climb the roof, faint, slow.
The Temple burns! O'er porch and portico
They see the sheeted conflagration go.
From sainted lattice, and from sacred door,
The crooked fires with mingled warriors pour,
Who seem the demons of the flame, as they
With waving swords burst forth their writhing way.
The red plague higher rides; with close embrace
Now twines around the Temple's central place,
Whose golden spikes clear glitter in the light;
Now driven away as by the winds of night,
Bellying it hangs in one wide-wafted blaze,
With ragged darting tongues that lick a thousand ways.
How dread below, with gleams, with darkness swept,
Now fiercely clear, the frenzied Battle leapt!
Shrill sprung the Nurse: she pointed to the street,
There came Azala with impetuous feet;
Bleeding she came, yet boldly waved her brand,
Morsels of bread were in her other hand.
She saw Herodion; with unnatural glee,
“Fear not,” she cried, “I'll bring the food for thee;
Through the strait days of siege and famine I
Will bravely feed you till this wo be by:
Come to the feast!” But fainting on her side
She sunk, and feebly on Herodion cried.
Down rushed he, falling on her neck he lay:
United thus in death they breathed their souls away.
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Second Tale: Othuriel.
CANTO I. THE BATTLE.
Forth comes the day: Othuriel through the land
Of Judah southward leads that Roman band,
To help Vespasian from the Jordan's mouth
Fighting to Idumea on the south.
Down the clear plain they go; but lo! afar
The illumined coming of a host of war,
Banners and flashing spears! From side to side
Sharpening its crescent horns, it barred the valley wide
Upraised, high forward o'er his charger bent,
Throughout that host his eye Othuriel sent.
He turned:—“On must we, soldiers, undismayed,
Beyond those Jews Vespasian needs our aid;
And, ere yon sun be down into the west,
In Judah's southern gardens shall we rest.”
Of Judah southward leads that Roman band,
To help Vespasian from the Jordan's mouth
Fighting to Idumea on the south.
Down the clear plain they go; but lo! afar
The illumined coming of a host of war,
Banners and flashing spears! From side to side
Sharpening its crescent horns, it barred the valley wide
Upraised, high forward o'er his charger bent,
Throughout that host his eye Othuriel sent.
He turned:—“On must we, soldiers, undismayed,
Beyond those Jews Vespasian needs our aid;
And, ere yon sun be down into the west,
In Judah's southern gardens shall we rest.”
On went they: silent on his conscious steed,
That trode on fire and minced his governed speed,
Othuriel went—shocked to a sudden pause,
Swart gleams his brow, intenser breath he draws,
To see along yon front in warlike pride
His foe peculiar, dark Manasseh, ride,
His hated foe; forth springing, down he led
His Roman foot; it pushed its columned head
With quick short heaves against the Jews' array,
Crashing it dipped into that iron bay;
His widening horse dash out on either side:
The kindling battle rages far and wide.
That trode on fire and minced his governed speed,
Othuriel went—shocked to a sudden pause,
Swart gleams his brow, intenser breath he draws,
To see along yon front in warlike pride
His foe peculiar, dark Manasseh, ride,
His hated foe; forth springing, down he led
His Roman foot; it pushed its columned head
With quick short heaves against the Jews' array,
Crashing it dipped into that iron bay;
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The kindling battle rages far and wide.
Along the mingled van with ranging speed
Manasseh rode; leapt from his stricken steed
Othuriel, trembled through his eager frame
His heart absorbed as near his enemy came,
His still sword hung upon his eye, with might
Stamping he dared the Hebrew to the fight.
Manasseh turned and said:—“I know thee, youth;
I wronged thee much when I impeached thy truth;
But I will give thee”—from his charger down
He sprung—“a chance for vengeance and renown.”
“My welcome this!” Othuriel grimly spoke,
And launched his heart upon a mighty stroke;
But warding well unhurt the Hebrew stood,
And still was proof against the blow renewed.
He smote in turn with swiftest vehemence;
His soul Othuriel threw into defence,
Yet wounded deeply, bled. Ha! on his neck
If fall that sheer-driven weapon without check!—
Aside he swerves, is saved; his eye's bold gleam,
Half smiling, darkens into wrath extreme;
His foe has stumbled—o'er the Hebrew's head
Uprising, rose his falchion; down it sped
With might collected, unresisted main,
And drove cold darkness through his cloven brain.
Manasseh rode; leapt from his stricken steed
Othuriel, trembled through his eager frame
His heart absorbed as near his enemy came,
His still sword hung upon his eye, with might
Stamping he dared the Hebrew to the fight.
Manasseh turned and said:—“I know thee, youth;
I wronged thee much when I impeached thy truth;
But I will give thee”—from his charger down
He sprung—“a chance for vengeance and renown.”
“My welcome this!” Othuriel grimly spoke,
And launched his heart upon a mighty stroke;
But warding well unhurt the Hebrew stood,
And still was proof against the blow renewed.
He smote in turn with swiftest vehemence;
His soul Othuriel threw into defence,
Yet wounded deeply, bled. Ha! on his neck
If fall that sheer-driven weapon without check!—
Aside he swerves, is saved; his eye's bold gleam,
Half smiling, darkens into wrath extreme;
His foe has stumbled—o'er the Hebrew's head
Uprising, rose his falchion; down it sped
With might collected, unresisted main,
And drove cold darkness through his cloven brain.
Staggering Othuriel stands, he clears his eye
From dizzy motes to see his foeman die;
Reeling he sinks: The yell is in his ears
Of trampling squadrons; o'er his eye careers
A storm of faces, in a moment dim:
And all is blank and silent now to him.
From dizzy motes to see his foeman die;
Reeling he sinks: The yell is in his ears
Of trampling squadrons; o'er his eye careers
A storm of faces, in a moment dim:
And all is blank and silent now to him.
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CANTO II. OTHURIEL'S INTERVIEW WITH JOANNA.
Othuriel wakes; a glimmer shows him laid,
But where he knows not, on a broidered bed.
Came muffled feet; before him stood in sight
A child of lustrous beauty; she a light
Bore, shaded half, and half from him away
Back held, his eyes to hurt not with the ray.
“Water!” he murmured; she a draught supplied,
Which struck cold healing through his thirsty side.
Sweet food she brought him; bowing o'er his bed,
She salved his shoulder and his wounded head
With balsams cool and bland; refreshed he lies,
His bosom swelling with delicious sighs.
Pleased on him gazed the girl, then slid away.
But back she came and nursed him day by day.
But where he knows not, on a broidered bed.
Came muffled feet; before him stood in sight
A child of lustrous beauty; she a light
Bore, shaded half, and half from him away
Back held, his eyes to hurt not with the ray.
“Water!” he murmured; she a draught supplied,
Which struck cold healing through his thirsty side.
Sweet food she brought him; bowing o'er his bed,
She salved his shoulder and his wounded head
With balsams cool and bland; refreshed he lies,
His bosom swelling with delicious sighs.
Pleased on him gazed the girl, then slid away.
But back she came and nursed him day by day.
Othuriel, healed, to Titus northward goes;
His way, at first perplexed, a female shows,
Veiled, sackcloth-clad; she paused, her lifted veil
Revealed Joanna beautiful but pale;
Northward she pointed:—“Lo!” she said, “thy way
To Zion Hill throughout the autumnal day!
On to Jerusalem straight! there let thy hand.
Red with thy country's blood, upsnatch a brand,
Hurl the swift fire, her sainted citadel
Strike, down her arches, down her Temple fell;
Then come before me, there declare at last
Thou well in all hast justified the past!”
His way, at first perplexed, a female shows,
Veiled, sackcloth-clad; she paused, her lifted veil
Revealed Joanna beautiful but pale;
Northward she pointed:—“Lo!” she said, “thy way
To Zion Hill throughout the autumnal day!
On to Jerusalem straight! there let thy hand.
Red with thy country's blood, upsnatch a brand,
Hurl the swift fire, her sainted citadel
Strike, down her arches, down her Temple fell;
Then come before me, there declare at last
Thou well in all hast justified the past!”
“Be mine to follow to its utmost bound
Thy scornful guidance, Zion to confound!
If of my will, my power, you still demand
A pledge—Manasseh perished by this hand:
Mine was the blow”—
Thy scornful guidance, Zion to confound!
If of my will, my power, you still demand
A pledge—Manasseh perished by this hand:
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“But mine to mourn the deed,
For was he not a father in my need?
For was not she—ah! now his widowed wife—
More than a mother to my orphan life,
Adopted as their own? With patriot haste
He left Jerusalem where his power was placed
Highest, disdaining power, that he might dwell
In native Judah, and her enemies quell;
And I, his daughter, there was doomed to see
His manly body gashed by thee—O thee!”
For was he not a father in my need?
For was not she—ah! now his widowed wife—
More than a mother to my orphan life,
Adopted as their own? With patriot haste
He left Jerusalem where his power was placed
Highest, disdaining power, that he might dwell
In native Judah, and her enemies quell;
And I, his daughter, there was doomed to see
His manly body gashed by thee—O thee!”
“But hear me now! But I had savage cause!
Who made me what I am from what I was?
Did I not faithful fight? I loved thee: loved
By thee, how burned my heart to be approved
In greater wars, to win a name of pride,
That I might put it on my virgin bride!
Judge me, just maid! Hell and her Powers of Shame
Sent forth a scum of lies to blast my name:
They called me traitor! Ha! against me rose
Manasseh, foremost of my envious foes;
He led that host of lies: Faction and Hate
Our Council ruled, and drove me from the State:
They drove me forth! on the first mountain's brow
I knelt against them, and I vowed a vow;
To Rome I sped; I sought and found a friend
In Titus, power unto my wrath to lend;
Fired him with lust of fame; beyond my oath,
Jerusalem razed shall glorify us both.”
Who made me what I am from what I was?
Did I not faithful fight? I loved thee: loved
By thee, how burned my heart to be approved
In greater wars, to win a name of pride,
That I might put it on my virgin bride!
Judge me, just maid! Hell and her Powers of Shame
Sent forth a scum of lies to blast my name:
They called me traitor! Ha! against me rose
Manasseh, foremost of my envious foes;
He led that host of lies: Faction and Hate
Our Council ruled, and drove me from the State:
They drove me forth! on the first mountain's brow
I knelt against them, and I vowed a vow;
To Rome I sped; I sought and found a friend
In Titus, power unto my wrath to lend;
Fired him with lust of fame; beyond my oath,
Jerusalem razed shall glorify us both.”
Othuriel thus. Joanna deeply sighed,
But with heroic dignity replied:—
“Too late I heard thy wrongs. But be we just
First to thy noble enemy in the dust:
I traced the plot; thou by a rival mean
Traduced, Manasseh only rash had been;
Without reserve the injustice he confessed,
Straight to the Council went, and there thy name redressed.
Still grant thee harshly used—and wert thou not?—
Must then thy sacred country be forgot?
Patience magnanimous, the lofty right
To serve that country in her own despite,
O silent deeds, why do you not with these
Thy foes best vanquish, best thy spirit please?
What then? Nay, try it, tremble, and declare
Such wrath as thine but finds its triumphs air:
Walk o'er Jerusalem's waste, and where are they
Who wronged thee so upon a former day?
They (grant that waste) in whose peculiar eyes
Thou long'st the proud avenger to arise,
To stand, to point their wretchedness, to win
Their meek repentance for their former sin?
Ha! they have fallen for Zion, well have they
Their faults redeemed; what more can vengeance say?
This, this alone:—additional to the guilt
That thou thy people's hallowed blood hast spilt,
The empty glory's thine, to stand redressed
Before that people which is now at best
A mere abstraction, since the men are gone
Whom thou wouldst have for wrongs to thee atone.”
But with heroic dignity replied:—
“Too late I heard thy wrongs. But be we just
First to thy noble enemy in the dust:
I traced the plot; thou by a rival mean
Traduced, Manasseh only rash had been;
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Straight to the Council went, and there thy name redressed.
Still grant thee harshly used—and wert thou not?—
Must then thy sacred country be forgot?
Patience magnanimous, the lofty right
To serve that country in her own despite,
O silent deeds, why do you not with these
Thy foes best vanquish, best thy spirit please?
What then? Nay, try it, tremble, and declare
Such wrath as thine but finds its triumphs air:
Walk o'er Jerusalem's waste, and where are they
Who wronged thee so upon a former day?
They (grant that waste) in whose peculiar eyes
Thou long'st the proud avenger to arise,
To stand, to point their wretchedness, to win
Their meek repentance for their former sin?
Ha! they have fallen for Zion, well have they
Their faults redeemed; what more can vengeance say?
This, this alone:—additional to the guilt
That thou thy people's hallowed blood hast spilt,
The empty glory's thine, to stand redressed
Before that people which is now at best
A mere abstraction, since the men are gone
Whom thou wouldst have for wrongs to thee atone.”
“But thou shalt see it; doubly shall I be
Avenged, they stricken, and thou saved by me,
Saved, honoured, loved: when I have quelled their pride,
How will I glory in my virgin bride!”
Avenged, they stricken, and thou saved by me,
Saved, honoured, loved: when I have quelled their pride,
How will I glory in my virgin bride!”
“Manasseh fell in fight; his wife with me,
Maromne, sought him; there he lay by thee;
We bore him thence: You lived, I saw and bade
You to a home be secretly conveyed;
'Twas done; instructed by my cautious care,
Her daughter Tamar was thy handmaid there.
So saved by us, our land you'll first o'erthrow,
Then come with offers to insult our wo?
No, no! why think it? Let me speak aright,
Nor do thee wrong—oh, never will you fight
Against your parents' God, ne'er lift unblest
Your hand against your country sore distrest!
Turn; help her—help us all; her hero be:
Win loftiest vengeance—make her think of thee,
Sue thy forgiveness, love thee; be her boast,
Her young deliverer, in thyself a host!
Oh, can you not? Oh, can you not, indeed?
Now is your time, for now our day of need.”
Maromne, sought him; there he lay by thee;
We bore him thence: You lived, I saw and bade
You to a home be secretly conveyed;
'Twas done; instructed by my cautious care,
Her daughter Tamar was thy handmaid there.
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Then come with offers to insult our wo?
No, no! why think it? Let me speak aright,
Nor do thee wrong—oh, never will you fight
Against your parents' God, ne'er lift unblest
Your hand against your country sore distrest!
Turn; help her—help us all; her hero be:
Win loftiest vengeance—make her think of thee,
Sue thy forgiveness, love thee; be her boast,
Her young deliverer, in thyself a host!
Oh, can you not? Oh, can you not, indeed?
Now is your time, for now our day of need.”
Impassioned thus, she to Othuriel raised
Her dear young eyes; imploringly she gazed.
But downward looking, oft his hand he passed
Along his forehead darkly overcast.
“'Tis o'er: to speak not of my vow,” he said,
“The trust of Titus must with truth be paid;
And then the issue of that battle-field
(At length by Tamar to my quest revealed)—
My men cut off—my perfect overthrow—
Forbids me now my purpose to forego:
Yes—yes”—long paused he; looking round, he sees
Joanna far retiring through the trees.
Be it so, then! Anew with fiercer threat,
His face against Jerusalem was set.
Her dear young eyes; imploringly she gazed.
But downward looking, oft his hand he passed
Along his forehead darkly overcast.
“'Tis o'er: to speak not of my vow,” he said,
“The trust of Titus must with truth be paid;
And then the issue of that battle-field
(At length by Tamar to my quest revealed)—
My men cut off—my perfect overthrow—
Forbids me now my purpose to forego:
Yes—yes”—long paused he; looking round, he sees
Joanna far retiring through the trees.
Be it so, then! Anew with fiercer threat,
His face against Jerusalem was set.
CANTO III. THE ASSAULT BY NIGHT.
Still is the eve on high Jerusalem's walls,
Save lonely sentinel heard at intervals,
As he with psalms of Judah's prosperous day,
And holy anthems, whiles his watch away.
Save lonely sentinel heard at intervals,
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And holy anthems, whiles his watch away.
Lo! by the moon's uncertain struggling light,
Come dusky masses glimpsing through the night,
Of Romans drawn from their suburban rest
To gain a new wall, of the first possest.
While in the south Othuriel wounded lay,
Vespasian rose to the Imperial sway;
And Titus well his promise can redeem
Against these walls to urge his vengeful scheme.
Othuriel joined him, healed; ere rolled the year
They compassed Zion—they are sternly here!
They mount their engines softly; nor they seem
To wake the City from its weary dream.
But hark! it sleeps not: ha! behold yon line
Of kindling fires along its ramparts shine.
Dusk figures throng the wall; ere you can say
When, whence they rose, behind a thick array
On every tower, o'er every battlement,
With nimble gestures their bold heads present.
Come dusky masses glimpsing through the night,
Of Romans drawn from their suburban rest
To gain a new wall, of the first possest.
While in the south Othuriel wounded lay,
Vespasian rose to the Imperial sway;
And Titus well his promise can redeem
Against these walls to urge his vengeful scheme.
Othuriel joined him, healed; ere rolled the year
They compassed Zion—they are sternly here!
They mount their engines softly; nor they seem
To wake the City from its weary dream.
But hark! it sleeps not: ha! behold yon line
Of kindling fires along its ramparts shine.
Dusk figures throng the wall; ere you can say
When, whence they rose, behind a thick array
On every tower, o'er every battlement,
With nimble gestures their bold heads present.
Loud bursts the night: o'erhead huge javelins go
From catapults, their stones balistas throw,
By stones and javelins met; red balls expire,
And blazing arrows trail their arching fire.
More safe the Romans in the shade below,
Too well their lights above the swarthy Hebrews show;
Yet still, as high and far the wall is swept,
New hordes upstarting to the fray have leapt.
But now the Ram in dreadful poise is hung,
Beneath its shed at first 'tis gently swung;
Huzza! at once its brawny men back strain
Madly, and drive it on the walls amain;
They thunder-smitten throb. With every stroke
An answering yell from the defenders broke
Down came their crashing stones. On either flank
The Ram is aided by a stationed rank,
With slings and bows to clear away the foe
Above, and guard its battering play below.
But vain the arrows of these galling wings,
Nor boots the dread precision of their slings;
Though stricken thousands fall, new faces grim
Upspringing umbered crowd the City's brim,
Which spills its valour wild; in either hand
A blazing torch, in every mouth a brand,
Down leap the Jews, fast to the penthouse cling,
And all around their flames to fire the engine fling;
Till by the Roman archers placed aloof,
Transfixed, writhing they roll from off the roof,
And leave the Ram its last just blow to reach,
To drive its dull head through the dusty breach.
From catapults, their stones balistas throw,
By stones and javelins met; red balls expire,
And blazing arrows trail their arching fire.
More safe the Romans in the shade below,
Too well their lights above the swarthy Hebrews show;
Yet still, as high and far the wall is swept,
New hordes upstarting to the fray have leapt.
But now the Ram in dreadful poise is hung,
Beneath its shed at first 'tis gently swung;
Huzza! at once its brawny men back strain
Madly, and drive it on the walls amain;
They thunder-smitten throb. With every stroke
An answering yell from the defenders broke
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The Ram is aided by a stationed rank,
With slings and bows to clear away the foe
Above, and guard its battering play below.
But vain the arrows of these galling wings,
Nor boots the dread precision of their slings;
Though stricken thousands fall, new faces grim
Upspringing umbered crowd the City's brim,
Which spills its valour wild; in either hand
A blazing torch, in every mouth a brand,
Down leap the Jews, fast to the penthouse cling,
And all around their flames to fire the engine fling;
Till by the Roman archers placed aloof,
Transfixed, writhing they roll from off the roof,
And leave the Ram its last just blow to reach,
To drive its dull head through the dusty breach.
Stern pause the Romans: sternly stands within
That breach a wall of Hebrews chin by chin;
Their spears intensely ready, waiting still
Their eyes' concentred lightnings to fulfil,
Blent with the darkness of immortal hate,
As looking down unwinking they dilate.
That breach a wall of Hebrews chin by chin;
Their spears intensely ready, waiting still
Their eyes' concentred lightnings to fulfil,
Blent with the darkness of immortal hate,
As looking down unwinking they dilate.
Dread silence hangs: the moving of a head—
A foot advanced—the twinkling of a lid
Has burst the entrancèd pause; the mutual front
Has met, is swayed in one commingled brunt,
Is locked, is cloyed, is calm in the excess
Of might and hatred in one glutted stress.
Slowly it loosens; from that cramping shock
Men's hearts can breathe, and wide the fight is broke,
And wild and high the shouts of battle rise,
And trumpets blow along the rending skies.
A foot advanced—the twinkling of a lid
Has burst the entrancèd pause; the mutual front
Has met, is swayed in one commingled brunt,
Is locked, is cloyed, is calm in the excess
Of might and hatred in one glutted stress.
Slowly it loosens; from that cramping shock
Men's hearts can breathe, and wide the fight is broke,
And wild and high the shouts of battle rise,
And trumpets blow along the rending skies.
Far foremost fought Othuriel; from the van
Swerving he dashed, upward he widely ran
To pierce their flank, to turn and drive the foe
Down on the waste that met them from below.
Joanna stood before him! Kneeling down,
He prayed to guard her from that fated town.
But, “No,” she said; “whate'er Maromne's fate,
'Tis mine, as mine has been her good estate.
Would she be saved by thee? Would she by night
Secure her safety by a stealthy flight,
Last of the Maccabees, whose duty high
She deems with straitened Judah is to die,
Where she can do no more; at least to show
A brave example, fearing not the foe?
But yet for her I dare not now refrain
Thy pity—no, thy gratitude to gain:
Say, wilt thou help us? Swear: you swear? 'tis well.
So now my purpose let me briefly tell:—
Maromne came to Zion; short her stay
Designed, we hoped her back from day to day.
But sickness seized her, well its work was done
Where sad bereavement had the waste begun.
I heard and came: behind the tainted air
Caused leave her daughter to a Nurse's care.
God raised her up; her home she'll see once more,
And Tamar's presence shall her health restore.
But now you sieged us. Fearing ne'er that you
Jehovah's sainted dwelling could subdue;
Yet, trouble-weakened, many a terror wild,
She could not hide, came o'er her for her child.
For this I've sought thee oft, I've found thee now;
Up to Jerusalem bring her daughter thou.
Start not, you've promised; dear your handmaid she,
And great the hazard, yet she brought must be:
For her Maromne pines. My signet here,
Be this your pledge to calm Nurse Esther's fear.
You know our home in Judah. Then, when high,
Two nights from this, the moon is in the sky,
Smite thou our northern gate; I waiting there
Will glad receive the damsel from your care:
Maromne's name beloved, our men for it
Even thee in honoured safety would admit.”
She said and turned; he downward fought his way,
Till coming midnight closed the doubtful fray.
Swerving he dashed, upward he widely ran
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Down on the waste that met them from below.
Joanna stood before him! Kneeling down,
He prayed to guard her from that fated town.
But, “No,” she said; “whate'er Maromne's fate,
'Tis mine, as mine has been her good estate.
Would she be saved by thee? Would she by night
Secure her safety by a stealthy flight,
Last of the Maccabees, whose duty high
She deems with straitened Judah is to die,
Where she can do no more; at least to show
A brave example, fearing not the foe?
But yet for her I dare not now refrain
Thy pity—no, thy gratitude to gain:
Say, wilt thou help us? Swear: you swear? 'tis well.
So now my purpose let me briefly tell:—
Maromne came to Zion; short her stay
Designed, we hoped her back from day to day.
But sickness seized her, well its work was done
Where sad bereavement had the waste begun.
I heard and came: behind the tainted air
Caused leave her daughter to a Nurse's care.
God raised her up; her home she'll see once more,
And Tamar's presence shall her health restore.
But now you sieged us. Fearing ne'er that you
Jehovah's sainted dwelling could subdue;
Yet, trouble-weakened, many a terror wild,
She could not hide, came o'er her for her child.
For this I've sought thee oft, I've found thee now;
Up to Jerusalem bring her daughter thou.
Start not, you've promised; dear your handmaid she,
And great the hazard, yet she brought must be:
For her Maromne pines. My signet here,
Be this your pledge to calm Nurse Esther's fear.
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Two nights from this, the moon is in the sky,
Smite thou our northern gate; I waiting there
Will glad receive the damsel from your care:
Maromne's name beloved, our men for it
Even thee in honoured safety would admit.”
She said and turned; he downward fought his way,
Till coming midnight closed the doubtful fray.
CANTO IV. OTHURIEL BRINGS TAMAR TO JERUSALEM.
Othuriel south, by Salem's eastern side,
Went; frequent fires above a light supplied.
Slowly he rode along the ghastly plain
Blood-soaked, and heaped with corpses of the slain
Cast from the walls; the wounded, too, were there,
And thickened with their groans the burdened air.
His snorting charger swerved as oft, beneath,
Some trampled wretch howled forth his curse of death;
Or wing of blood-cloyed vulture from the dead
Rose heavy up and flapped around his head;
Or lazy dog, whose muddy gloating eye
Shone in the red light, with a startled cry
Was frighted off: behind, the loathsome beast
Came slinking back to its polluted feast.
As burned the brighter fires, he there beheld
The brows of infants, and the forms of eld,
Strong men, and youths untimely cut away;
And there the virgin in her beauty lay.
Went; frequent fires above a light supplied.
Slowly he rode along the ghastly plain
Blood-soaked, and heaped with corpses of the slain
Cast from the walls; the wounded, too, were there,
And thickened with their groans the burdened air.
His snorting charger swerved as oft, beneath,
Some trampled wretch howled forth his curse of death;
Or wing of blood-cloyed vulture from the dead
Rose heavy up and flapped around his head;
Or lazy dog, whose muddy gloating eye
Shone in the red light, with a startled cry
Was frighted off: behind, the loathsome beast
Came slinking back to its polluted feast.
As burned the brighter fires, he there beheld
The brows of infants, and the forms of eld,
Strong men, and youths untimely cut away;
And there the virgin in her beauty lay.
He trode a stiller and a darker space;
Then neared a high and fiercely-lighted place,
Thick set with crosses: writhing how they glare,
Those captured Hebrews, nailed by Titus there,
With terror day and night to strike the town,
To beat the hearts of the defenders down.
Downcast his eyes, his spirit awe-subdued,
Othuriel went into that painful wood.
Shrill neighed his horse, with cries the brooding air
Was startled: “Water! water!” was each prayer.
Slowly he passed. Heroic murmurs drew
Aloft his eye: a warrior hung in view;
Perfect of beauty seemed his head sublime,
With power were clothed his limbs in manhood's prime,
Toward Zion fixed; down looking by his side,
As paused the rider, thus he faintly cried:—
“Ho! Jew or Roman, if thy heart is great,
To me the issue of this day you ll state.
On yon delightful wall, so cool and high,
The watchman paces o'er my weary eye;
I've cried to him to tell me of the war,
But ne'er he seems to hear me from afar.
Thou son of milky woman, grant my prayer;
Oh tell me, tell me how my brethren fare!”
Came pain's quick cords; his curves convulsive throw
His bosom forward, like a bended bow,
Drawn; jerking back his loins the dull tree beat;
Thick rains the bloody sorrow from his feet.
Othuriel longed the struggling soul to cheer;
Yet paused, his own voice daring not to hear
In such a place, by sufferings sanctified
More than hushed temples where great gods abide;
And mute he gazed upon that lofty face
Chastised with pain and sorrow for a space.
But hark! far blowing their defiance shrill,
The silver trumpets of the Holy Hill!
From off the countenance of the crucified
Pangs passed away, came on a gleam of pride;
Upstretched he rose, his gathered might was racked
With noble toils till all his sinews cracked;
His face was beautified, with joy was fired;
And with a shout he gloriously expired.
Then neared a high and fiercely-lighted place,
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Those captured Hebrews, nailed by Titus there,
With terror day and night to strike the town,
To beat the hearts of the defenders down.
Downcast his eyes, his spirit awe-subdued,
Othuriel went into that painful wood.
Shrill neighed his horse, with cries the brooding air
Was startled: “Water! water!” was each prayer.
Slowly he passed. Heroic murmurs drew
Aloft his eye: a warrior hung in view;
Perfect of beauty seemed his head sublime,
With power were clothed his limbs in manhood's prime,
Toward Zion fixed; down looking by his side,
As paused the rider, thus he faintly cried:—
“Ho! Jew or Roman, if thy heart is great,
To me the issue of this day you ll state.
On yon delightful wall, so cool and high,
The watchman paces o'er my weary eye;
I've cried to him to tell me of the war,
But ne'er he seems to hear me from afar.
Thou son of milky woman, grant my prayer;
Oh tell me, tell me how my brethren fare!”
Came pain's quick cords; his curves convulsive throw
His bosom forward, like a bended bow,
Drawn; jerking back his loins the dull tree beat;
Thick rains the bloody sorrow from his feet.
Othuriel longed the struggling soul to cheer;
Yet paused, his own voice daring not to hear
In such a place, by sufferings sanctified
More than hushed temples where great gods abide;
And mute he gazed upon that lofty face
Chastised with pain and sorrow for a space.
But hark! far blowing their defiance shrill,
The silver trumpets of the Holy Hill!
106
Pangs passed away, came on a gleam of pride;
Upstretched he rose, his gathered might was racked
With noble toils till all his sinews cracked;
His face was beautified, with joy was fired;
And with a shout he gloriously expired.
Uprose the eastern moon: by silvered floods,
And mountains bearded with old hoary woods,
There clear the vales, here dark, Othuriel rode,
And silent vineyards now by man untrode.
Undriven away he saw the foxes young
Tear down the vintage that neglected hung;
Such dread for Zion, hemmed with Roman lines,
Had struck the careless keepers of the vines.
And mountains bearded with old hoary woods,
There clear the vales, here dark, Othuriel rode,
And silent vineyards now by man untrode.
Undriven away he saw the foxes young
Tear down the vintage that neglected hung;
Such dread for Zion, hemmed with Roman lines,
Had struck the careless keepers of the vines.
Morn broke: by many a fountain fair to see
He went, and many a patriarchal tree;
O'er the green swelling loins of summer hills,
Down the fresh valleys which the sun now fills,
There tumbling waters clean, to morning's beams
Here far uncurled the lapse of glassy streams,
With bordering trees delectable; in haste
He trode the extended skirts of Tekoah's waste,
High Hebron on the west; and south, between,
He rode through Judah's pastures broad and green.
He went, and many a patriarchal tree;
O'er the green swelling loins of summer hills,
Down the fresh valleys which the sun now fills,
There tumbling waters clean, to morning's beams
Here far uncurled the lapse of glassy streams,
With bordering trees delectable; in haste
He trode the extended skirts of Tekoah's waste,
High Hebron on the west; and south, between,
He rode through Judah's pastures broad and green.
Down went the day: he found at evening-tide
Young Tamar weeping by old Esther's side.
She rose, she knew him; he his mission tells;
Joanna's ring each lingering doubt dispels,
Pledge of his truth: they knew, they kissed it. “So,”
Exclaimed the Nurse, “thou too from me must go,
Tamar, O child! My young lamb of the fold,
Who goest to troubles and to fears untold,
What shall I say? The Everlasting arms
Be round about thee in the last alarms!
Yet stay, I have a sacred ring; 'twill prove,
If no defence, a token of my love.”
Young Tamar weeping by old Esther's side.
She rose, she knew him; he his mission tells;
Joanna's ring each lingering doubt dispels,
Pledge of his truth: they knew, they kissed it. “So,”
Exclaimed the Nurse, “thou too from me must go,
Tamar, O child! My young lamb of the fold,
Who goest to troubles and to fears untold,
What shall I say? The Everlasting arms
Be round about thee in the last alarms!
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If no defence, a token of my love.”
“Nay then,” Othuriel said, “of virtue tried,
Around her neck shall be an amulet tied.
Here, since a child, I've worn it on my breast;
Nor seldom doubtless me the charm has blest,
From ills has kept me: Surely me it laid,
When wounded, here beneath sweet Tamar's aid;
For this it shall be hers.” From off his own
Unloosed, the chain round Tamar's neck was thrown.
Around her neck shall be an amulet tied.
Here, since a child, I've worn it on my breast;
Nor seldom doubtless me the charm has blest,
From ills has kept me: Surely me it laid,
When wounded, here beneath sweet Tamar's aid;
For this it shall be hers.” From off his own
Unloosed, the chain round Tamar's neck was thrown.
“Ha! what?” cried Esther, as she saw and seized
The hanging charm, and kissed it strangely pleased;
“It is—ah! who art thou? declare thy name—
Well should I know it!—'tis, it is the same!
These woven words! My brother—ah! more dear
For his wild lore that filled my heart with fear—
From Memphis brought it: in an old dim fane
A youthful priestess wrought the mystic chain;
Dipped in the Nile, in a divine lagoon,
Bleached in the pale eye of the Egyptian moon,
'Twas cleared; then was it with the sacred blood
Of the ibis spotted, and the spell was good.
Ere far he went, my brother's wizard hand
Cast round Manasseh's son the enchanted band,
Maromne's first-born son; for gracious they
Had kept me with them since their nuptial day.
But vain their love for me, and vain that spell
To stay the mighty evil which befell;
Lost was that son, and I, alas! to blame.
But speak: say where, when, whence to thee it came?”
The hanging charm, and kissed it strangely pleased;
“It is—ah! who art thou? declare thy name—
Well should I know it!—'tis, it is the same!
These woven words! My brother—ah! more dear
For his wild lore that filled my heart with fear—
From Memphis brought it: in an old dim fane
A youthful priestess wrought the mystic chain;
Dipped in the Nile, in a divine lagoon,
Bleached in the pale eye of the Egyptian moon,
'Twas cleared; then was it with the sacred blood
Of the ibis spotted, and the spell was good.
Ere far he went, my brother's wizard hand
Cast round Manasseh's son the enchanted band,
Maromne's first-born son; for gracious they
Had kept me with them since their nuptial day.
But vain their love for me, and vain that spell
To stay the mighty evil which befell;
Lost was that son, and I, alas! to blame.
But speak: say where, when, whence to thee it came?”
“Woman of Judah, then, it hung around
My neck, when me a Galilean found,
A child exposed; he reared me as his own,
But dying told me of my birth unknown.
Ah me! what thing of horror and of dread
Is this which now is coming on my head?
I see it all! Woman, you spoke of one—
Of—of—Manasseh? Am I then his son?
Tamar! my sister! my sweet sister dear!
Yet stay one moment till the whole be clear.”
My neck, when me a Galilean found,
A child exposed; he reared me as his own,
But dying told me of my birth unknown.
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Is this which now is coming on my head?
I see it all! Woman, you spoke of one—
Of—of—Manasseh? Am I then his son?
Tamar! my sister! my sweet sister dear!
Yet stay one moment till the whole be clear.”
Before him bowed, the Nurse with eager hands
Unbinds his sandal; passively he stands.
“The scar,” she murmured, “if I find it here!”
She found, she kissed it, dropping many a tear.
Slow rising pale, “My son!” she said, “'twere meet
That ne'er I rose, but died upon thy feet;
For mine the blame. I saw thy father's spear
Fall on that infant foot—an omen drear!
Oh, was it not? for scarcely wert thou healed,
When forth I took thee to the harvest field;
Homeward returning, in the noontide hour,
With thee I slumbered in a leafy bower:
I waked, but thou wert gone; all search was vain;
Through long long years we saw thee ne'er again.
Hope came at last: An aged kinsman sought
Your father's house, by want and sickness brought;
Death came, your mother soothed him; forth at last
To her the burden of his soul he cast:—
‘Fair was thy youth, Maromne; far above
The maids of Judah thee my son did love,
Mine only one; but favour you denied;
He rushed to battle, and for you he died.
Vengeance be mine! I saw your first-born creep
Before a bower, his Nurse was there asleep;
Upsnatched I bore him far, with gentle care
I laid him down’—he died, nor told her where.
Hope sunk anew, for still the quest was vain.
Would, would thy sire had seen thee once again!
Come from his lofty battles, how he smiled
To take thee to him, a heroic child!
How joyed his little warrior thee to call,
His bloody lance bestriding through the hall!
Then on his knee he set thee, by thy side
Joanna, meant to be thy future bride.
But thou wert lost. Jehovah called away
His other children in their early day.
Nobly at last he fell.”
Unbinds his sandal; passively he stands.
“The scar,” she murmured, “if I find it here!”
She found, she kissed it, dropping many a tear.
Slow rising pale, “My son!” she said, “'twere meet
That ne'er I rose, but died upon thy feet;
For mine the blame. I saw thy father's spear
Fall on that infant foot—an omen drear!
Oh, was it not? for scarcely wert thou healed,
When forth I took thee to the harvest field;
Homeward returning, in the noontide hour,
With thee I slumbered in a leafy bower:
I waked, but thou wert gone; all search was vain;
Through long long years we saw thee ne'er again.
Hope came at last: An aged kinsman sought
Your father's house, by want and sickness brought;
Death came, your mother soothed him; forth at last
To her the burden of his soul he cast:—
‘Fair was thy youth, Maromne; far above
The maids of Judah thee my son did love,
Mine only one; but favour you denied;
He rushed to battle, and for you he died.
Vengeance be mine! I saw your first-born creep
Before a bower, his Nurse was there asleep;
Upsnatched I bore him far, with gentle care
I laid him down’—he died, nor told her where.
Hope sunk anew, for still the quest was vain.
Would, would thy sire had seen thee once again!
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To take thee to him, a heroic child!
How joyed his little warrior thee to call,
His bloody lance bestriding through the hall!
Then on his knee he set thee, by thy side
Joanna, meant to be thy future bride.
But thou wert lost. Jehovah called away
His other children in their early day.
Nobly at last he fell.”
“By whom? by whom?”
Othuriel cried: “Who struck him to the tomb?
There's the right hand that did it! bloody hand,
Which all that love for me could not withstand!
Oh, I to do it! I to smite him dead,
Lifting my hand against that sacred head!
My foe—my father!” hoarsely thus he cried.
How shrieked his little sister terrified!
He glanced upon her in his stern distress,
And up he snatched her with a fierce caress;
But softening kissed her forehead:—“Fear me not,
My sweet young sister! dread though be my lot,
I'll be thy brother aye. When night is past,
I'll bear thee with me to our mother fast.
Sleep thou the while.” He said, in anguish sore
Groaning, he bowed his forehead to the floor;
There, left alone, his sorrows had their way,
As through the dark hours in the dust he lay.
Othuriel cried: “Who struck him to the tomb?
There's the right hand that did it! bloody hand,
Which all that love for me could not withstand!
Oh, I to do it! I to smite him dead,
Lifting my hand against that sacred head!
My foe—my father!” hoarsely thus he cried.
How shrieked his little sister terrified!
He glanced upon her in his stern distress,
And up he snatched her with a fierce caress;
But softening kissed her forehead:—“Fear me not,
My sweet young sister! dread though be my lot,
I'll be thy brother aye. When night is past,
I'll bear thee with me to our mother fast.
Sleep thou the while.” He said, in anguish sore
Groaning, he bowed his forehead to the floor;
There, left alone, his sorrows had their way,
As through the dark hours in the dust he lay.
II.
Uprose the morn: how shall Othuriel dareHis sister Tamar to that siege to bear?
Shuddering he paused, he strove to make her know
The whelming danger, but she prayed to go—
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His Roman favour them all safe might set,
He took, he bore her quickly by the way
He came, and rode till the decline of day.
His steed, aloof from the beleaguered towers
Of Zion, fastened 'mid neglected bowers,
He sought ripe fruits for Tamar; by his side
He made her sit throughout the evening-tide;
Close to his bosom gently drew her head,
Till slumber came and sealed each silken lid;
Then bowed his cheek to hers with love so deep,
And hid her face that she might longer sleep.
III.
High walks the midnight moon: wide opening go
The gates of Zion to Othuriel's blow,
Struck by his sounding spear; Joanna there
Forth stands to take young Tamar from his care.
But entering with them through a stern array
Of jealous guards he dared his onward way,
Jealous but silent all; till, as he passed,
They closed behind him and the gates made fast,
With crowding murmurs. But he heard them not,
Far other things are in his eager thought;
For, homeward with Joanna as he goes,
The tokens of his parentage he shows.
How dares he go? he thinks not, heeds not, he,
All else forgot, his mother's face must see.
His sister leads him home; remote from all,
He waits his mother in a silent hall.
She came:—“My son!” He met her dear embrace,
And long he sobbed and wept upon her face.
Down then he knelt:—“My mother! let me go
And ask great Rome to hold thee not a foe,
To save you all, if you your son would give
One chance with gleams of happiness to live.
This be my purpose; though, all else forgot,
To see my mother was my only thought.
But more than sorrow shall my coming be,
Oh dread my going, if I save not thee.
Swift let me go, thus save you; then for aye
With you in native Judah will I stay.”
The gates of Zion to Othuriel's blow,
Struck by his sounding spear; Joanna there
Forth stands to take young Tamar from his care.
But entering with them through a stern array
Of jealous guards he dared his onward way,
Jealous but silent all; till, as he passed,
They closed behind him and the gates made fast,
With crowding murmurs. But he heard them not,
Far other things are in his eager thought;
For, homeward with Joanna as he goes,
The tokens of his parentage he shows.
How dares he go? he thinks not, heeds not, he,
All else forgot, his mother's face must see.
His sister leads him home; remote from all,
He waits his mother in a silent hall.
She came:—“My son!” He met her dear embrace,
And long he sobbed and wept upon her face.
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And ask great Rome to hold thee not a foe,
To save you all, if you your son would give
One chance with gleams of happiness to live.
This be my purpose; though, all else forgot,
To see my mother was my only thought.
But more than sorrow shall my coming be,
Oh dread my going, if I save not thee.
Swift let me go, thus save you; then for aye
With you in native Judah will I stay.”
“Behold,” she said, “my late-won soldier, here
Thy father's shield, his helmet and his spear,
Who living now had been a full-orbed name—
Start not, my son, he died but lives in fame.
His great example, for our country's sake,
Thee the fulfiller of his deeds must make.
Joanna told me something, but my ear
Alone the tokens of my son could hear.
What though, your birth unknown, for Rome you fought?
No blame was yours, yours was no traitor's thought.
Known now your birth, Rome has no claim on you;
A Jew must do the duties of a Jew.
For this, my boy, I nursed thee on my knees,
In days gone by, beneath our native trees.
Thee forth I'll lead all gloriously; come then,
Put on the harness of our mighty men.
Why look'st thou so? Oh wherefore, if not free
To fight for Zion, art thou come to me?”
Thy father's shield, his helmet and his spear,
Who living now had been a full-orbed name—
Start not, my son, he died but lives in fame.
His great example, for our country's sake,
Thee the fulfiller of his deeds must make.
Joanna told me something, but my ear
Alone the tokens of my son could hear.
What though, your birth unknown, for Rome you fought?
No blame was yours, yours was no traitor's thought.
Known now your birth, Rome has no claim on you;
A Jew must do the duties of a Jew.
For this, my boy, I nursed thee on my knees,
In days gone by, beneath our native trees.
Thee forth I'll lead all gloriously; come then,
Put on the harness of our mighty men.
Why look'st thou so? Oh wherefore, if not free
To fight for Zion, art thou come to me?”
“Thou wife—ah! widow—of the man I slew!
(I say not mother, I'm no son to you;
Though pangs take hold on me, and sore affright
To call you else) what shall I do this night?
'Twas I that slew him. Oh but let me say
Had nature blest me in my early day,
Had I been reared upon thy sacred knee,
(Oh let me name that name so dear to me!)
My mother, ever mine! then had I ne'er
By such a deed been linked unto despair.
I knew him not. But what shall quell the shame
That still remains? Apostate is my name.
My birth unknown I plead not, up I grew
In all the nurture of a warrior Jew:
This land was mine; yet darkly did I go
And swear with Rome to lay Jerusalem low,
Because my father in the Sanhedrim
(My foe, I since have learned, misleading him)
Denounced me as a traitor: from their gate
Forth was I driven by Envy and by Hate.
Dread was my oath! that oath must I pursue,
And with high hand do what I have to do.
Yet see me kneel—oh help me to contrive
Some surest way to save thy house alive:
Let not my oath another parent cost;
Oh let me, let me not be wholly lost!”
He said, and knelt. His mother's gone: he heard
The turning bolt: he finds himself in ward.
Lean men came in. They chained him. He was led
Down to a vault: a lamp was overhead.
There to a pillar of black gopher-wood
Brought near, a fettered prisoner he stood.
(I say not mother, I'm no son to you;
Though pangs take hold on me, and sore affright
To call you else) what shall I do this night?
'Twas I that slew him. Oh but let me say
Had nature blest me in my early day,
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(Oh let me name that name so dear to me!)
My mother, ever mine! then had I ne'er
By such a deed been linked unto despair.
I knew him not. But what shall quell the shame
That still remains? Apostate is my name.
My birth unknown I plead not, up I grew
In all the nurture of a warrior Jew:
This land was mine; yet darkly did I go
And swear with Rome to lay Jerusalem low,
Because my father in the Sanhedrim
(My foe, I since have learned, misleading him)
Denounced me as a traitor: from their gate
Forth was I driven by Envy and by Hate.
Dread was my oath! that oath must I pursue,
And with high hand do what I have to do.
Yet see me kneel—oh help me to contrive
Some surest way to save thy house alive:
Let not my oath another parent cost;
Oh let me, let me not be wholly lost!”
He said, and knelt. His mother's gone: he heard
The turning bolt: he finds himself in ward.
Lean men came in. They chained him. He was led
Down to a vault: a lamp was overhead.
There to a pillar of black gopher-wood
Brought near, a fettered prisoner he stood.
CANTO V. OTHURIEL A PRISONER.
Weeks o'er Othuriel went; in silent haste
For him each morn was bread by Tamar placed.
But now a book his sweet young sister brought,
And smiled to him as down she sate remote:
Beneath the scented lamp that lit the place,
Low o'er the opened scroll she bowed her face;
With silver voice, with childhood's reverent awe,
She read the wonders of Jehovah's law.
Each night she did the same: he questioned ne'er
Why thus she came—he knew the loving care
Which sent her thus—but silent leant his head
Against his pillar as she nightly read,
With looks to her of love ineffable,
As down the light upon her countenance fell,
Down on the holy page; and listening hung
To hear her softly-modulated tongue.
And oh, how swelled his bosom at the sight
Of that sweet child struck through with hunger's blight.
Yet there each night with smiles for him that he
Might fear his God, might thus her brother truly be!
For him each morn was bread by Tamar placed.
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And smiled to him as down she sate remote:
Beneath the scented lamp that lit the place,
Low o'er the opened scroll she bowed her face;
With silver voice, with childhood's reverent awe,
She read the wonders of Jehovah's law.
Each night she did the same: he questioned ne'er
Why thus she came—he knew the loving care
Which sent her thus—but silent leant his head
Against his pillar as she nightly read,
With looks to her of love ineffable,
As down the light upon her countenance fell,
Down on the holy page; and listening hung
To hear her softly-modulated tongue.
And oh, how swelled his bosom at the sight
Of that sweet child struck through with hunger's blight.
Yet there each night with smiles for him that he
Might fear his God, might thus her brother truly be!
II.
Day passed, nor Tamar came: at dead of night,With famine dark, his mother stood in sight;
Yet still her brow a grace majestic wore,
Seen by the lamp that in her hand she bore.
In slumber feigned he kept his lowly bed
Which near his pillar Tamar's love had spread,
As stealthy came she, placed him food, and threw
One glance on him, then hurriedly withdrew.
Swift gleaming back she turned; a space she stood,
Her eyes the while seemed bent upon his food,
Fiercely they shone; in nature's awful stress,
Down shaken fell in many a streaming tress
Her long black hair, concealing half her face;
But back she flung it with a savage grace,
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Upstarting cried her son, “that this should be!
My mother! O my mother! thy sore want
Is more to me than pains extravagant.”
She shrunk with startled pride, with sudden check
Shrieking she turned, she sunk upon his neck,
With passionate vehemence kissed him, sobbing lay
Within his arms, and there she swooned away.
With holy care Othuriel held her head
Till, soon reviving, faint to him she said:—
“My son has vanquished me! 'tis now confest
Beyond them all I love him far the best.
My lost! my dearly found! come near my heart
And tell me all, for thou in trouble art.
Speak to thy mother! well thou canst not be,
But ill indeed! Yea, I have ruined thee,
Have kept thee here, have ruined thee: the foe
The cause of thy desertion will not know,
Will find, will slay thee. Oh, forgive! forgive!
My soul desired to have thee near me live:
How could I let thee go? Yea more, from this
I thought that you the enlarged remorse would miss
Of that dread vow fulfilled, and chained you thus
From pangs to keep you, warring not on us.
Have I done wrong, my son? But if you deemed
Me harsh and cruel, such I only seemed:
I was not so to thee; for dear thou wert,
Thou first-born of my body and my heart,
And dear thou art! Old kingdoms may remove,
But I will love thee with eternal love!
Ha! this is vain; but I will go this hour,
And fight to save you from their vengeful power.”
She said, nor looked as he implored, but threw
Far back her hair, and glanced from out his view.
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III.
Othuriel strove, but still he strove in vain,To bow his pillar and to burst his chain.
Joanna came, and in her hand a sword:—
“'Tis now your hour, to be from thrall restored:
This key,” she said, “I've managed this to gain,
Lest aught should threat you; it unlocks your chain.
Our Temple's burnt! Bent on our Upper Town,
Hark! how the Romans beat our last defences down!
High streams upon our palace to the breeze
The glorious banner of the Maccabees,
Raised by your mother; forth she rushed:—‘This night,’
She cried, ‘I'll save you, for you all I'll fight.’
Haste—follow—win her back; this danger past,
Your Roman power may shield us all at last.
This sword—your father's—take. You're free: away!”
Silent he snatched the sword, and sprung unto the fray.
CANTO VI. THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF MAROMNE AND JOANNA.
Loud tumults rend the night; the loudest drewOthuriel northward: thither fast he flew;
Yet pausing oft as came behind him cries,
And waftings met him from the kindled skies.
There oft he saw in some sequestered nook
A famished mortal eat with hurried look,
The very joy of whose possession foiled
Itself with jealous fears to be despoiled;
He ne'er unslacking o'er his chance supply
The gaunt and strict-drawn wolf within his eye.
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With noiseless feet came flittingly along;
In eager silence glaring some retreat,
Some feebly chatter in the lonely street.
But lo, the wall embattled! High and far
Maromne's spear led on the Hebrew war.
Othuriel saw, and swift to her he sprung,
Nor vainly; back a foe from her he flung,
Who leapt to seize her; he enraged his spear
Struck out; Maromne with a shriek of fear
Before her son her shielding bosom cast,
And far that weapon through her body passed.
Othuriel raised her; back the Jews were driven,
The Romans knew him now, and space to him was given
To gaze in tearless silence on her face,
As blanching death came over it apace;
Yet there her love, his sorrow to beguile,
Kept up a pale and melancholy smile:—
“My very dear young son! I see thee yet,
And loath my eyes from thee in death to set!
In happier days, and earlier to me won,
Would I had known thee, O my son! my son!”
She paused exhausted; aye, as aye grew dim
Her eye, she cleared it still to look on him.
Convulsive shudders passed throughout her frame,
And o'er her face an awful sorrow came:—
“Joanna! Tamar!” cried she: “Night of fear!
Away, my son! we must not both be here.
Lord, let me up! lift up my painful side,
That in the rock my children I may hide,
Till Thy great indignation be o'erpast,
Descending on us to consume us fast!
Lord God of Abraham! shall mean kingdoms buy
My lovely children? help! I must not die!”
117
And lifting carried through tumultuous cries
Her body homeward, dipping still his feet
In blood clear glittering on the flaming street.
Captives he passed, young men and virgin bands,
Far to be driven to strange and cruel lands,
A huddled throng: scarce glutted Strength and Rage
Could thrust their cloyed blades thro' encumbering Age.
When foes he met, his dead one down he laid,
O'er her he stood, fiercely he waved his blade;
Aloof they passed, he raised his sacred load,
And soon again Maromne's chambers trode.
There on a bed he laid her; swift he traced
His mother's rooms deserted, silent, waste;
He calls on Tamar, on Joanna calls,
But hears alone the echo of the halls.
He sought that vault where, many a night and day,
His own dear mother's prisoner he lay;
There by the lamp still burning, lo! 'tis she,
His own Joanna kneeling on her knee,
But pale as death; her left hand back entwined
In Tamar's hair, who shrinking sits behind,
Her right upstays her leaning on a spear:
Ah! blood is welling from that side so dear,
Down o'er her snowy vesture far it streams.
But still her eye with angry beauty gleams,
Fixed on that slaughtered Roman whom her lance
Pierced doubtless first to stay his base advance.
Slow went Othuriel near; the virgin raised
Her eyes, and strangely, keenly, on him gazed
One moment; shrieking in her gladness, she
Sprung, stretched her arms in death with him to be,
Fell, ere he met her, o'er that soldier's head;
He rushed, he raised his young Joanna—dead.
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He bore and laid her by his mother's side;
Tamar went with him, her he held a space
Upraised to look upon their mother's face:—
“You know her, Tamar? She to us has been
A dearer mother than wide earth has seen,
But she is gone from us; yet better far
That she is dead in these sore days of war.
Weep not, my sister lamb, of thee I'll take
Great care, and love thee greatly for her sake:
I am thy brother, come with me!” He led
The stumbling child, and from the chamber sped;
Nor, by the very greatness of the ill
Awed, much she wept, but clung unto him still.
The roof he sought; high streaming in the breeze,
He saw the banner of the Maccabees;
Down quick he tore its lettered flag; he sought,
By Tamar led, a sepulchre remote
Behind the house; away its stone he rolled,
And spread within that standard's silken fold;
Then forth he brought his dead ones from that room,
And side by side he laid them in the tomb;
And round their holy heads, and round their feet,
With gentlest care he wrapped the embroidered sheet;
Rolled back the stone to guard their long long rest;
Upsnatched his sister, to his swelling breast
Strained; kissed her forehead, and her face bedewed
With silent tears still checked but still renewed;
Then strove in vain his sobbings to repress,
That she might fear not from his great distress:
The while he bore her in his arms away,
And came to Titus ere the rising day.
119
CANTO VII. THE END OF OTHURIEL.
“No, princely Titus! On my head amainJust Heaven exhaust the armoury of pain!”
Othuriel said, as down a valley they
From wasted Zion far pursued their way,
Leading their steeds; young Tamar went between;
Far on before a Roman host was seen.
“So dread my sin, 'tis nought that I repent
My country's fall; mine must be punishment:
'Tis now begun. But let me not forget
For all thy gracious thoughts my mighty debt.
Kings hate their traitor instruments, and this
The more when they have helped them not amiss;
But not so thou: a nobler rule is thine,
Still work for me, and safety to design,
And hope. Though stern must be my future lot,
My heart shall keep the mitigating thought,
That through my rash dark treason thou hast seen
A better nature, and my friend hast been.
I thank thee, generous Cæsar, but my vow
Is wholly finished, and I leave thee now.
Whither to roam, where resting must be met
My plague of memory, I have fixed not yet.
Would I were in the deserts, to be borne
Fleet o'er a hundred hill-tops through the morn,
To drive the tempest of the chase, to slay
The wild boar only at the fall of day,
When sleep should catch me dropping from my toil,
And dreams alone have time my peace to spoil!
Or give me war—oh give me boundless strife;
Let me be swift and silent all my life!
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My worthless life in keeping I must take.
For her I've lingered till your host you drew
From ruined Salem, to be safe with you,
My convoy hither. But for me you stay
Too long conversing thus, your troops are on away.
Farewell, heroic man! yon hills afar,
And these the plains of Judah free from war,
Will yield me safety now,” Othuriel said.
But see! outbursting from a neighbouring shade
Of trees, six mounted Jews; their bearing shows
They know and will not spare their country's foes.
Stern, swift they came. Sprung with a startled bound
Othuriel's charger, wheeling round and round.
Upsnatching Tamar, to his readier steed
The Cæsar leapt, and pushed him to his speed.
Othuriel follows; dashing as he went,
A gleaming javelin by a Jew was sent;
Whizzing it overtakes him in its track,
Ha! deep it quivers buried in his back.
Caught with dread check, round writhed Othuriel struck,
With clutching hand that weapon forth to pluck;
Yet kept his seat, and, urging his career,
Pursued yon Hebrew with his levelled spear,
Who followed Titus; well his speed maintained,
He neared him fast as on the Prince he gained,
Ground his clenched teeth, his lance transfixing thrust,
And hurled the Jew down headlong to the dust.
Down too he reeled; yet rising, staggering, he
Leant on his spear that Tamar he might see.
Back gallops Titus in his friendly fear.
But hark, those other horsemen coming near!
“They come, they come! why, Roman, dare you stay?”
Othuriel cried, “Save her! away, away!
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To keep my Tamar as if she were thine,
Thy sister or thy daughter; and till death,
Let no man draw her from her father's faith.
Thanks, lifted hand! high token! Now then, flee!
Ride! ere I die, her safety let me see!
The God of Jacob help you, and help her!
I see you, sister, would I with you were!
But I am hurt, I cannot go with you;
Yet long I'll look”—Away his Tamar flew:
And sore the pangs that his young bosom rent,
And much he waved his hand, as on she went;
As still he heard her name him o'er and o'er,
And cry for him, and shriekingly implore
That he would come to her; as turned and bent
To him, to him, o'er Titus' neck she leant,
Yearning for him, her arms outstretched in air
In blent confusion with her floating hair;
As died her voice, her look from him for aye;
As fast and far he saw her borne away.
But soon the parting grief that him subdued,
Was swallowed up by anxious fear renewed;
For lo! those Hebrews still pursuit maintain,
And chance may give them what speed cannot gain.
Heavy with death he staggered; aye the more
He leant upon the spear which scarcely him upbore;
And still from thickening mists his eye he cleared
To see his sister saved; still faint to Titus cheered.
Joy! joy! he sees the Cæsar far before
His following foes; they pause, the chase is o'er!
Tamar is saved! Othuriel, satisfied,
Sprung, clapped his hands, and falling calmly died.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird | |