Poems Lyrical and Dramatic By Evelyn Douglas [i.e. J. E. Barlas] |
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NITOCRIS' FEAST.
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 | Poems Lyrical and Dramatic |  |
130
NITOCRIS' FEAST.
There reigned of old in Memphis by the Nile
King Menthesuphis, slain by traitor guile
Of kindred swords. Bewailed of few he bled:
Save his one sister's scarce a true tear shed:—
Bewailed of her in secret, for great grief
To some great end can walk without relief.
Nay, when the murderers with yet reeking hand
Would offer her the crown of all the land,
She simply smiled that smile serene and light
No man may wear, few even read aright:
As when Dawn rises blushing from her bed,
And soft clouds bathe them in the morning-red,
Low fly the swallows, and in sheltered bays
White wings collect from over watery ways,
Yet ocean slumbers like the face of Death
In that still smile, and Nature holds her breath:
Even such her look: they whispering, “Lo, how
She lusted for the crown, and takes it now
While yet the warm wounds of her brother bleed!
Who loves the issue half approves the deed.”
She steadfast with the royal look of power
Moves up the ivory steps, through Egypt's flower
Of youth and maid, and sinks in fold on fold
Of costly purples on the fretted gold,
Sets on her virgin hair the jewelled weight
Of empire, round her wraps the cares of state.
They part secure until the funeral feast.
King Menthesuphis, slain by traitor guile
Of kindred swords. Bewailed of few he bled:
Save his one sister's scarce a true tear shed:—
Bewailed of her in secret, for great grief
To some great end can walk without relief.
Nay, when the murderers with yet reeking hand
Would offer her the crown of all the land,
She simply smiled that smile serene and light
No man may wear, few even read aright:
As when Dawn rises blushing from her bed,
And soft clouds bathe them in the morning-red,
Low fly the swallows, and in sheltered bays
White wings collect from over watery ways,
131
In that still smile, and Nature holds her breath:
Even such her look: they whispering, “Lo, how
She lusted for the crown, and takes it now
While yet the warm wounds of her brother bleed!
Who loves the issue half approves the deed.”
She steadfast with the royal look of power
Moves up the ivory steps, through Egypt's flower
Of youth and maid, and sinks in fold on fold
Of costly purples on the fretted gold,
Sets on her virgin hair the jewelled weight
Of empire, round her wraps the cares of state.
They part secure until the funeral feast.
Meanwhile she breathes in ear of Isis' priest,
A silent man, dark-browed and cold, in whom
A secret buried lay as in the tomb.
Two spacious chambers, paved and walled around
With costly stone, lie scooped far underground.
In one they lay the king in gorgeous guise,
The other garnish for the day. One dyes
With shapes of beast and bird the stone wall's face
In record of his reign. The carvers chase
Goblets of gold, in gold and ebony
The benches and the tables sumptuous lie.
The day is come. They flock with one accord
To mock with reverent rites their slaughtered lord.
Slaves set on dishes and abundant wine
In jewelled chalices. The guests recline.
Sedately slow they send the chased cups round,
But quaff no worse for absence of much sound.
“Blood, blood it is ye put to traitor lips!”
A strange voice shrieks. With lightning-swift eclipse
All flames are quenched, save that which strangely burns
From the death-chamber. There two vast bronze urns
Spout from the gorge a vivid poisonous light:
And in the door-way, draped in glistering white,
Nitocris stands. Aghast they backward fall:
Some beat the door, some 'neath the benches crawl.
There stood she in the glare with that still smile
They fathomed now, and spake one word—“The Nile.”
A sound of creaking flood-gates, then a roar
Like thousand surges on an iron shore.
They draw bright steel and rush on her, but she
Beside one urn of flame stood steadfastly,
And, ere the first hand raised to kill came nigher,
Plunged without cry amid the molten fire.
A silent man, dark-browed and cold, in whom
A secret buried lay as in the tomb.
Two spacious chambers, paved and walled around
With costly stone, lie scooped far underground.
In one they lay the king in gorgeous guise,
The other garnish for the day. One dyes
With shapes of beast and bird the stone wall's face
In record of his reign. The carvers chase
Goblets of gold, in gold and ebony
The benches and the tables sumptuous lie.
132
To mock with reverent rites their slaughtered lord.
Slaves set on dishes and abundant wine
In jewelled chalices. The guests recline.
Sedately slow they send the chased cups round,
But quaff no worse for absence of much sound.
“Blood, blood it is ye put to traitor lips!”
A strange voice shrieks. With lightning-swift eclipse
All flames are quenched, save that which strangely burns
From the death-chamber. There two vast bronze urns
Spout from the gorge a vivid poisonous light:
And in the door-way, draped in glistering white,
Nitocris stands. Aghast they backward fall:
Some beat the door, some 'neath the benches crawl.
There stood she in the glare with that still smile
They fathomed now, and spake one word—“The Nile.”
A sound of creaking flood-gates, then a roar
Like thousand surges on an iron shore.
133
Beside one urn of flame stood steadfastly,
And, ere the first hand raised to kill came nigher,
Plunged without cry amid the molten fire.
| Poems Lyrical and Dramatic | |