University of Virginia Library

DEATH'S HERDSMAN; OR, THE LAY OF THE RINDERPEST.

An Episode from a Lost Book of Herodotus.

“Whose herdsman, gaunt and evil-eyed,
Art thou, that strid'st without consent
Across our homesteads—every stride
Loud'ning the uproar of lament?
Rude stranger! what hath brought thee here
Into our parks and dales and downs,
Close to the purlieus of our towns,
Unasked? Recount thy dread career!
Whence hast thou come, and whither bent?
By whom and on what errand sent?”
A day there was of solemn feast
Held on the margins of the Nile;
The Ibis, Snake, and Crocodile
Partook, with their attendant priest,
Of the rude homage of the throng;
But the chief spectacle afoot
Was a huge Bull—a bloated brute—
Osiris term'd—the Sire of gods—
Which, ribbon-decked, in onward route,
Waddled along amid the applauds
Of thousands. Through the city gate
The monster passed in regal state;
Gilded its hoofs, and jewel-tipped
Its horns. Before it, vestals nine,
Scattering the lotus blossoms, tripped,
And sung the praises of the kine;
And nine, with cymbals in their hands,
Followed, and nine times nine, in bands,
Guarded its flanks, and in the rear,
Hindmost of all, glanced helm and spear.
Memphis and Thebes in long array
Had mustered fast that holiday!
Onward the grand procession pass'd
Through street, and square, and under arch
Triumphal, with the trumpet's blast,
And clash of cymbal, keeping march;
Pressed onward, too, the gazing throng,
And in the music's happening pause
Rent the hot air with loud hurrahs.
Shout, cymbal-clash, and vestal song,
And trumpets' blare, and tramp of feet,
And now and then in concert full
The angry questioning of the bull,
Held their blent sway in square and street.
“Osiris! bless the sire of Beeves,
The sturdy husband of the Cow,
The god whose offspring drag the plough,
And tread to grain the yellow sheaves:
Hail to Osiris! hail to thee,
Munificent divinity!”
Such were the greetings at the gate
Of the great temple, where in state
Stood the stoled priests, and round and round
Their idol, in a circle vast,
The pomp and pride of Egypt wound;
When suddenly among the host
A shape appeared, nor man, nor ghost,
Nor mummied form, nor skeleton,
Yet blending with the flesh and bone
Of Life the character of Death.
A cubit's height above the crowd
He towered, and on his shoulders proud
Lay what was neither scarf nor shroud—
A mantle woven by Winter's breath,
Which shed its icy influence round
The wearer. As he stalked along,
All shook and ceased from shout and song
Who came within the enchanted bound—
Ay, through the undulating throng
To each extreme the nervous chill
Pierced and arrested power and will.
But who was this intruder strange?
All sought to know, and made exchange
Of wondering glances, each with each,
Yet dared not ask in common speech.
Onward the stranger stalked to where
Stood the sleek bull, for now it stood
Panting below the noon-day glare.
Swayed on each side the multitude,
None challenging, yet all amazed;
And while with eager eyes they gazed,
A skinny finger came to play,
Stretched forth from under mantle grey,
And touched the frontal star which lay
Betwixt the gilded horns divine;
At once, and with a sullen roar,
That crossed old Nile from shore to shore,
The father of a thousand kine
Staggered and fell. Below the stroke
Of the dire axe, with heavier crash,
Fell not the patriarchal oak,
The pine, and elm, and veteran ash,
Hewn to build Albion's wooden walls.
But who the intruder, gaunt and grim,
That stayed the Osirian festivals,
And fiercely hushed the vestal hymn?
Who but the herdsmen that is now
Setting the grisly master's brand
Upon the cattle of your land?
Sooner an arméd host, I trow,
And roar of cannon on its strand,
And the invaders' noisy tramp,
And all the carnage of the camp,
Than the strange pestilence that stalks
By noon-day in your sunniest walks!