The fall of Nineveh A poem by Edwin Atherstone. Second edition: diligently corrected, and otherwise improved. In two volumes |
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 | The fall of Nineveh |  |
All night funereal darkness pall'd the earth;
The worn-out soldiers slumbered heavily:
The anxious chiefs themselves, in grave-like sleep,
Till morn lay locked; nor dreamed of victory,
Or of defeat. But a yet thicker gloom
Hung o'er the spirit of Assyria's king:
His strength again was gone; his eyes closed not;
The fearful present, in yet worse to-come,
As in a black, inevitable gulf,
Seemed hurrying on to plunge him. To and fro,
His restless limbs he tossed; oft rose, and trod,
With quick and anxious step, the velvet floor:
Anon would stop; with wild and haggard look,
Glare out on vacancy; then to his couch
Again sink down; and, vainly as before,
Invoke oblivious sleep.
The worn-out soldiers slumbered heavily:
The anxious chiefs themselves, in grave-like sleep,
Till morn lay locked; nor dreamed of victory,
Or of defeat. But a yet thicker gloom
Hung o'er the spirit of Assyria's king:
His strength again was gone; his eyes closed not;
The fearful present, in yet worse to-come,
As in a black, inevitable gulf,
Seemed hurrying on to plunge him. To and fro,
His restless limbs he tossed; oft rose, and trod,
With quick and anxious step, the velvet floor:
Anon would stop; with wild and haggard look,
Glare out on vacancy; then to his couch
Again sink down; and, vainly as before,
Invoke oblivious sleep.
As restlessly,
The wounded queen her fragrant pillow pressed;
But not in like despair. Her eye was bright;
Her breathing quick; her heart with fever throbbed.
High were her hopes, and cheerful was her voice,
As, to her listening dames, all eagerly,
She visioned things to come. At length she rose;
Round her majestic person a rich robe
Of crimson silk, with gold embroidered, threw;
Her beauteous feet in silken slippers shod;
And to the chamber of the restless king,
With light firm step, advanced. Him, wrapped in gloom,
From out the window looking toward the plain,
She found; and, with a gay and hopeful voice,
Essayed to cheer him.
The wounded queen her fragrant pillow pressed;
But not in like despair. Her eye was bright;
Her breathing quick; her heart with fever throbbed.
High were her hopes, and cheerful was her voice,
As, to her listening dames, all eagerly,
She visioned things to come. At length she rose;
Round her majestic person a rich robe
Of crimson silk, with gold embroidered, threw;
Her beauteous feet in silken slippers shod;
And to the chamber of the restless king,
170
From out the window looking toward the plain,
She found; and, with a gay and hopeful voice,
Essayed to cheer him.
“Wherefore now cast down,
O king,” she said; and on his shoulder placed
Her fair, but burning hand: “lo! all the day,
With numbers fewer far, against the foe
Thy hosts have stood; and have not utterly,
Even so, been vanquished: then, dear lord, take heart;
And, on the morrow, let thine arms again
Blaze forth, and wither them. The gods, be sure,
Will give thee now the victory.”
O king,” she said; and on his shoulder placed
Her fair, but burning hand: “lo! all the day,
With numbers fewer far, against the foe
Thy hosts have stood; and have not utterly,
Even so, been vanquished: then, dear lord, take heart;
And, on the morrow, let thine arms again
Blaze forth, and wither them. The gods, be sure,
Will give thee now the victory.”
In her face,
With sorrow looked he; marked her florid cheek,
Her brightly beaming eye, her hurried speech;
Felt her dry, burning hand; and knew, too well,
That fever fired her. With a solemn voice,
Then thus he answered.
With sorrow looked he; marked her florid cheek,
Her brightly beaming eye, her hurried speech;
Felt her dry, burning hand; and knew, too well,
That fever fired her. With a solemn voice,
Then thus he answered.
“To thy bed return.
The leech hath warned thee that, by sleep unsoothed,
Thy wound may rancorous grow. Speak then no more:
Yet bid thy handmaids give thee cooling drinks;
For thy blood boileth in thee; and thy thoughts
Are all disordered.”
The leech hath warned thee that, by sleep unsoothed,
Thy wound may rancorous grow. Speak then no more:
Yet bid thy handmaids give thee cooling drinks;
For thy blood boileth in thee; and thy thoughts
Are all disordered.”
Saying thus, he rose;
Clasped her reluctant hand, and on her cheek
A kiss of pity pressed. Nought answered she,—
By those cold words displeased,—but turned and went.
The downcast king again his chamber paced,
And heavy sighs breathed forth.
Clasped her reluctant hand, and on her cheek
A kiss of pity pressed. Nought answered she,—
By those cold words displeased,—but turned and went.
The downcast king again his chamber paced,
And heavy sighs breathed forth.
But soon, once more,
Gently the door was opened. In her hand
Bearing a dulcimer, Azubah stood,—
Her anxious face enquiring timidly
If she might enter. Silently awhile
She waited; then, with soft, beseeching voice,
“May I not sing to thee, O king,” she said,
“And pour into thy sorrowing heart the balm
Of music, and sweet poesy?”
Gently the door was opened. In her hand
Bearing a dulcimer, Azubah stood,—
Her anxious face enquiring timidly
If she might enter. Silently awhile
She waited; then, with soft, beseeching voice,
“May I not sing to thee, O king,” she said,
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Of music, and sweet poesy?”
But her
Thus answered he: “Not now: to every sound
That once could comfort bring, mine ears are deaf:
My thoughts are troubled, and my heart is sad.
Then leave me: I would be alone.”—He paused;
Upon her loving face gazed mournfully;
Then thus, with pitying accent, spake again.
“But who to thee, alas! shall comfort bring,
When the king's hour hath passed! and unto whom
Wilt thou for refuge fly!”
Thus answered he: “Not now: to every sound
That once could comfort bring, mine ears are deaf:
My thoughts are troubled, and my heart is sad.
Then leave me: I would be alone.”—He paused;
Upon her loving face gazed mournfully;
Then thus, with pitying accent, spake again.
“But who to thee, alas! shall comfort bring,
When the king's hour hath passed! and unto whom
Wilt thou for refuge fly!”
With hurried words,
And quivering lip, she answered. “Unto none!
Whither thou go'st, there also will I go;
And to none else will I for comfort seek.”
He kissed her cheek, but spake not; and she went.
And quivering lip, she answered. “Unto none!
Whither thou go'st, there also will I go;
And to none else will I for comfort seek.”
He kissed her cheek, but spake not; and she went.
Then fell upon him a yet darker gloom;
And hastily he sent forth messengers,
Commanding wizards, and Chaldean seers,
To come before him. But afraid were all,
And hid themselves. Some bade their servants say,
“Our master in a grievous sickness lies;”
And some, “Behold our lord is this day dead!”
So that not one among them might be found.
And hastily he sent forth messengers,
Commanding wizards, and Chaldean seers,
To come before him. But afraid were all,
And hid themselves. Some bade their servants say,
“Our master in a grievous sickness lies;”
And some, “Behold our lord is this day dead!”
So that not one among them might be found.
Perplexed and wrathful grew the despot then:
But, his rage curbing, once more he sent forth,
And Barak summoned. Nought afeard was he;
But rose at once; his sable vestments donned;
And soon, erect and proud, before the king,
Waiting his bidding, stood.
But, his rage curbing, once more he sent forth,
And Barak summoned. Nought afeard was he;
But rose at once; his sable vestments donned;
And soon, erect and proud, before the king,
Waiting his bidding, stood.
“Thou tremblest not;”
After long pause, while with a fiery glance,
From head to foot he scanned the audacious priest,
The king displeased began. “Fearest thou not then?
Hast thou forgotten how, when last we spake,
Thy hateful life, too justly forfeited,
Hung as on gossamer thread? What hinders now
That I bid cut the line, and let thee sink
Down to the hell thou'rt doomed to? Answer, priest;
Say, wherefore should'st thou live.”
After long pause, while with a fiery glance,
From head to foot he scanned the audacious priest,
The king displeased began. “Fearest thou not then?
Hast thou forgotten how, when last we spake,
Thy hateful life, too justly forfeited,
Hung as on gossamer thread? What hinders now
That I bid cut the line, and let thee sink
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Say, wherefore should'st thou live.”
A gloomy smile
Curled the pale prophet's lip, as, all unmoved,
Thus answered he. “My life, O king, by heaven,
Not man, may be commanded. At thy word,
Might the frail thread be severed, of a truth,
Ere now the worms had gnawed me. But I stand
Unfearing; for my time not yet is come;
Nor darest thou speed it. Once again, O king,
I warn thee,—thine, and mine, one hour to die;
By Fate irrevocably so decreed;
So by the gods pronounced; nor, by man's might,
One moment to be changed. While I shall live,
Thou shalt live also: slay me,—and, that hour,
Thy grave will open.”
Curled the pale prophet's lip, as, all unmoved,
Thus answered he. “My life, O king, by heaven,
Not man, may be commanded. At thy word,
Might the frail thread be severed, of a truth,
Ere now the worms had gnawed me. But I stand
Unfearing; for my time not yet is come;
Nor darest thou speed it. Once again, O king,
I warn thee,—thine, and mine, one hour to die;
By Fate irrevocably so decreed;
So by the gods pronounced; nor, by man's might,
One moment to be changed. While I shall live,
Thou shalt live also: slay me,—and, that hour,
Thy grave will open.”
While he spake, the king
An inward shudder felt; yet, proud of heart,
Affected scorn, and promptly thus replied.
“O'er much the gods then honor thee. Methinks
A monarch's death should stand alone in the year,
Like to some great eclipse; that all the world
Him solely might lament. But, cunning seer,
If so far in the future thou canst look,—
Lapse of long years, I trust,—deign, then, to gaze
Upon to-morrow's birth; and tell the event
Just coming into life. What if again,
With the next dawn, I lead my army forth,—
Shall we be victors? Answer—if thou darest:
But, first, bethink thee;—for, as true, or false,
Thou speakest now, so shalt thou live, or die.
And, may the gods, in my extremest need,
Aid, or destroy me, as this vow I keep!
If false thy prophecy, ere the next day's sun
Rise o'er the mountains, thou shalt die the death!
Then, ere thou answer, pause.”
An inward shudder felt; yet, proud of heart,
Affected scorn, and promptly thus replied.
“O'er much the gods then honor thee. Methinks
A monarch's death should stand alone in the year,
Like to some great eclipse; that all the world
Him solely might lament. But, cunning seer,
If so far in the future thou canst look,—
Lapse of long years, I trust,—deign, then, to gaze
Upon to-morrow's birth; and tell the event
Just coming into life. What if again,
With the next dawn, I lead my army forth,—
Shall we be victors? Answer—if thou darest:
But, first, bethink thee;—for, as true, or false,
Thou speakest now, so shalt thou live, or die.
And, may the gods, in my extremest need,
Aid, or destroy me, as this vow I keep!
If false thy prophecy, ere the next day's sun
Rise o'er the mountains, thou shalt die the death!
Then, ere thou answer, pause.”
While yet he spake,
The prompt reply began. “No need for pause,
Forethought, or caution. Mighty as thou art,
King of Assyria, mightier are the gods.
Their doom thou canst not alter; their command
Hast heard, and disobeyed. Yet, once again,
Thus I proclaim it. Lead thine armies forth;
But, ere one step they move,—within thy court
Be the pile ready; and the victim sure.
If, then, the day go with thee,—as the Powers,
Approving, may decree,—it shall be well;
And still thy child may live. But, if the foe
Till noon prevail,—then surely may'st thou know
The gods are wroth with thee, and do require
The blood of expiation. Let the steam
Of sacrifice then to their nostrils mount;
And they, well pleased, may turn the face of wrath
Upon thine enemies: on thy side may fight;
And utterly destroy them from the earth.
The prompt reply began. “No need for pause,
Forethought, or caution. Mighty as thou art,
King of Assyria, mightier are the gods.
173
Hast heard, and disobeyed. Yet, once again,
Thus I proclaim it. Lead thine armies forth;
But, ere one step they move,—within thy court
Be the pile ready; and the victim sure.
If, then, the day go with thee,—as the Powers,
Approving, may decree,—it shall be well;
And still thy child may live. But, if the foe
Till noon prevail,—then surely may'st thou know
The gods are wroth with thee, and do require
The blood of expiation. Let the steam
Of sacrifice then to their nostrils mount;
And they, well pleased, may turn the face of wrath
Upon thine enemies: on thy side may fight;
And utterly destroy them from the earth.
But, if 'gainst heaven thou harden still thy heart,
Still do deny the sacrifice,—behold!
Thy kingdom shall pass from thee evermore!
Upon thy throne thine enemy shall sit,
And banquet in thy palaces! Thy queen,
Thy daughter, shall they take for concubines!
Thy sons shall put to death! thy cities seize,
Thy treasures, for a spoil. And thou, O king!
Unto thine enemies shalt be a sport,
A hissing, and a mockery! and, last,
Shalt ignominiously be put to death!”
Still do deny the sacrifice,—behold!
Thy kingdom shall pass from thee evermore!
Upon thy throne thine enemy shall sit,
And banquet in thy palaces! Thy queen,
Thy daughter, shall they take for concubines!
Thy sons shall put to death! thy cities seize,
Thy treasures, for a spoil. And thou, O king!
Unto thine enemies shalt be a sport,
A hissing, and a mockery! and, last,
Shalt ignominiously be put to death!”
With deep and awful tone the wizard spake;
Nor could the king reply; for wrath, and pride,
By supernatural dread were mastered quite,
That even his soul felt shudder. A brief space
The prophet stood; fixed on him his stern eye;
Then turned, and went his way.
Nor could the king reply; for wrath, and pride,
By supernatural dread were mastered quite,
That even his soul felt shudder. A brief space
The prophet stood; fixed on him his stern eye;
Then turned, and went his way.
Down sank the king,
Grief-smitten, to his couch: and all the night
Moaned, and wept bitterly. Three days and nights,
With eyes scarce closing, did he weep and groan:
To neither man, nor woman, would he speak;
Nor would be comforted.
Grief-smitten, to his couch: and all the night
Moaned, and wept bitterly. Three days and nights,
With eyes scarce closing, did he weep and groan:
To neither man, nor woman, would he speak;
Nor would be comforted.
But, when the morn
Of the fourth day was come, again he bade,
And Barak stood before him. Till the noon,
Sat they in conference; and the monarch's face,
Like a dusk cloud by quivering lightning touched,
With ghastly light 'gan glimmer. Not the less,
On the gaunt prophet's brow, as he retired,
Hung the dark frown; for he the despot knew
Uncertain as the wind. The king saw not,
But, with a feverish gaiety, sent forth,
And Salamenes summoned.
Of the fourth day was come, again he bade,
174
Sat they in conference; and the monarch's face,
Like a dusk cloud by quivering lightning touched,
With ghastly light 'gan glimmer. Not the less,
On the gaunt prophet's brow, as he retired,
Hung the dark frown; for he the despot knew
Uncertain as the wind. The king saw not,
But, with a feverish gaiety, sent forth,
And Salamenes summoned.
When the prince
Before him came,—the monarch, with bright eye,
And eager utterance, questioned of the host,
Their numbers, and their spirit. Marvelling much
At that so sudden kindling, with sad tone,
Thus Salamenes answered.
Before him came,—the monarch, with bright eye,
And eager utterance, questioned of the host,
Their numbers, and their spirit. Marvelling much
At that so sudden kindling, with sad tone,
Thus Salamenes answered.
“Most dread lord!
The words that I must speak, are bitterness:
Yet be not angered with me. Of the force
That late so joyously and strong went forth,
Full two score thousand sleep! Dejection dark,
Silence, and terror, o'er the living hang.
Within the city, restless prophets roam,
Predicting dire events: and, nigh the walls,
Each night the howl of desert beasts is heard.
Strange Things, 'tis said, in darkness walk the earth,
And flit along the air. No sun by day
Now gladdens us; but a dense roof of cloud,
Tomb-like, o'ervaults the earth. Some cry aloud,
‘The king is with the dead, or surely now
Unto his people had he shown himself:’
And some, disheartened, stealthily have fled,
And with the rebel leagued. Oh, mighty lord!
If thou in this extremity rise not
To strengthen us, Assyria will be lost!”
The words that I must speak, are bitterness:
Yet be not angered with me. Of the force
That late so joyously and strong went forth,
Full two score thousand sleep! Dejection dark,
Silence, and terror, o'er the living hang.
Within the city, restless prophets roam,
Predicting dire events: and, nigh the walls,
Each night the howl of desert beasts is heard.
Strange Things, 'tis said, in darkness walk the earth,
And flit along the air. No sun by day
Now gladdens us; but a dense roof of cloud,
Tomb-like, o'ervaults the earth. Some cry aloud,
‘The king is with the dead, or surely now
Unto his people had he shown himself:’
And some, disheartened, stealthily have fled,
And with the rebel leagued. Oh, mighty lord!
If thou in this extremity rise not
To strengthen us, Assyria will be lost!”
Him, with flushed look, the impatient monarch heard;
And hastily replied: “Dreamers, and fools,
Have all the rest infected,—ay, even thee;
For, like the wind in hollow sepulchre,
Soundeth thy voice; and corpse-like is thy hue.
But wild beasts to their deserts shall return;
False prophets be made silent; graves shall hold
Their tenants back; and once again the sun
Shall shine upon imperial Nineveh.
I will arise: I will go forth again;
And trample down mine enemies. But now,
Haste thou away: take from my treasures gold;
And largely unto every soldier give:
Then, on the morrow, ere the dawn shall peep,
Lead thou the host in silence from the walls;
And pour destruction on the enemy.
And let the heralds everywhere proclaim,
‘Thus saith the king: be joyful, and be bold:
Now shall ye surely triumph; for the gods,
That have been wroth with us, will be appeased;
And give the audacious rebel to your swords.’
Let them cry also, ‘Be ye not cast down,
For that the king to battle goeth not:
He a great sacrifice doth offer up,—
So by heaven willed,—and may not lead you on:
But toward the field still will his eye be turned;
And he the brave will honor.’”
And hastily replied: “Dreamers, and fools,
Have all the rest infected,—ay, even thee;
For, like the wind in hollow sepulchre,
Soundeth thy voice; and corpse-like is thy hue.
But wild beasts to their deserts shall return;
False prophets be made silent; graves shall hold
175
Shall shine upon imperial Nineveh.
I will arise: I will go forth again;
And trample down mine enemies. But now,
Haste thou away: take from my treasures gold;
And largely unto every soldier give:
Then, on the morrow, ere the dawn shall peep,
Lead thou the host in silence from the walls;
And pour destruction on the enemy.
And let the heralds everywhere proclaim,
‘Thus saith the king: be joyful, and be bold:
Now shall ye surely triumph; for the gods,
That have been wroth with us, will be appeased;
And give the audacious rebel to your swords.’
Let them cry also, ‘Be ye not cast down,
For that the king to battle goeth not:
He a great sacrifice doth offer up,—
So by heaven willed,—and may not lead you on:
But toward the field still will his eye be turned;
And he the brave will honor.’”
With firm voice,
These words he spake; and greatly was the heart
Of Salamenes gladdened. Forth he went;
The princes, and the captains, summoned all;
And the king's words made known. Gold then he took;
That unto every soldier might be given,
With liberal measure; and the monarch's will
Throughout the camp proclaimed. So was the host
Made joyful; and, with strength and courage new,
Did every man for battle nerve himself.
These words he spake; and greatly was the heart
Of Salamenes gladdened. Forth he went;
The princes, and the captains, summoned all;
And the king's words made known. Gold then he took;
That unto every soldier might be given,
With liberal measure; and the monarch's will
Throughout the camp proclaimed. So was the host
Made joyful; and, with strength and courage new,
Did every man for battle nerve himself.
| The fall of Nineveh | |