The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan :: :: University of Virginia Library

Lo, now the Moonlight lit his features wan
With spectral beams, and o'er his hoary hair
A halo of brightness fell, and rested there!
And while upon his face mine eyes were bent
In utterness of woeful wonderment,
Into mine ear the strange voice crept once more:
‘Far have I wandered, weary and spiritsore,
And lo! wherever I have chanced to be,
All things, save men alone, have pitied me!’

214

Then—then—even as he spake, forlornly crown'd
By the cold light that wrapt him round and round,
I saw upon his twain hands raised to Heaven
Stigmata bloody as of sharp nails driven
Thro' the soft palms of mortals crucified!
And swiftly glancing downward I descried
Stigmata bloody on the naked feet
Set feebly on the cold stones of the street!—
And moveless in the frosty light he stood,
Ev'n as one hanging on the Cross of wood!

Then, like a lone man in the north, to whom
The auroral lights on the world's edge assume
The likeness of his gods, I seem'd to swoon
To a sick horror; and the stars and moon
Reel'd wildly o'er me, swift as sparks that blow
Out of a forge; and the cold stones below
Chattered like teeth! For lo, at last I knew
The lineaments of that diviner Jew
Who like a Phantom passeth everywhere,
The World's last hope and bitterest despair,
Deathless, yet dead!—

Unto my knees I sank,
And with an eye glaz'd like the dying's drank
The wonder of that Presence!

White and tall
And awful grew He in the mystical
Chill air around Him,—at His mouth a mist
Made by His frosty breathing!—Then I kissed
His frozen raiment-hem, and murmurèd
‘Adonai! Master! Lord of Quick and Dead!’
'Twas more than heart could suffer and still beat—
So with a hollow moan I fainted at his feet!