 | A Lost Epic and Other Poems |  |
Around, the ancient woods were hushed and dark.
The Ark was closed. No cry of beast or bird
Was heard within. No stir, no sound was heard.
Hushed were the heavens, and dark with brooding cloud.
She bade her people leave her there alone.
She watched them go; with scared dilated eyes
She followed them beneath the lowering skies,
And saw them riding far across the land.
“Hear, earth; ye heavens, hearken! here am I,
The world's great Harlot, who have snared and slain
The last old giants of the seed of Cain,
And reddened all my robes with youthful blood.
And now the Lord will chase me with His flood,
And hunt me as a beast; and though He spare
The beast, will spare not me, but clutch my hair,
And slay me without mercy for my sin!
I came to mock thee, O thou man within,
But fear hath fallen upon me. Now I know
That anguish and unutterable woe
And sure destruction are at hand.”
No sound
Was heard, save bitter weeping on the ground,
Where, sobbing with her face among the dust,
The Harlot moaned: “The Lord is just—is just!”
Then spoke a voice, gentle, compassionate:
“Why weepest thou?”
“Because it is too late.”
“It never is too late to mourn for sin.”
“Then open.”
“Nay, the Lord hath shut me in.”
“Must I then perish?”
“Nay, thy flesh alone
Shall for thine evil in the flesh atone!”
There was a noise of viols in the earth:
Eating and drinking, pomp, and bridal mirth.
But day and night the Harlot, weeping sore,
Crouched in the dust before the sealèd door.
The Ark was closed. No cry of beast or bird
Was heard within. No stir, no sound was heard.
64
The stillness smote her heart. She called aloud
And bade them smite the Ark.
And bade them smite the Ark.
The soldier's spear
Thundered. Then all was still.
Thundered. Then all was still.
Deep awe and fear
Fell on the Woman's soul. They smote once more
And beat upon the walls and sealèd door.
But no one answered. Not a sound was heard.
The dark heavens whist. No leaf o' the forest stirred.
The Woman felt her limbs grow heavy as stone.Fell on the Woman's soul. They smote once more
And beat upon the walls and sealèd door.
But no one answered. Not a sound was heard.
The dark heavens whist. No leaf o' the forest stirred.
She bade her people leave her there alone.
She watched them go; with scared dilated eyes
She followed them beneath the lowering skies,
And saw them riding far across the land.
She turned and struck the door with trembling hand,
And listened trembling. “Man within,” she cried,
“Answer; I am alone.”
And listened trembling. “Man within,” she cried,
“Answer; I am alone.”
No voice replied.
Then plucked she from her brows the moon, and tore
Her dyed attire; and, beating on the door,
Shrieked: “Answer, answer, answer!”
65
Her dyed attire; and, beating on the door,
Shrieked: “Answer, answer, answer!”
All was still.
The awful silence made her being thrill.
She gathered dust and strewed it on her hair,
And, striking hands together in despair,
Shrieked: “Speak, ere terror blabs abroad my shame,
For dread hath seized on me.”
The awful silence made her being thrill.
She gathered dust and strewed it on her hair,
And, striking hands together in despair,
Shrieked: “Speak, ere terror blabs abroad my shame,
For dread hath seized on me.”
No answer came.
Then from the Woman rose a piercing cry:
“Hear, earth; ye heavens, hearken! here am I,
The world's great Harlot, who have snared and slain
The last old giants of the seed of Cain,
And reddened all my robes with youthful blood.
And now the Lord will chase me with His flood,
And hunt me as a beast; and though He spare
The beast, will spare not me, but clutch my hair,
And slay me without mercy for my sin!
66
But fear hath fallen upon me. Now I know
That anguish and unutterable woe
And sure destruction are at hand.”
No sound
Was heard, save bitter weeping on the ground,
Where, sobbing with her face among the dust,
The Harlot moaned: “The Lord is just—is just!”
Then spoke a voice, gentle, compassionate:
“Why weepest thou?”
“Because it is too late.”
“It never is too late to mourn for sin.”
“Then open.”
“Nay, the Lord hath shut me in.”
“Must I then perish?”
“Nay, thy flesh alone
Shall for thine evil in the flesh atone!”
67
Eating and drinking, pomp, and bridal mirth.
But day and night the Harlot, weeping sore,
Crouched in the dust before the sealèd door.
| A Lost Epic and Other Poems | |