University of Virginia Library

O saddened Muse, sing not of that rough way
Her light feet trod among the flints and thorns,
Where some chance arrow might have stained her breast,
And death lay coiled in the slim viper's haunt;
Nor how the hot sun tracked them till they reached,
She and her maid, a place of drooping boughs
Cooled by a spring set in a cup of moss,
And bathed their cheeks, and gathered mulberries,
And at the sudden crackling of a twig
Were wellnigh dead with fear: sing, rather, now
Of Holofernes, stretched before his tent
Upon the spotted hide of that wild beast
He slew beside the Ganges, he alone
With just his dagger; from the jungle there
The creature leapt on him, and tore his throat,
In the dim starlight: that same leopard skin
Went with him to all wars. This day he held
A council of the chiefs. Close at his feet
His iron helmet trailed on the sere grass
Its horsehair plume—a Hindu maiden's hair.
Men whispered under breath; and from his lance,
The spear set firmly in the sun-scorched earth
Where he had thrust it, hung his massive shield.
Upon the shield a dragon was, with eyes
Of sea-green emeralds, which caught the light
And flashed it back, and seemed a thing that lived.

There lay the Prince of Asshur, with his chin
Propped on one hand, and the gaunt captains ranged
In groups about him; men from Kurdistan,
Men from the Indus, and the salt-sea dunes,
And those bleak snow-lands that to northward lie—
A motley conclave, now in hot debate
Whether to press the siege or wait the end.
And one said: “Lo! the fruit is ripe to fall,
Let us go pluck it; better to lie dead,
Each on his shield, than stay here with no grain
To feed the mares, and no bread left.” “The moat
Is wide,” said one, “and many are the spears,
And stout the gates. Have we not tried our men
Against the well-set edges of those spears?
Note how the ravens wheel in hungry files
Above the trenches, and straight disappear.
See where they rise, red-beaked and surfeited!
Has it availed? The city stands. Within
There's that shall gnaw its heart out, if we wait,
And bide the sovran will of the wise gods.”
Some of the younger captains made assent,
But others scowled, and mocked them, and one cried:
“Ye should have tarried by the river's bank
At home, and decked your hair with butterflies
Like the king's harlots. Little use are ye.”
“Nay,” cried another, “they did well to come;
They have their uses. When our meat is gone
We'll even feed upon the tender flesh
Of these tame girls, who, though they dress in steel,
Like more the tremor of a cithern string
Than the shrill whistle of an arrowhead.”

Death lay in lighter spoken words than these,
And quick hands sought the hilt, and spears were poised,
And they had one another slain outright,
These fiery lords, when suddenly each blade
Slipped back to sheath, and the pale captains stood
Transfixed, beholding in their very midst
A woman whose exceeding radiance
Of brow and bosom made her garments seem
Threadbare and lustreless, yet whose attire
Outshone the purples of a Persian queen
That decks her for some feast, or makes her rich
To welcome back from war her lord the king.

For Judith, who knew all the hillside paths
As one may know the delicate azure veins
That branch and cross on his belovèd's wrist,
Had passed the Tartar guards in the thick wood,
And gained the camp's edge, and there stayed her steps,
Appalled at sight of all those angry lords,
But taking heart, had noiselessly approached,
And stood among them, unperceived till then.
Now on the air arose such murmurous sound
As when a swarm of honey-bees in June
Rises, and hangs mist-like above the hives,
And fills the air with its sweet monotone.
The Prince of Asshur knew not what it meant,
And springing to his feet, thrust back the chiefs
That hampered him, and cried in a loud voice:
“Who breaks upon our councils?” Then his eyes
Discovered Judith. As in a wild stretch
Of silt and barren rock, a gracious flower,
Born of the seed some bird of passage dropped,
Leans from the stem and with its beauty lights
The lonely waste, so Judith, standing there,
Seemed to illumine all the dismal camp,
And Holofernes' voice took softer tone:
“Whence comest thou—thy station, and thy name?”

“Merari's daughter, dead Manasseh's wife,
Judith. I come from yonder hapless town.”

“Methought the phantom of some murdered queen
From the dead years had risen at my feet!
If these Samarian women are thus shaped,
O my brave Captains, let not one be slain!—
What seekest thou within the hostile lines
Of Asshur?”

“Holofernes.”

“This is he.”

“O good my Lord,” cried Judith, “if indeed
Thou art that Holofernes whom I seek,
And dread, in truth, to find, low at thy feet
Behold thy handmaid who in fear has flown
From a doomed people.”

“If this thing be so,
Thou shalt have shelter of our tents, and food,
And meet observance, though our enemy.
Touching thy people, they with tears of blood,
And ashes on their heads, shall rue the hour
They brought not tribute to the lord of all,
The king at Nineveh. But thou shalt live.”

“O good my lord,” said Judith, “as thou wilt
So would thy servant. And I pray thee now
Let them that listen stand awhile aside,
For I have that for thine especial ear
Of import to thee.”

Then the chiefs fell back
Under the trees, and leaned on their huge shields,
Eyeing the Hebrew woman whose sweet looks
Brought them home-thoughts and visions of their wives
In that far land they might not see again.
And Judith spoke, and they strained ear to catch
Her words; but only the soft voice was theirs:

“My lord, if yet thou holdest in thy thought
The words which Achior the Ammonite
Once spake to thee concerning Israel,
O treasure them; no guile was in those words.
True is it, master, that our people kneel
To an unseen but not an unknown God:
By day and night He watches over us,
And while we worship Him we cannot fall,
Our tabernacles shall be unprofaned,
Our spears invincible; but if we sin,
If we transgress the law by which we live,
Our sanctuaries shall be desecrate,
Our tribes thrust forth into the wilderness,
Scourged and accursèd. Therefore, O my lord,
Seeing this nation wander from the faith
Taught of the Prophets, I have fled dismayed.
Heed, Holofernes, what I speak this day,
And if the thing I tell thee prove not true,
Let not thy falchion tarry in its sheath,
But seek my heart. Why should thy handmaid live,
Having deceived thee, thou the crown of men?”

She spoke, and paused; and sweeter on his ear
Was Judith's voice than ever to him seemed
The silver laughter of the Assyrian girls
In the bazaars, or when in the cool night,
After the sultry heat of the long day,
They came down to the river with their lutes.
The ceaseless hum that rose from the near tents,
The neighing of the awful battle-steeds,
The winds that sifted through the fronded palms
He heard not; only Judith's voice he heard.

“O listen, Holofernes, my sweet lord,
And thou shalt rule not only Bethulîa,
Rich with its hundred altars' crusted gold,
But Cades-Barne and Jerusalem,
And all the vast hill-land to the blue sea.
For I am come to give into thy hand
The key of Israel—Israel now no more,
Since she disowns the Prophets and her God.”

“Speak, for I needs must listen to these things.”

“Know then, O prince, it is our yearly use
To lay aside the first fruits of the grain,
And so much oil, so many skins of wine,
Which, being sanctified, are held intact
For the High Priests who serve before our Lord
In the great temple at Jerusalem.
This holy food—which even to touch is death—
The rulers, sliding from their ancient faith,
Fain would lay hands on, being wellnigh starved;
And they have sent a runner to the Priests
(The Jew Abijah, who, at dead of night,
Shot like a javelin between thy guards),
Bearing a parchment begging that the Church
Yield them permit to eat the sacred corn.
But 't is not lawful they should do this thing,
Yet will they do it. Then shalt thou behold
The archers tumbling headlong from the walls,
Their strength gone from them; thou shalt see the spears
Splitting like reeds within the spearmen's hands,
And the strong captains tottering like old men
Stricken with palsy. Then, O mighty prince,
Then with thy trumpets blaring doleful dooms,
And thy proud banners waving in the wind,
With squares of men and eager clouds of horse
Thou shalt sweep down on them, and strike them dead!
But now, my lord, before this come to pass,
Three days must wane, for they touch not the food
Until the Jew Abijah shall return
With the Priests' message. Here among thy hosts,
O Holofernes, would I dwell the while,
Asking but this, that I and my handmaid
Each night, at the sixth hour, may egress have
Unto the valley, there to weep and pray
That God forsake this nation in its sin.
And as my prophecy prove true or false,
So be it with me.”

Judith ceased, and stood
With hands crossed on her breast, and face upraised.
And Holofernes answered not at first,
But bent his eyes on the uplifted face,
And mused, and then made answer: “Be it so.
Thou shalt be free to go and come, and none
Shall stay thee, nor molest thee, these three days.
And if, O pearl of women, the event
Prove not a dwarf beside the prophecy,
Then hath the sun not looked upon thy like;
Thy name shall be as honey on men's lips,
And in their memory fragrant as a spice.
Music shall wait on thee; crowns shalt thou have,
And jewel chests of costly sandal-wood,
And robes in texture like the ring-dove's throat,
And milk-white mares, and slaves, and chariots;
And thou shalt dwell with me in Nineveh,
In Nineveh, the City of the Gods.”

Then on her cheek the ripe blood of her race
Faltered an instant. “Even as thou wilt
So would thy servant.” Thereupon the slaves
Brought meat and wine, and placed them in a tent,
A green pavilion standing separate
Hard by the brook, for Judith and her maid.
But Judith ate not, saying: “Master, no.
It is not lawful that we taste of these;
My maid has brought a pouch of parchèd corn,
And bread and figs and wine of our own land,
Which shall not fail us.” Holofernes said,
“So let it be,” and pushing back the screen
Passed out, and left them sitting in the tent.

And when they were alone within the tent,
“O Marah,” cried the mistress, “do I dream?
Is this the dread Assyrian rumor paints,
He who upon the plains of Ragau smote
The hosts of King Arphaxad, and despoiled
Sidon and Tyrus, and left none unslain?
Gentle is he we thought so terrible,
Whose name we stilled unruly children with
At bedtime—See! the Bull of Asshur comes!
And all the little ones would straight to bed.
Is he not statured as should be a king?
Beside our tallest captain this grave prince
Towers like the palm above the olive-tree.
A gentle prince, with gracious words and ways.”
And Marah said: “A gentle prince he is—
To look on; I misdoubt his ways and words.”
“And I, O Marah, I would trust him not!”
And Judith laid her cheek upon her arm
With a quick laugh, and like to diamonds
Her white teeth shone between the parted lips.

Now Holofernes held himself aloof
That day, spoke little with his chiefs, nor cared
To watch the athletes at their games of strength
Under the cedars, as his custom was,
But in a grove of clustered tamarisk trees
On the camp's outer limit walked alone,
Save for one face that haunted the blue air,
Save for one voice that murmured at his ear.
There, till the twilight flooded the low lands
And the stars came, these kept him company.

The word of Judith's beauty had spread wide
Through the gray city that stretched up the slope;
And as the slow dusk gathered many came
From far encampments, on some vain pretext,
To pass the green pavilion—long-haired men
That dwelt by the Hydaspes, and the sons
Of the Elymeans, and slim Tartar youths,
And folk that stained their teeth with betel-nut
And wore rough goatskin, herdsmen of the hills;
But saw not Judith, who from common air
Was shut, and none might gaze upon her face.

But when the night fell, and the camps were still,
And nothing moved beneath the icy stars
In their blue bourns, save some tall Kurdish guard
That stalked among the cedars, Judith called
And wakened Marah, and the sentinel
Drew back, and let them pass beyond the lines
Into the plain; and Judith's heart was full
Seeing the watchfires burning on the towers
Of her own city. As a hundred years
The hours seemed since she stood within its walls
Her heart so yearned to it. Here on the sand
The two knelt down in prayer, and Marah thought:
“How is it we should come so far to pray?”
Not knowing Judith's cunning that had gained
By this device free passage to and fro
Between the guards. When they had prayed, they rose
And went through the black shadows back to camp.

One cresset twinkled dimly in the tent
Of Holofernes, and Bagoas, his slave,
Lay on a strip of matting at the door,
Drunk with the wine of sleep. Not so his lord
On the soft leopard skin: a fitful sleep
Was his this night, tormented by a dream
That ever waked him. Through the curtained air
A tall and regal figure came and went;
At times a queen's bright diadem pressed down
The bands of perfumed hair, and gold-wrought stuffs
Rustled; at times the apparition stood
Draped only in a woven mist of veils,
Like the king's dancing-girls at Nineveh.
And once it stole to his couch side, and stooped
And touched his brow with tantalizing lip,
Undoing all the marvel of the dream;
For Holofernes turned then on the couch,
Sleep fled his eyelids, and would come no more.