 | The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich |  |
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BOOK III
THE FLIGHT
On the horizon, as the prow of Dawn
Ploughed through the huddled clouds, a wave of gold
Went surging up the dark, and breaking there
Dashed its red spray against the cliffs and spurs,
But left the valley in deep shadow still.
And still the mist above the Asshur camp
Hung in white folds, and on the pendent boughs
The white dew hung. While yet no bird had moved
A wing in its dim nest, the wakeful prince
Rose from the couch, and wrapped in his long cloak
Stepped over the curved body of the slave,
And thridding moodily the street of tents
Came to the grove of clustered tamarisk trees
Where he had walked and mused the bygone day.
Here on a broken ledge he sat him down,
Soothed by the morning scent of flower and herb
And the cool vintage of the unbreathed air;
And presently the sleep that night denied
The gray dawn brought him; and he slept and dreamed.
Ploughed through the huddled clouds, a wave of gold
Went surging up the dark, and breaking there
Dashed its red spray against the cliffs and spurs,
But left the valley in deep shadow still.
And still the mist above the Asshur camp
Hung in white folds, and on the pendent boughs
The white dew hung. While yet no bird had moved
A wing in its dim nest, the wakeful prince
Rose from the couch, and wrapped in his long cloak
Stepped over the curved body of the slave,
And thridding moodily the street of tents
Came to the grove of clustered tamarisk trees
Where he had walked and mused the bygone day.
Here on a broken ledge he sat him down,
Soothed by the morning scent of flower and herb
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And presently the sleep that night denied
The gray dawn brought him; and he slept and dreamed.
Before him rose the pinnacles and domes
Of Nineveh; he walked the streets, and heard
The chatter of the merchants in the booths
Pricing their wares, the water-seller's cry,
The flower-girl's laugh—a festival it seemed,
In honor of some conqueror or god,
For cloths of gold and purple tissues hung
From frieze and peristyle, and cymbals clashed,
And the long trumpets sounded: now he breathed
The airs of a great river sweeping down
Past ruined temples and the tombs of kings,
And heard the wash of waves on a vague coast.
Then, in the swift transition of a dream,
He found himself in a damp catacomb
Searching by torchlight for his own carved name
On a sarcophagus; and as he searched
A group of wailing shapes drew slowly near—
The hates and cruel passions of his youth
Become incorporate and immortal things,
With tongue to blazon his eternal guilt;
And on him fell strange terror, who had known
Neither remorse nor terror, and he sprang
Upon his feet, and broke from out the spell,
Clutching his sword-hilt; and before him stood
Bagoas, the eunuch, bearing on his head
An urn just filled at the clear brook hard by.
Of Nineveh; he walked the streets, and heard
The chatter of the merchants in the booths
Pricing their wares, the water-seller's cry,
The flower-girl's laugh—a festival it seemed,
In honor of some conqueror or god,
For cloths of gold and purple tissues hung
From frieze and peristyle, and cymbals clashed,
And the long trumpets sounded: now he breathed
The airs of a great river sweeping down
Past ruined temples and the tombs of kings,
And heard the wash of waves on a vague coast.
Then, in the swift transition of a dream,
He found himself in a damp catacomb
Searching by torchlight for his own carved name
On a sarcophagus; and as he searched
A group of wailing shapes drew slowly near—
The hates and cruel passions of his youth
Become incorporate and immortal things,
With tongue to blazon his eternal guilt;
And on him fell strange terror, who had known
Neither remorse nor terror, and he sprang
Upon his feet, and broke from out the spell,
Clutching his sword-hilt; and before him stood
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An urn just filled at the clear brook hard by.
Then Holofernes could have struck the slave
Dead in his path—what man had ever seen
The Prince of Asshur tremble? But he turned
Back to the camp, and the slave followed on
At heel, grown sullen also, like a hound
That takes each color of his master's mood.
And when the two had reached the tent, the prince
Halted, and went not in at once, but said:
“Go, fetch me wine, and let my soul make cheer,
For I am sick with visions of the night.”
Dead in his path—what man had ever seen
The Prince of Asshur tremble? But he turned
Back to the camp, and the slave followed on
At heel, grown sullen also, like a hound
That takes each color of his master's mood.
And when the two had reached the tent, the prince
Halted, and went not in at once, but said:
“Go, fetch me wine, and let my soul make cheer,
For I am sick with visions of the night.”
Within the tent alone, he sat and mused:
“What thing is this hath so unstrung my heart
A foolish dream appalls me? what dark spell?
Is it an omen that the end draws nigh?
Such things foretell the doom of fateful men—
Stars, comets, apparitions hint their doom.
The night before my grandsire got his wound
In front of Memphis, and therewith was dead,
He dreamt a lying Ethiop he had slain
Was strangling him; and, later, my own sire
Saw death in a red writing on a leaf.
And I, too”—Here Bagoas brought the wine
And set it by him; but he pushed it back.
“Nay, I'll not drink it, take away the cup;
And this day let none vex me with affairs,
For I am ill and troubled in my thought.
Go—no, come hither! these are my commands:
Search thou the camp for choicest flesh and fruit,
And spread to-night a feast in this same tent,
And hang the place with fragrant-smelling boughs
Or such wild flowers as hide in the ravine;
Then bid the Hebrew woman that she come
To banquet with us. As thou lovest life,
Bring her! What matters, when the strong gods call,
Whether they find a man at feast or prayer?”
“What thing is this hath so unstrung my heart
A foolish dream appalls me? what dark spell?
Is it an omen that the end draws nigh?
Such things foretell the doom of fateful men—
Stars, comets, apparitions hint their doom.
The night before my grandsire got his wound
In front of Memphis, and therewith was dead,
He dreamt a lying Ethiop he had slain
Was strangling him; and, later, my own sire
Saw death in a red writing on a leaf.
And I, too”—Here Bagoas brought the wine
And set it by him; but he pushed it back.
“Nay, I'll not drink it, take away the cup;
And this day let none vex me with affairs,
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Go—no, come hither! these are my commands:
Search thou the camp for choicest flesh and fruit,
And spread to-night a feast in this same tent,
And hang the place with fragrant-smelling boughs
Or such wild flowers as hide in the ravine;
Then bid the Hebrew woman that she come
To banquet with us. As thou lovest life,
Bring her! What matters, when the strong gods call,
Whether they find a man at feast or prayer?”
Bagoas bowed him to his master's foot
With hidden cynic smile, and went his way
To spoil the camp of such poor food as was,
And gather fragrant boughs to dress the tent,
Sprigs of the clove and sprays of lavender;
And meeting Marah with her water jar
At the brookside, delivered his lord's word.
Then Judith sent him answer in this wise:
“O what am I that should gainsay my lord?”
And Holofernes found the answer well.
“Were this not so,” he mused, “would not my name
Be as a jest and gibe 'mong womankind?
Maidens would laugh behind their unloosed hair.”
With hidden cynic smile, and went his way
To spoil the camp of such poor food as was,
And gather fragrant boughs to dress the tent,
Sprigs of the clove and sprays of lavender;
And meeting Marah with her water jar
At the brookside, delivered his lord's word.
Then Judith sent him answer in this wise:
“O what am I that should gainsay my lord?”
And Holofernes found the answer well.
“Were this not so,” he mused, “would not my name
Be as a jest and gibe 'mong womankind?
Maidens would laugh behind their unloosed hair.”
“O Marah, see! my lord keeps not his word.
He is as those false jewellers who change
Some rich stone for a poorer, when none looks.
Three days he promised, and not two are gone!”
Thus Judith said, and smiled, but in her heart:
“O save me, Lord, from this dark cruel prince,
And from mine own self save me; for this man,
A worshipper of fire and senseless stone,
Slayer of babes upon the mother's breast,
He, even he, hath by some conjurer's trick,
Or by his heathen beauty, in me stirred
Such pity as stays anger's lifted hand.
O let not my hand falter, in Thy name!”
And thrice that day, by hazard left alone,
Judith bowed down, upon the broidered mats
Bowed down in shame and wretchedness, and prayed:
“Since Thou hast sent the burden, send the strength!
O Thou who lovest Israel, give me strength
And cunning such as never woman had,
That my deceit may be his stripe and scar,
My kiss his swift destruction. This for thee,
My city, Bethulîa, this for thee!”
He is as those false jewellers who change
Some rich stone for a poorer, when none looks.
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Thus Judith said, and smiled, but in her heart:
“O save me, Lord, from this dark cruel prince,
And from mine own self save me; for this man,
A worshipper of fire and senseless stone,
Slayer of babes upon the mother's breast,
He, even he, hath by some conjurer's trick,
Or by his heathen beauty, in me stirred
Such pity as stays anger's lifted hand.
O let not my hand falter, in Thy name!”
And thrice that day, by hazard left alone,
Judith bowed down, upon the broidered mats
Bowed down in shame and wretchedness, and prayed:
“Since Thou hast sent the burden, send the strength!
O Thou who lovest Israel, give me strength
And cunning such as never woman had,
That my deceit may be his stripe and scar,
My kiss his swift destruction. This for thee,
My city, Bethulîa, this for thee!”
Now the one star that ruled the night-time then,
Against the deep blue-blackness of the sky
Took shape, and shone; and Judith at the door
Of the pavilion waited for Bagoas;
She stood there lovelier than the night's one star.
But Marah, looking on her, could have wept,
For Marah's soul was troubled, knowing all
That had been hidden from her till this hour.
The deadly embassy that brought them there,
And the dark moment's peril, now she knew.
But Judith smiled, and whispered, “It is well;”
And later, paling, whispered, “Fail me not!”
Against the deep blue-blackness of the sky
Took shape, and shone; and Judith at the door
Of the pavilion waited for Bagoas;
She stood there lovelier than the night's one star.
But Marah, looking on her, could have wept,
For Marah's soul was troubled, knowing all
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The deadly embassy that brought them there,
And the dark moment's peril, now she knew.
But Judith smiled, and whispered, “It is well;”
And later, paling, whispered, “Fail me not!”
Then came Bagoas, and led her to the tent
Of Holofernes, and she entered in
And knelt before him in the cressets' light
Demurely like a slave-girl at the feet
Of her new master, whom she fain would please,
He having paid a helmetful of gold
That day for her upon the market-place,
And would have paid a hundred pieces more.
So Judith knelt; and the dark prince inclined
Above her graciously, and bade her rise
And sit with him on the spread leopard skin.
Yet she would not, but rose, and let her scarf
Drift to her feet, and stood withdrawn a space,
Bright in her jewels; and so stood, and seemed
Like some rich idol that a conqueror,
Sacking a town, finds in a marble niche
And sets among the pillage in his tent.
Of Holofernes, and she entered in
And knelt before him in the cressets' light
Demurely like a slave-girl at the feet
Of her new master, whom she fain would please,
He having paid a helmetful of gold
That day for her upon the market-place,
And would have paid a hundred pieces more.
So Judith knelt; and the dark prince inclined
Above her graciously, and bade her rise
And sit with him on the spread leopard skin.
Yet she would not, but rose, and let her scarf
Drift to her feet, and stood withdrawn a space,
Bright in her jewels; and so stood, and seemed
Like some rich idol that a conqueror,
Sacking a town, finds in a marble niche
And sets among the pillage in his tent.
“Nay, as thou wilt, O fair Samarian!”
Thus Holofernes, “thou art empress here.”
Thus Holofernes, “thou art empress here.”
“Not queen, not empress would I be, O prince,”
Judith gave answer, “only thy handmaid,
And one not well content to share her charge.”
Then Judith came to his couch side, and said:
“This night, O prince, no other slave than I
Shall wait on thee with meat and fruit and wine,
And bring the scented water for thy hands,
And spread the silvered napkin on thy knee.
So subtle am I, I shall know thy thought
Before thou thinkest, and thy spoken word
Ere thou canst speak it. Let Bagoas go
This night among his people, save he fear
To lose his place and wage, through some one else
More trained and skilful showing his defect!”
Judith gave answer, “only thy handmaid,
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Then Judith came to his couch side, and said:
“This night, O prince, no other slave than I
Shall wait on thee with meat and fruit and wine,
And bring the scented water for thy hands,
And spread the silvered napkin on thy knee.
So subtle am I, I shall know thy thought
Before thou thinkest, and thy spoken word
Ere thou canst speak it. Let Bagoas go
This night among his people, save he fear
To lose his place and wage, through some one else
More trained and skilful showing his defect!”
Prince Holofernes smiled upon her mirth,
Finding it pleasant. “O Bagoas,” he cried,
“Another hath usurped thee. Get thee gone,
Son of the midnight! But stray not from camp,
Lest the lean tiger-whelps should break their fast,
And thou forget I must be waked at dawn.”
Finding it pleasant. “O Bagoas,” he cried,
“Another hath usurped thee. Get thee gone,
Son of the midnight! But stray not from camp,
Lest the lean tiger-whelps should break their fast,
And thou forget I must be waked at dawn.”
So when Bagoas had gone into the night,
Judith set forth the viands for the prince;
Upon a stand at the low couch's side
Laid grapes and apricots, and poured the wine,
And while he ate she held the jewelled cup,
Nor failed to fill it to the silver's edge
Each time he drank; and the red vintage seemed
More rich to him because of her light hands
And the gold bangle that slipped down her wrist.
Now, in the compass of his thirty years
In no one day had he so drank of wine.
Judith set forth the viands for the prince;
Upon a stand at the low couch's side
Laid grapes and apricots, and poured the wine,
And while he ate she held the jewelled cup,
Nor failed to fill it to the silver's edge
Each time he drank; and the red vintage seemed
More rich to him because of her light hands
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Now, in the compass of his thirty years
In no one day had he so drank of wine.
The opiate breath of the half-wilted flowers
And the gray smoke that from the cressets curled
Made the air dim and heavy in the tent;
And the prince drowsed, and through the curtained mist,
As in his last night's vision, came and went
The tall and regal figure: now he saw,
Outlined against the light, a naked arm
Bound near the shoulder by a hoop of gold,
And now a sandal flashed, with jewels set.
Through half-shut lids he watched her come and go,
This Jewish queen that was somehow his slave;
And once he leaned to her, and felt her breath
Upon his cheek like a perfumèd air
Blown from a far-off grove of cinnamon;
Then at the touch shrank back, but knew not why,
Moved by some instinct deeper than his sense.
At last all things lost sequence in his mind;
And in a dream he saw her take the lute
And hold it to her bosom while she sang;
And in a dream he listened to the song—
A folklore legend of an ancient king,
The first on earth that ever tasted wine,
Who drank, and from him cast the grief called life
As 't were a faded mantle. Like a mist
The music drifted from the silvery strings:
And the gray smoke that from the cressets curled
Made the air dim and heavy in the tent;
And the prince drowsed, and through the curtained mist,
As in his last night's vision, came and went
The tall and regal figure: now he saw,
Outlined against the light, a naked arm
Bound near the shoulder by a hoop of gold,
And now a sandal flashed, with jewels set.
Through half-shut lids he watched her come and go,
This Jewish queen that was somehow his slave;
And once he leaned to her, and felt her breath
Upon his cheek like a perfumèd air
Blown from a far-off grove of cinnamon;
Then at the touch shrank back, but knew not why,
Moved by some instinct deeper than his sense.
At last all things lost sequence in his mind;
And in a dream he saw her take the lute
And hold it to her bosom while she sang;
And in a dream he listened to the song—
A folklore legend of an ancient king,
The first on earth that ever tasted wine,
Who drank, and from him cast the grief called life
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The music drifted from the silvery strings:
“The small green grapes in heavy clusters grew,
Feeding on mystic moonlight and white dew
And amber sunshine, the long summer through;
Feeding on mystic moonlight and white dew
And amber sunshine, the long summer through;
“Till, with faint tremor in her veins, the Vine
Felt the delicious pulses of the wine;
And the grapes ripened in the year's decline.
Felt the delicious pulses of the wine;
And the grapes ripened in the year's decline.
“And day by day the Virgins watched their charge;
And when, at last, beyond the horizon's marge,
The harvest-moon drooped beautiful and large,
And when, at last, beyond the horizon's marge,
The harvest-moon drooped beautiful and large,
“The subtle spirit in the grape was caught,
And to the slowly dying monarch brought
In a great cup fantastically wrought.
And to the slowly dying monarch brought
In a great cup fantastically wrought.
“Of this he drank; then forthwith from his brain
Went the weird malady, and once again
He walked the palace, free of scar or pain—
Went the weird malady, and once again
He walked the palace, free of scar or pain—
“But strangely changed, for somehow he had lost
Body and voice: the courtiers, as he crossed
The royal chambers, whispered—The King's ghost!”
Body and voice: the courtiers, as he crossed
The royal chambers, whispered—The King's ghost!”
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The ceasing of the music broke the drowse,
Half broke the drowse, of the dazed prince, who cried:
“Give me the drink! and thou, take thou the cup!
Fair Judith, 't is a medicine that cures;
Grief will it cure and every ill, save love,”
And as he spoke, he stooped to kiss the hand
That held the chalice; but the cressets swam
In front of him, and all within the tent
Grew strange and blurred, and from the place he sat
He sank, and fell upon the camel-skins,
Supine, inert, bound fast in bands of wine.
Half broke the drowse, of the dazed prince, who cried:
“Give me the drink! and thou, take thou the cup!
Fair Judith, 't is a medicine that cures;
Grief will it cure and every ill, save love,”
And as he spoke, he stooped to kiss the hand
That held the chalice; but the cressets swam
In front of him, and all within the tent
Grew strange and blurred, and from the place he sat
He sank, and fell upon the camel-skins,
Supine, inert, bound fast in bands of wine.
And Judith looked on him, and pity crept
Into her bosom. The ignoble sleep
Robbed not his pallid brow of majesty
Nor from the curved lip took away the scorn;
These rested still. Like some Chaldean god
Thrown from its fane, he lay there at her feet.
O broken sword of proof! O prince betrayed!
Her he had trusted, he who trusted none.
The sharp thought pierced her, and her breast was torn,
And half she longed to bid her purpose die,
To stay, to weep, to kneel down at his side
And let her long hair trail upon his face.
Into her bosom. The ignoble sleep
Robbed not his pallid brow of majesty
Nor from the curved lip took away the scorn;
These rested still. Like some Chaldean god
Thrown from its fane, he lay there at her feet.
O broken sword of proof! O prince betrayed!
Her he had trusted, he who trusted none.
The sharp thought pierced her, and her breast was torn,
And half she longed to bid her purpose die,
To stay, to weep, to kneel down at his side
And let her long hair trail upon his face.
Then Judith dared not look upon him more,
Lest she should lose her reason through her eyes;
And with her palms she covered up her eyes
To shut him out; but from that subtler sight
Within, she could not shut him, and so stood.
Then suddenly there fell upon her ear
The moan of children gathered in the streets,
And throngs of famished women swept her by,
Wringing their wasted hands, and all the woes
Of the doomed city pleaded at her heart.
As if she were within the very walls
These things she heard and saw. With hurried breath
Judith blew out the lights, all lights save one,
And from its nail the heavy falchion took,
And with both hands tight clasped upon the hilt
Thrice smote the Prince of Asshur as he lay,
Thrice on his neck she smote him as he lay,
And from the brawny shoulders rolled the head
Blinking and ghastly in the cresset's light.
Lest she should lose her reason through her eyes;
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To shut him out; but from that subtler sight
Within, she could not shut him, and so stood.
Then suddenly there fell upon her ear
The moan of children gathered in the streets,
And throngs of famished women swept her by,
Wringing their wasted hands, and all the woes
Of the doomed city pleaded at her heart.
As if she were within the very walls
These things she heard and saw. With hurried breath
Judith blew out the lights, all lights save one,
And from its nail the heavy falchion took,
And with both hands tight clasped upon the hilt
Thrice smote the Prince of Asshur as he lay,
Thrice on his neck she smote him as he lay,
And from the brawny shoulders rolled the head
Blinking and ghastly in the cresset's light.
Outside stood Marah, waiting, as was planned,
And Judith whispered: “It is done. Do thou!”
Then Marah turned, and went into the tent,
And pulled the hangings down about the corse,
And in her mantle wrapped the brazen head,
And brought it with her. Somewhere a huge gong
With sullen throbs proclaimed the midnight hour
As the two women passed the silent guard;
With measured footstep passed, as if to prayer.
But on the camp's lone edge fear gave them wing,
And glancing not behind, they fled like wraiths
Through the hushed night into the solemn woods,
Where, from gnarled roots and palsied trees, black shapes
Rose up, and seemed to follow them; and once
Some creature startled in the underbrush
Made cry, and froze the blood about their hearts.
Across the plain, with backward-streaming hair
And death-white face, they fled, until at last
They reached the rocky steep upon whose crest
The gray walls loomed through vapor. This they clomb,
Wild with the pregnant horrors of the night,
And flung themselves against the city gates.
And Judith whispered: “It is done. Do thou!”
Then Marah turned, and went into the tent,
And pulled the hangings down about the corse,
And in her mantle wrapped the brazen head,
And brought it with her. Somewhere a huge gong
With sullen throbs proclaimed the midnight hour
As the two women passed the silent guard;
With measured footstep passed, as if to prayer.
But on the camp's lone edge fear gave them wing,
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Through the hushed night into the solemn woods,
Where, from gnarled roots and palsied trees, black shapes
Rose up, and seemed to follow them; and once
Some creature startled in the underbrush
Made cry, and froze the blood about their hearts.
Across the plain, with backward-streaming hair
And death-white face, they fled, until at last
They reached the rocky steep upon whose crest
The gray walls loomed through vapor. This they clomb,
Wild with the pregnant horrors of the night,
And flung themselves against the city gates.
Hushed as the grave lay all the Asshur camp,
Bound in that sleep which seals the eyes at dawn
With double seals, when from the outer waste
An Arab scout rushed on the morning watch
With a strange story of a head that hung,
Newly impaled there, on the city wall.
He had crept close upon it through the fog,
And seen it plainly, set on a long lance
Over the gate—a face with snake-like curls,
That seemed a countenance that he had known
Somewhere, sometime, and now he knew it not,
To give it name; but him it straightway knew,
And turned, and stared with dumb recognizance
Till it was not in mortal man to stay
Confronting those dead orbs that mimicked life.
On this he fled, and he could swear the thing,
Disjoined by magic from the lance's point,
Came rolling through the stubble at his heel.
Thus ran the Arab's tale; and some that heard
Laughed at the man, and muttered: “O thou fool!”
Others were troubled, and withdrew apart
Upon a knoll that overlooked the town,
Which now loomed dimly out of the thick haze.
Bound in that sleep which seals the eyes at dawn
With double seals, when from the outer waste
An Arab scout rushed on the morning watch
With a strange story of a head that hung,
Newly impaled there, on the city wall.
He had crept close upon it through the fog,
And seen it plainly, set on a long lance
Over the gate—a face with snake-like curls,
That seemed a countenance that he had known
Somewhere, sometime, and now he knew it not,
To give it name; but him it straightway knew,
And turned, and stared with dumb recognizance
Till it was not in mortal man to stay
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On this he fled, and he could swear the thing,
Disjoined by magic from the lance's point,
Came rolling through the stubble at his heel.
Thus ran the Arab's tale; and some that heard
Laughed at the man, and muttered: “O thou fool!”
Others were troubled, and withdrew apart
Upon a knoll that overlooked the town,
Which now loomed dimly out of the thick haze.
Bagoas passing, caught the Arab's words,
Halted a moment, and then hurried on,
Alert to bear these tidings to his lord,
Whom he was bid to waken at that hour;
Last night his lord so bade him. At the tent,
Which stood alone in a small plot of ground,
Bagoas paused, and called: “My lord, awake!
I come to wake thee as thou badest me.”
But only silence answered; and again
He called: “My lord, sleep not! the dawn is here,
And stranger matter!” Still no answer came.
Then black Bagoas, smiling in his beard
To think in what soft chains his master lay,
Love's captive, drew the leather screen aside
And marvelled, finding no one in the tent
Save Holofernes buried at full length
In the torn canopy. Bagoas stooped,
And softly lifting up the damask cloth
Beheld the Prince of Asshur lying dead.
Halted a moment, and then hurried on,
Alert to bear these tidings to his lord,
Whom he was bid to waken at that hour;
Last night his lord so bade him. At the tent,
Which stood alone in a small plot of ground,
Bagoas paused, and called: “My lord, awake!
I come to wake thee as thou badest me.”
But only silence answered; and again
He called: “My lord, sleep not! the dawn is here,
And stranger matter!” Still no answer came.
Then black Bagoas, smiling in his beard
To think in what soft chains his master lay,
Love's captive, drew the leather screen aside
And marvelled, finding no one in the tent
Save Holofernes buried at full length
In the torn canopy. Bagoas stooped,
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Beheld the Prince of Asshur lying dead.
As in some breathless wilderness at night
A leopard, pinioned by a falling tree
That takes him unaware curled up in sleep,
Shrieks, and the ghostly echo in her cave
Mimics the cry in every awful key
And sends it flying through her solitudes:
So shrieked Bagoas, so his cry was caught
And voiced from camp to camp, from peak to peak.
Then a great silence fell upon the camps,
And all the people stood like blocks of stone
In a deserted quarry; then a voice
Blown through a trumpet clamored: He is dead!
The Prince is dead! The Hebrew witch hath slain
Prince Holofernes! Fly, Assyrians, fly!
A leopard, pinioned by a falling tree
That takes him unaware curled up in sleep,
Shrieks, and the ghostly echo in her cave
Mimics the cry in every awful key
And sends it flying through her solitudes:
So shrieked Bagoas, so his cry was caught
And voiced from camp to camp, from peak to peak.
Then a great silence fell upon the camps,
And all the people stood like blocks of stone
In a deserted quarry; then a voice
Blown through a trumpet clamored: He is dead!
The Prince is dead! The Hebrew witch hath slain
Prince Holofernes! Fly, Assyrians, fly!
Upon the sounding of that baleful voice
A panic seized the silent multitude.
In white dismay from their strong mountain-hold
They broke, and fled. As when the high snows melt,
And down the steep hill-flanks in torrents flow,
Not in one flood, but in a hundred streams:
So to the four winds spread the Asshur hosts,
Leaving their camels tethered at the stake,
Their brave tents standing, and their scattered arms.
As the pent whirlwind, breaking from its leash,
Seizes upon the yellow desert sand
And hurls it in dark masses, cloud on cloud,
So from the gates of the embattled town
Leapt armèd men upon the flying foe,
And hemmed them in, now on a river's marge,
Now on the brink of some sheer precipice,
Now in the fens, and pierced them with their spears.
Six days, six nights, at point of those red spears
The cohorts fled; then such as knew not death
Found safety in Damascus, or beyond
Sought refuge, harried only by their fears.
A panic seized the silent multitude.
In white dismay from their strong mountain-hold
They broke, and fled. As when the high snows melt,
And down the steep hill-flanks in torrents flow,
Not in one flood, but in a hundred streams:
So to the four winds spread the Asshur hosts,
Leaving their camels tethered at the stake,
Their brave tents standing, and their scattered arms.
354
Seizes upon the yellow desert sand
And hurls it in dark masses, cloud on cloud,
So from the gates of the embattled town
Leapt armèd men upon the flying foe,
And hemmed them in, now on a river's marge,
Now on the brink of some sheer precipice,
Now in the fens, and pierced them with their spears.
Six days, six nights, at point of those red spears
The cohorts fled; then such as knew not death
Found safety in Damascus, or beyond
Sought refuge, harried only by their fears.
Thus through God's grace, that nerved a gentle hand
Not shaped to wield the deadly blade of war,
The tombs and temples of Judea were saved.
And love and honor waited from that hour
Upon the steps of Judith. And the years
Came to her lightly, dwelling in her house
In her own city; lightly came the years,
Touching the raven tresses with their snow.
Many desired her, but she put them by
With sweet denial: where Manasseh slept
In his strait sepulchre, there slept her heart.
And there beside him, in the barley-field
Nigh unto Dothaim, they buried her.
Not shaped to wield the deadly blade of war,
The tombs and temples of Judea were saved.
And love and honor waited from that hour
Upon the steps of Judith. And the years
Came to her lightly, dwelling in her house
In her own city; lightly came the years,
Touching the raven tresses with their snow.
Many desired her, but she put them by
With sweet denial: where Manasseh slept
In his strait sepulchre, there slept her heart.
And there beside him, in the barley-field
Nigh unto Dothaim, they buried her.
| The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich | |