University of Virginia Library

THE JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON.

Once on a time, when he was growing old,
Albeit there was no sign of age in him,
Except his snowy beard, King Solomon
Sat deeply meditating on his throne,
His magic throne, which bore him where he would,
Winged like a planet. On a mountain-peak,
Which overlooked the long Iranian plain,
And many-citied kingdoms of the Ind,
It stood, like morn re-risen in the east,
Seen by the people over whom it shone,
And seen of every creature of the earth,
Which gathered from all quarters of the earth,
Commanded thither by the powerful word
Of their imperious master, Solomon,
Whom the four angels of the land and sea
Had given dominion over them and theirs,
That they should honor him and do his will,
And who, moreover, understood their speech,
And could converse with them, so wise was he.
Surrounded there by these that summer day
He sat, and over him the birds of heaven
Hung motionless, a living canopy
That shut out the fierce sunlight; also came
And ministered to him the winds of heaven,
They, or the angels who ruled over them,
Diverse in kind, but strangely beautiful,
As when with their innumerable wings
He first beheld them in Jerusalem.
The populous kingdoms of the earth and air,
Below, above, about him, troubled him,
Troubled him because he understood their speech,
Their habits, passions, everything they were,
What life was to them, and how short it was,
And, whether long or short, how certain death.
The solemn thought of their mortality,
And, it may be, his own, which all that day
Was present with him, an unwelcome guest,
The more unwelcome as he grew more old,
Darkened the loving heart of Solomon,
Darkened his soul, till, lifting up his eyes,
He saw a mist which slowly shaped itself,
Or seemed to shape, into an odorous cloud,
Which rose before him, and from out the cloud
There reached a hand that held a crystal cup,
Filled with strange water, clearer than the cup;
And sweeter than all music spake a voice,
Saying: “The Maker of the Universe—
His Name and Power be honored, glorified,
Hath sent me with this cup, wherein thou seest
The waters of youth and everlasting life.
Choose freely whether thou wilt or wilt not drink,
This draught of youth and everlasting life.
Think, wilt thou be immortal through all time,
Or live and die like other men? I wait.”
Deep silence brooded over all the Place
When the Voice ceased, and Solomon communed
Within himself upon the thing he heard.
Firm as a pillar stood the odorous cloud,
And the white hand reached out the diamond cup,
“Surely,” he thought, “the gold of life is good
To spend in the great market of the world;
Fruitful the soil of life, wherein to plant
The stately palms of power, the flowers of love;
But joyless is the dark repose of death.”
Thus he, within the silence of his thoughts
Debating life and death. “Before I drink
I will take other counsel than mine own;
For though men call me wise, I know myself
Foolish at times—I think more foolish now
That age hath come on me.” He summoned then
All spirits which were subject to his charge,
The angels of the winds and of the seas,
The birds of heaven, the creatures of the earth,
The souls of wise men dead before he lived,
And speaking to them in their several tongues,
Demanded they should tell him, if they knew,
Whether, indeed, it would be wise in him
To drain the cup of everlasting life,
Or let it go, and die like other men.
Then, like the voices of a thousand streams
Which are one voice, the countless multitude
Straightway entreated him to drain the cup,
Seeing that the welfare of the world was laid
Upon his wisdom, as upon the hills,
That hold up the high heavens. And, furthermore,
The happiness of all things was sustained
By the perfected circle of his life,
Set like a jewel in a golden ring,
The precious jewel in his signet-ring,
Which was the Incommunicable Name.
He hearkened to their voices, hearkening more
To the unspoken longing in his heart,
Of which they were the answer; then, resolved,
Stretched forth his hand and took the shining cup,
Whereat the hand that gave it into his,
Tempting, withdrew into the pillared cloud.
Wondrous the lights within the water were,
Which water was no longer, but a wine
The like whereof no mortal ever saw,
Not pressed from earthly clusters such as grew
In his walled garden of Jerusalem—
Vintage of heaven, its rare aroma stole,
Like the remembered music of a dream,
Through all his senses, yearning with delight.
And, lo! from out its living depths a flame
Flashed suddenly up, and flushed his royal face,
Prophetic promise of returning Youth.
He would have drank, but something stayed his hand,
Some dark foreboding that he had not done
All that a wise man should to know the truth.
Perhaps he had misheard the unknown voice
That spake from out the cloud—the words were strange;
Perhaps his wily servants flattered him,
Puffed up with self-importance. He would see.
“O ye,” he cried, “who minister to me,
Spirits, and men, and creatures of the earth,
Tell me if there be any absent now,
Many, or one, for I commanded all
To meet me here at noon.” And they replied,
Bowing before the might of Solomon,
“Master, the only one who is not here
Is that most loving of all living things,
Whom all things love, the wild dove Boutimar.”
The Lord of Learning sent a golden bird,
A marvellous gift from Sheba's beauteous Queen,
To find and fetch the wild dove Boutimar
From where her nest was builded on the roof
Of the great Temple of Jerusalem.
The glory of the reign of Solomon.
“O dove,” he said, while she was still afar,
“Wild dove that dwellest in the clefts of rocks,
Or in the hiding-places of the wood,
Singing all day, ‘The fashion of this world
Passes away like stubble in the fire,
But God remains eternal in the heavens.’
Hither, my dove, and let me see thy face,
Hither, and let me hear thy voice once more.”
Then when the wild dove Boutimar was come,
Smoothing her feathers with a tender hand,
He bade her tell him whether it were best
That he, her lord and master, Solomon,
Should drink the waters of immortal youth.
Whereunto Boutimar, the Bird of Love,
Whose wisdom was proportioned to her love:
“How should a simple creature of the sky,
Tenant of lonely places far from men,
In rocky clefts, or woods, or temple roofs,
Answer the Master of Intelligence?
Yet if it must be that I counsel thee,
Instruct me whether this bright Cup of Life
Be for thee only, or for all mankind.”
And he: “It hath been sent to me alone.
There is not in the cup another drop,
Nay, not so much as the least bead of dew
Left at high noontide in the lily's leaves.”
“Prophet of God!” the wild dove answered then,
“O, how couldst thou desire to live alone,
Then, when thy trusty friends and counsellors,
Thy wives, thy children, all who love thee, all
Whom thou dost love, are numbered with the dead?
For these must surely drink the cup of death,
Though thou to-day shouldst drink the cup of life.
Who could endure eternal youth, O King,
When the world's face was wrinkled with old age,
And Death's black fingers, reaching everywhere,
Had closed the pale eye of the latest star?
When all thou lovest shall have passed away
Like smoke of incense in that holy House
Which thou hast builded in Jerusalem;
When, poor, dead dust, the heart that beat to thine
Shall have been scattered by the winds of heaven;
When eyes which were the loadstars of thy fate
Have left not even the memory of their light;
When voices which were music in thine ears
Are mute forever; when thy life shall be
The sole oasis in the waste of death,
Eternal recognition of the dead,
Wilt thou then care to live, O Solomon?
Or, rather, wilt thou die like the wild dove
Who perishes when its truant mate comes not?”
For answer Solomon restored the cup
To the white hand, that disappeared again
Deep in the dense concealment of the cloud,
Which in a moment vanished out of sight.
Wisdom returned to him, and with it tears,
The happy tears that heal the sorrowing heart,
Submissive to the ordinance of Heaven,
Content to live and die like other men.