Potiphar's Wife and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Potiphar's Wife and Other Poems

By Sir Edwin Arnold

Arnold, Edwin (1832-1904)

Egyptian Poems

POTIPHAR'S WIFE.

TO A PAIR OF EGYPTIAN SLIPPERS.

THE EGYPTIAN PRINCESS.

Japanese Poems

Other Poems.

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Egyptian Poems

POTIPHAR'S WIFE.

(After the versions of the Koran, and the Persian poet Jâmi.)

I

In Memphis, underneath the palms of Nile,
The Lady Asenath a house did build
For love of Hebrew Yûsuf; who, erewhile
With flame unquenchable her breast had filled:
The treasures of Prince Itfîr 'stablished it
A summer-palace for her fancies fit.

II

White, in the blue Egyptian sky, it soared
With mighty graven stones reared outwardly;
This side the gate—enthroned—sate Horus, Lord,
Finger to lip; and, on that other, Thmei,
Mother of Truth, holding her asp and wand,
Glared with great granite face across the land.

III

Inwardly, by an alley of black shade,
The footstep passed on checkered slabs set square,
Into a walled court; where a colonnade
Framed a glad garden full of odours rare
From heavy blooms and fruits. Without was seen
Golden Noon flaming, here 'twas Evening green!

IV

And all the wall was painted movingly
With high-wrought lore, and solemn-storied things:
Anubis, herding souls, was there to see,
And Thoth the Judge: and proud-apparelled kings
Driving to wars, and bringing spoil again,
Their chariot-wheels rose-red with blood of slain.

V

And elsewhere Heaven was shown, with bliss unbroken,
Whereto those mild immortal sisters lead,

Isis and Nepthys; and, for certain token,
Scarabs in holy rows. The limner's reed
Had drawn their foreclaws holding emblems three
Of Life, and Changelessness, and Sanctity.

VI

And, elsewhere, frowned Amenti—Hell:—but over
The silver plumes swayed, teaching how the Dead
Should pass beyond dire Typhon, and discover
Paths to the happy Light, where Ra's bright head
Rebukes all darkness, Regent of the Sun;
And Phtah, Kneph, Athor—every Sacred One.

VII

Also, that cloistered walk was compassed in
With pillars wonderful for work and hue:
This one a palm-stem; that papyrus thin;
Yonder, in stone, lotuses pink and blue.
And from the garden and the colonnade
A roofed way to the inner rooms was laid.

VIII

For inner chambers were there seven:—each fashioned
With matchless wit to make each goodlier
Than that last seen. So, heart and eye, impassioned
Unto the inmost passed, devised by her,
High Asenath, for love's deep hiding-place,
Beautiful, marvellous, all peace and grace.

IX

Through latticed loops Nile's cooling ripple came—
Musical, lulling,—to that dim retreat
Which had for light one silver lamp's faint flame
Burning with fragrant oils before the feet
Of Pasht, in speckled stone, Pasht with cat's head,
And long arms on her levelled knees outspread.

X

The forty carven columns round about
Showed each some masterpiece of subtle craft:

A musk-deer here, in river-reeds, breathes out
The very musk-scent from him: there, a waft
Of bulrush-heads to the quick current bend,
And the slow crocodiles to dry land wend

XI

Sunning wet scales. And, next, a grey fox watched—
In syenite—doves on a tamarisk-tree
Done out of green rock. Wings and necks were matched
In lazulite and moonstone—fair to see!
Midway a dais mounted to a bed
Of pearl and ebony, with soft cloths spread.

XII

Upon the alcove there, and all around
Love tales were pictured: some swart lady wooed
A lover still unwilling; he was bound
In dark warm arms, refusing: then 'twas viewed
How to her spells he melted: then, again,
How what he scorned he sued for—fond and fain.

XIII

And those who thus Love's luxuries had won
Asenath seemed, and Yûsuf. Limb for limb,
Lips, eyes, and brows, the Hebrew boy was done
Lifelike. The gemmed Egyptian dame with him
Shone Asenath herself, Asenath fair,
With robes ungirt, no fillet in her hair!

XIV

Into this palace 'twas her mind to bring
Yûsuf the slave, and lead him, room by room,
Through all their passages of pleasuring
Till eyes' delight should heart's cold doubts consume.
But first herself she 'tired, and lovelier made
That loveliness, too rich before arrayed!

XV

Her eyebrows' arch with pencilled lines she builded,
And touched each underlid with jetty dye;

Drew the long lashes separate, and gilded
Her flesh with palm-flow'r dust, to beautify
The ambered satin of her nape and neck;
And deftly with red henna did she deck

XVI

Her slender finger-tips; and washed with myrrh
Her long black tresses, braiding them in strings
Which, from the queenly gleaming crown of her
Swung to her knees, banded with beads and rings
And, 'thwart her breasts—like lotus-blossoms blown—
A purple, spangled, sindon hath she thrown.

XVII

Then she bade summon that fair Hebrew boy:
Who came, with palms across his faint heart folded,
And kissed her feet, and prayed: “What swift employ
May thy true servant find?” Of manhood moulded
In every part was Yûsuf; and her eye
O'er-roamed him with a tender tyranny.

XVIII

Yet more he shunned th' imperious look of love
Than if her glance had blaze of wrath displayed:
“But,” quoth the Princess, “this night will I prove
If thou be servant true!” Therewith she bade
Follow:—and, entering that first chamber-door,
Shot the bronze bolt; and from his brown throat tore—

XIX

With swift impatient hand—the leathern thong
Marking him thrall; and cried: “My soul's desire!
I, thy hid handmaid, do thee daily wrong
Playing the mistress. By Ra's morning fire
Freed art thou! Make my gift of freedom sweet
Lifting this love-sick giver from thy feet!”

XX

With that she poured her black imperial hair
In waves upon his sandals. But, he said:

“Thou, to whom Egypt's noblest kneel in fear,
Mock me not thus, on whom the charge is laid
To guard thee for my Lord; or, if set free,
Great lady! grant my soul his liberty!”

XXI

Silent she rose:—drew him on inwardly
Behind the second door, locking it hard:
Took from a chest,—cut of the almond-tree—
A cirque, with gods and scarabs set in sard:
“See now!” she cried: “I crown thee Prince and Lord,
Will not those lips, made royal like mine, afford

XXII

The word I pine for, which shall pay for greatness?
Now may'st thou lift thy face, and answer sweet;
We are as one! Quit shame, forsake sedateness!
Asenath wooes Lord Yûsuf:—that is meet!”
“Oh, Itfîr's wife!” he said, “meet would it be
I were made vultures' food, hearkening to thee!”

XXIII

Then, through those chambers third and fourth she passed,
And to the fifth and sixth she led him on,
Bolting each door behind: till at the last,—
Laden with gifts of jade, and turkis-stone,
And robes, and torques—she brought Him to her bower,
Where 'twas her thought to put forth Love's last power.

XXIV

For all four walls with those light pictures burned,
Painted to life—lovers at play—and these
Asenath seemed, and Yûsuf. If he turned,
Unyielding, from the Princess at his knees,
On the same Princess gazed he, imaged sweet;
And himself yielded, conquered, at her feet.

XXV

And more than steadfast soul might well withstand
It was, to bring his troubled gaze again

To that great suppliant, wasting on his hand
Woeful caressings: and to mark what pain
Filled with clear tears the bright beseeching eyes;
Heaved the soft breasts, as sea-tides sink and rise.

XXVI

For, when she linked the last door's chain, and seized
His hands, and, desperate, her last prayer said,
He had been stone or snow to view, unpleased,
The lustrous glory of that low-bowed head,
The meekness of such majesty forgot,
The queenly pleading orbs, whose light was shot

XXVII

Star-wise, through sparkling rain; which more o'erpowered
By grace, than greatness, to the sweet surrender.
Like a charmed snake Conscience its cold hood lowered,
While, soft as muted lute, in accents tender
Her rich lips murmured, “Oh, how long, how long
Wilt thou do thee and me this loveless wrong?”

XXVIII

“How long? when I, who may command, implore,
Being named Mistress of the Mouths of Nile?
Yet, if into the Ocean those did pour
Silver and gold all day, for one kind smile
From those close-curtained eyes, for one light kiss
I would let sea-born Kneph take all of this!

XXIX

Give, then, mine heart its will, mine eyelids sleep;
My head the pillow that can lull its woe.
Shall Asenath of Memphis vainly weep?
I cry to thee by Him thou honourest so,
Thy Hebrew Jah—if He hath any ruth—
Show mercy! put to fruit thy blossomed youth!”

XXX

“Yea! by the marks thy God hath set on thee
To make thee most desirable,—thy hair

Glossed like an ibis' wing,—thy brows which be
Black rainbows to thy sunlike eyes,—the fair
Wonderful rounding of thy temples twain,
And that flower mouth,—which, when it opes again

XXXI

“Cannot, and shall not say me ‘nay’—by these,
And all thy goodly strength, for Love's use given,
By my salt tears, and by my soul's disease,
Shut me no longer from the wished-for Heaven;
Its gate is there! there—in those arms tight-locked—
Open them—open! for my heart hath knocked!”

XXXII

“What gives thee fear, when I am none afeard?
Where is thy shame, if I am naught ashamed?
What whisper of our comforts shall be heard
From these still walls? How should thy blood be blamed
Mingling with mine, who come of Pharaoh's race?
With mine, that have these brows, this breast, this face?”

XXXIII

“Ah, thou most high and most beguiling one!”
Trembling he answered: “tempt me not to this!
Easy it were to do, but ill, being done,
If I should sell white virtue for a kiss,
And break the bright glass of unstainèd faith
To burn for shame when our Lord Itfîr saith

XXXIV

“‘Yûsuf, my Trusted!’ By the living Lord,
Whose lamp the sun is, seeing everywhere,
Too sore I pity thee! Too soon the word
Of “yea” would leap, if it were only fear
Which locks it in my lips: oh, let me go
And on some other day this might be so!”

XXXV

“Nay, nay!” she cries: “for me is no to-morrow!
Who, dying in a desert, puts aside

The water-skin? Who, holding cure of sorrow,
Bears on with agony? When could betide
A better time than now, a surer spot?
What's wrought the Gods themselves will witness not!”

XXXVI

“My God will witness!” quoth he, “and make know
My Master.” “Oh, thy Master!” brake in she,
“I have a herb of Nile, and, when cups flow,
Crowned at the banquet, there shall some night be
A strange new savour in his wine:—and, then
Sleep on his eye, and ceasing from 'midst men.”

XXXVII

Backward thereat he drew, as when a snake
From coralled jaws bares sudden fatal fangs;
But she, distempered, from her belt did take
A knife: and, while with one fond hand she hangs
Hot on his neck, the other the blade kept
So pressed to the skin the scarlet blood outleapt.

XXXVIII

And with wild eyes she spake: “My soul hath clung
Too close to thine, Unkind! to cling in vain;
Mine ears have drank the music of thy tongue
Too long for life, except Love heals life's pain!
See! the fond dagger for my scorned blood yearns,
And drinks its first drop, where the bright point burns!

XXXIX

“Deny me, and I drive this shining death
Straight to the heart which thou contemnest so;
And when last love-sigh comes with latest breath,
And o'er thy cruel hands the red streams flow,
My murdered body shall Lord Itfîr see,
And the dread charge of this will light on thee!”

XL

With eager grasp he clutched her wrist, and cried:
“Great Asenath! have pity on us both!

From such mad frenzy turn thy steel aside.
Too fair—too dear—to die! too—” She, not loath,
Deeming the boy relenting, sheathed her blade,
And with close-winding arms a warm chain made

XLI

About his beating breast, and drew him down
Against her mouth, and dragged “nay! nay!” away
In such a cleaving kiss his sense did swoon,
His tongue, shut in with honey, naught could say;
His eyes, meeting her eyes, such fierce flame took
They dropped their lids not to be lightning-strook.

XLII

Then, while he sank back, will-less, on the silk,
She rose, of triumph sure, and deftly drew
From her smooth shoulders,—brown and smooth as milk
With palm-wine mixed—that scarf of purple hue
Veiling her bosom's splendours; this she bore,
Quick-tripping, to the niche beside the door,

XLIII

Where, on tall pedestal, in pride of place,
Sate Pasht the Cat, with orbs of green and gold;
And, over those green eyes, and o'er the face
That garment hath she draped, so that its fold
Hid the House-Goddess to her porphyry chin.
“Why doest thou this?” asks Yûsuf. “If I sin—”

XLIV

Answers glad Asenath—“It must not be
That Pasht, whom every morn I straitly serve
With musk, and flowers, and prayers—great Pasht, should see;
That Pasht, with those sharp eyes, should know I swerve
From law:—for she would blab to Lords of Hell,
But what she doth not spy she will not tell.”

XLV

Turning, she made to clip him; but he broke,
Like the sun bursting through a shattered cloud,

Fierce from her arms: and, all alight, he spoke
Angrily thus: “Take, too, thy skirt, and shroud
Yon stars that gaze upon us from God's sky!
Cover, with fine-wove webs, the angry eye

XLVI

“Of dread Jehovah, watching everywhere!
Bind His free winds, and bid them whisper naught!
Lay hand upon His lightnings, flashing clear,
And bribe them not to strike! Let there be brought
His thunders, muzzled, to thy bower; and win
Their awful voices to forgive our sin!”

XLVII

“Fear'st thou those stony eyes thou didst enfold,
And shall not I my fathers' Lord fear more,
Whose glance none may shut out, Whose eyes behold
All things in every place? Tempted full sore,
Lady of Egypt! was thy witless slave:
Now breaks he from thee, better faith to save!”

XLVIII

With that he darted forth. And Asenath
Reached at his waist-cloth, rending it atwain;
One portion in her wrathful hand she hath,
One the fast-flying Yûsuf doth retain;
While, in his speed, he flings back bolts and bars
Till, 'scaped, he stands under the mindful stars.

TO A PAIR OF EGYPTIAN SLIPPERS.

Tiny slippers of gold and green,
Tied with a mouldering golden cord!
What pretty feet they must have been
When Cæsar Augustus was Egypt's lord!
Somebody graceful and fair you were!
Not many girls could dance in these!
When did your shoemaker make you, dear,
Such a nice pair of Egyptian “threes”?

Where were you measured? In Saïs, or On,
Memphis, or Thebes, or Pelusium?
Fitting them featly your brown toes upon,
Lacing them deftly with finger and thumb,
I seem to see you!—so long ago,
Twenty-one centuries, less or more!

And here are your sandals: yet none of us know
What name, or fortune, or face you bore.

Your lips would have laughed, with a rosy scorn,
If the merchant, or slave-girl, had mockingly said,
“The feet will pass, but the shoes they have worn
Two thousand years onward Time's road shall tread,
And still be footgear as good as new!”
To think that calf-skin, gilded and stitched,
Should Rome and the Pharaohs outlive—and you
Be gone, like a dream, from the world you bewitched!

Not that we mourn you! 'Twere too absurd!
You have been such a very long while away!
Your dry spiced dust would not value one word
Of the soft regrets that my verse could say.
Sorrow and Pleasure, and Love and Hate,
If you ever felt them, have vaporised hence
To this odour—so subtle and delicate—
Of myrrh, and cassia, and frankincense.

Of course they embalmed you! Yet not so sweet
Were aloes and nard, as the youthful glow
Which Amenti stole when the small dark feet
Wearied of treading our world below.
Look! it was flood-time in valley of Nile,
Or a very wet day in the Delta, dear!
When your slippers tripped lightly their latest mile—
The mud on the soles renders that fact clear.

You knew Cleopatra, no doubt! You saw
Antony's galleys from Actium come.
But there! if questions could answers draw
From lips so many a long age dumb,
I would not tease you with history,
Nor vex your heart for the men which were;
The one point to learn that would fascinate me
Is, where and what are you to-day, my dear!

You died, believing in Horus and Pasht,
Isis, Osiris, and priestly lore;

And found, of course, such theories smashed
By actual fact on the heavenly shore.
What next did you do? Did you transmigrate?
Have we seen you since, all modern and fresh?
Your charming soul—so I calculate—
Mislaid its mummy, and sought new flesh.

Were you she whom I met at dinner last week,
With eyes and hair of the Ptolemy black,
Who still of this find in the Fayoum would speak,
And to Pharaohs and scarabs still carry us back?
A scent of lotus about her hung,
And she had such a far-away wistful air
As of somebody born when the Earth was young;
And she wore of gilt slippers a lovely pair.

Perchance you were married? These might have been
Part of your trousseau—the wedding-shoes;
And you laid them aside with the garments green,
And painted clay Gods which a bride would use:

And, may be, to-day, by Nile's bright waters
Damsels of Egypt in gowns of blue—
Great-great-great- —very-great- —grand-daughters
Owe their shapely insteps to you!

But vainly I beat at the bars of the Past,
Little green slippers with golden strings!
For all you can tell is that leather will last
When loves, and delightings, and beautiful things
Have vanished, forgotten—No! not quite that!
I catch some gleam of the grace you wore
When you finished with Life's daily pit-a-pat,
And left your shoes at Death's bedroom door.

You were born in the Egypt which did not doubt;
You were never sad with our new-fashioned sorrows:
You were sure, when your play-days on Earth ran out,
Of play-times to come, as we of our morrows!

Oh, wise little Maid of the Delta! I lay
Your shoes in your mummy-chest back again,
And wish that one game we might merrily play
At “Hunt the Slipper”—to see it all plain!

THE EGYPTIAN PRINCESS.

There was fear and desolation over Egypt's swarthy land
From the holy city of the Sun to hot Syëne's sand:
The sistrum and the cymbal slept, the dancing women beat
No measure to the pipe and drum, with silver-slippered feet:
For the Daughter of the King must die, the dark magicians said
Before once more the Moon-God Khuns should lift his hornèd head.

And, all those days, the temple-smoke loaded the heavy air
With prayers to Set the Terrible, who heareth not, to hear;

Those days the painted flags were down, the festal lamps untrimmed,
Mute at their stones the millers ground, silent the Nile boats skimmed:
And, through the land, lip passed to lip sad word of what would be,
From Nubia's golden mountains to the gateways of the Sea.

There, in the Palace Hall, where once her laugh had loudest been,
Where, but last Feast Day she had worn the wreath of Beauty's Queen,
She lay a lost but lovely thing, the wreath was on her brow:
Alas! the lotus could not match its chilly pallor now!
And ever as the orb of Day sank lower in the sky,
Her breath came fainter, and the life seemed fading from her eye.

Mute o'er the dying maiden's form King Mycerinus bends;—
Not Pharaoh's might from this dread foe proud Egypt's hope defends!
Piteously moans he: “In this world, so dark without thy smile!
Hast thou one care thy Father's love, thy King's pledge may beguile?
Hast thou a last light wish?—'Tis thine, by all the Gods on high!
If Egypt's blood can win it thee, or Egypt's treasure buy!”

How eagerly they wait her words! Upon the pictured wall
In long gold lines the dying lights between the columns fall;
Was it strange that tears were glistening where tears should never be,
When Death had touched with fatal kiss the lips of such as she?

Was it strange that warriors should raise a very woman's cry
For help and hope to Athor's ears when such as she must die?

Small boot of bearded leeches here! not all Arabia's store
Of precious balms can purchase her one noon of sunshine more!
Hush! hush! she speaks!—the pale, drawn lips murmur a parting speech!
Ah, silence! let no syllable be lost! so whispers each.
That grey crow on the Palace wall which croaks and will not rest,
An archer fits his arrow and splits the evil breast!

“Father! Great Father!—it is hard,—to die so very young!
Summer was coming, and I looked to see the palm-buds sprung!

Must it be always dark like this?—I cannot see thy face!
I am dying! Hold me, Pharaoh! in thy kind and strong embrace!
List! let them sometimes bear me where the golden sunbeams lie,
Farewell! Farewell! I know thou wilt! 'Tis easy now to die!”

And ever when the Star of Kneph has brought the summer round,
And the Nile rises fast and full along the thirsty ground,
They bear her from her rock-hewn tomb to where the Sun's broad light
May linger on the close-bound eyes were once so glad and bright;
And strew palm-clusters on her breast while grey-haired singers tell
Of the high Egyptian Lady, who loved the Sun so well.