 | Ballads of the North and Other Poems |  |
24
THE HAUNTED CZAR.
Roman Romanovitch, forgive
The vilest of all men and worst!
Amid this death-in-life I live;
Hear me but once whom thou hast curst!
My doom, my anguish I confess;—
Mercy on me the merciless!
The vilest of all men and worst!
Amid this death-in-life I live;
Hear me but once whom thou hast curst!
My doom, my anguish I confess;—
Mercy on me the merciless!
Roman Romanovitch, there peals
Imperial music of the march
Along my pathway, as it wheels
On from triumphal arch to arch:
They say my face is wan and white;—
Thy cries ring round me day and night.
Imperial music of the march
Along my pathway, as it wheels
On from triumphal arch to arch:
They say my face is wan and white;—
Thy cries ring round me day and night.
25
Roman Romanovitch, my bed
Is deep with down, and flaxen-white;
The fresh and ghastly stains of red
Are wet against my cheeks all night;
Where'er I turn, where'er I toss,
Some stiffening limb creeps cold across.
Is deep with down, and flaxen-white;
The fresh and ghastly stains of red
Are wet against my cheeks all night;
Where'er I turn, where'er I toss,
Some stiffening limb creeps cold across.
In purple and in gold I stand,
Amid the worship of the crowd;
Their hearts, their lives are in my hand;
The people say that I am proud:
I in the dust beneath thy feet,
Roman Romanovitch, entreat!
Amid the worship of the crowd;
Their hearts, their lives are in my hand;
The people say that I am proud:
I in the dust beneath thy feet,
Roman Romanovitch, entreat!
A dying voice of torture wails
Through all the church's chants divine;
It rises—and the banquet pales;
I drench the darkness down with wine;
But when my lips are at the brink,
'Tis blood I taste, and blood I drink.
Through all the church's chants divine;
It rises—and the banquet pales;
I drench the darkness down with wine;
But when my lips are at the brink,
'Tis blood I taste, and blood I drink.
26
In the same hour, upon me broke
In sweat of agony and fear
The act I never could revoke,
For ever haunting eye and ear.
Yes, years are past—and long ago
I see a sunrise on the snow;
In sweat of agony and fear
The act I never could revoke,
For ever haunting eye and ear.
Yes, years are past—and long ago
I see a sunrise on the snow;
And thou and I in that low light,
And a few more, of armed men;
—Helpless and bound—but I upright;
None but my slaves about us then;
My word their law, my will their guide:
—But there was no man on thy side.
And a few more, of armed men;
—Helpless and bound—but I upright;
None but my slaves about us then;
My word their law, my will their guide:
—But there was no man on thy side.
Thou, martyr just and innocent,
Against me sworn, and it was well;
Thou the avenging angel sent,
I the black instrument of hell.
But here I have thee:—spare thy breath!—
Long shalt thou call in vain on death.
Against me sworn, and it was well;
Thou the avenging angel sent,
I the black instrument of hell.
But here I have thee:—spare thy breath!—
Long shalt thou call in vain on death.
27
Shriek after shriek rings through the North;
My laughter answers every cry;
Prayer after prayer sobbed feebly forth;
Pray on, pray on, for it is I!
At last—O God!—the curses fall;
My God, I hear—Thou hearest all.
My laughter answers every cry;
Prayer after prayer sobbed feebly forth;
Pray on, pray on, for it is I!
At last—O God!—the curses fall;
My God, I hear—Thou hearest all.
Did it not end? Do I not know?
Was it not I who did this thing?
Was there not silence in the snow
Between us, and a mightier King?
I think at last those lips were dumb;—
Why will their cries not cease to come?
Was it not I who did this thing?
Was there not silence in the snow
Between us, and a mightier King?
I think at last those lips were dumb;—
Why will their cries not cease to come?
I see thee,—no, it is not thou!
I saw thee once, and thou wast fair;
A step like mine, an angel's brow;—
But what is this, that ghastly there
Droops to my feet, all dark and wet?
Lift up thy face! Let me forget!
I saw thee once, and thou wast fair;
A step like mine, an angel's brow;—
But what is this, that ghastly there
Droops to my feet, all dark and wet?
Lift up thy face! Let me forget!
28
It is not thou, I know full well,
This spectre my own sins have made;
This will go with me down to Hell,
Whilst thou in Paradise art laid;
Oh, come thyself, and cast behind
This, horrible and deaf and blind!
This spectre my own sins have made;
This will go with me down to Hell,
Whilst thou in Paradise art laid;
Oh, come thyself, and cast behind
This, horrible and deaf and blind!
Oh, if thou couldst but look on me,
Roman Romanovitch, thy heart
Would melt for very charity,
Among the angels where thou art;
Thou couldst not turn thine eyes and see,—
Ah God, did I not look on thee?
Roman Romanovitch, thy heart
Would melt for very charity,
Among the angels where thou art;
Thou couldst not turn thine eyes and see,—
Ah God, did I not look on thee?
Did not God make us, I and thou?
Have pity even for His sake!
My hair is bleached upon my brow,
At every rose's fall I shake;
My eyes, they say, are wild and wide;—
O Ghost, at last be satisfied!
Have pity even for His sake!
My hair is bleached upon my brow,
At every rose's fall I shake;
My eyes, they say, are wild and wide;—
O Ghost, at last be satisfied!
29
Roman Romanovitch, we two,
Are we not men of flesh and blood?
Ah mangled flesh and blood, too true,
They cry against me up to God.
Thou hast me in a grip so sure;—
Oh, how can heart of man endure!
Are we not men of flesh and blood?
Ah mangled flesh and blood, too true,
They cry against me up to God.
Thou hast me in a grip so sure;—
Oh, how can heart of man endure!
Had we not mothers, both of us?
Were we not born by ways the same?
Nay, I unworthy to be thus
The son of woman, whence I came
Must be the way I know too well,
The way I go, the gate of hell.
Were we not born by ways the same?
Nay, I unworthy to be thus
The son of woman, whence I came
Must be the way I know too well,
The way I go, the gate of hell.
Did not Christ die for thee and me?
Ah, not for me! 'Twas I who slew!
I pierced, I nailed Him to the tree;
He was with thee, He held thee through:
He left me then;—but thou, my Saint,
Against me pourest thy complaint
Ah, not for me! 'Twas I who slew!
I pierced, I nailed Him to the tree;
He was with thee, He held thee through:
He left me then;—but thou, my Saint,
Against me pourest thy complaint
30
Within His arms, upon His breast;
His tears have washed and made thee white
Of all thy cruel wounds, and drest
Thy swoonèd eyes again to light;
For very pity all this while
He wept until He saw thee smile.
His tears have washed and made thee white
Of all thy cruel wounds, and drest
Thy swoonèd eyes again to light;
For very pity all this while
He wept until He saw thee smile.
Oh, visit me, and let me pay
With blood, and all thy justice take!
I supplicating writhe and pray
For this absolving judgment's sake.
Not once, but for a thousand years,
Scourge me in blood and shame and tears.
With blood, and all thy justice take!
I supplicating writhe and pray
For this absolving judgment's sake.
Not once, but for a thousand years,
Scourge me in blood and shame and tears.
Oh, strike, but only do not spare!
Before thy hands I kneel, I fall;
My flesh in stripes of crimson tear.
Still, still to kiss thy feet I crawl;
Past sense, past moans, but this to win,
Leave me not, pardon not my sin!
Before thy hands I kneel, I fall;
My flesh in stripes of crimson tear.
Still, still to kiss thy feet I crawl;
Past sense, past moans, but this to win,
Leave me not, pardon not my sin!
31
Wilt thou not hear? Wilt thou not heed?
In vain, in vain !—no hand but thine
Can heal or hurt;—this ermine weed
Still wraps me soft; this crown of mine
Burns on my brows, and no one stirs
Round me but delicate flatterers.
In vain, in vain !—no hand but thine
Can heal or hurt;—this ermine weed
Still wraps me soft; this crown of mine
Burns on my brows, and no one stirs
Round me but delicate flatterers.
Ah no, the fires of hell begin
For me, unpurged, unshriven below;
Thy deeper justice thou must win,
The soul and not the body's woe;
And what am I, that I should dare
The suffering of the saints to share?
For me, unpurged, unshriven below;
Thy deeper justice thou must win,
The soul and not the body's woe;
And what am I, that I should dare
The suffering of the saints to share?
Thy bitter moans, that could not wring
One moment's respite from my hate;—
They called Him, and He came, thy King,
But round me hell lies desolate:
If He were here,—too late, alas!
His feet no more this way will pass.
One moment's respite from my hate;—
They called Him, and He came, thy King,
But round me hell lies desolate:
If He were here,—too late, alas!
His feet no more this way will pass.
32
For could He come, His ears would pierce
A bitterer, more heartrending moan;
Where coiling serpents mingled fierce,
Gnaw with fresh fangs through breast and bone;
Undying anguish wept and wailed,
Unheard, unanswered, unavailed.
A bitterer, more heartrending moan;
Where coiling serpents mingled fierce,
Gnaw with fresh fangs through breast and bone;
Undying anguish wept and wailed,
Unheard, unanswered, unavailed.
Beneath the Altar yet they cry,
Avenge us, Lord !—ah, do they know
They are avenged? that in reply
The swords through soul and spirit go?
How many ages past and gone,
And still those souls keep crying on!
Avenge us, Lord !—ah, do they know
They are avenged? that in reply
The swords through soul and spirit go?
How many ages past and gone,
And still those souls keep crying on!
It is not for the torments run,
Nor for the torments yet to be;
But that I know what I have done,
But that whom I have slain I see;
It is for very love of thee
That my heart breaks in agony.
Nor for the torments yet to be;
But that I know what I have done,
But that whom I have slain I see;
It is for very love of thee
That my heart breaks in agony.
33
Alas, my brother, all the years
Our souls together may not save;
I may not water with my tears
The grass that grows above thy grave;
Thy very bones would stir and cry
With horror at me, drawing nigh.
Our souls together may not save;
I may not water with my tears
The grass that grows above thy grave;
Thy very bones would stir and cry
With horror at me, drawing nigh.
O sweet, O sacred limbs, yes mine!
For my heart holds them passionately;
It is thy home, it is thy shrine,
Though never may I reach to thee;
To kiss thy feet I could not dare,
Thou even sleeping unaware.
For my heart holds them passionately;
It is thy home, it is thy shrine,
Though never may I reach to thee;
To kiss thy feet I could not dare,
Thou even sleeping unaware.
Might I but watch, one hour of all,—
Upon thy brows the least caress,
The lightest touch of love should fall
Too roughly for my tenderness;
Nor should disturb them, wandering by,
The blue wings of the butterfly.
Upon thy brows the least caress,
The lightest touch of love should fall
Too roughly for my tenderness;
Nor should disturb them, wandering by,
The blue wings of the butterfly.
34
To wait upon thee from afar,
To serve thee to thy lowest need,
Thy slave more fond than mothers are,
Although thy scorn were all my meed;
—O dream too deep for my despair,
But once to touch thy golden hair!
To serve thee to thy lowest need,
Thy slave more fond than mothers are,
Although thy scorn were all my meed;
—O dream too deep for my despair,
But once to touch thy golden hair!
I have no Christ—I cannot kneel
To any, my beloved, but thee,
My mocked, my murdered one; to feel
Thy pardon first! It may not be.
No more. Did I not hear thee pray
So long, so long, to me that day?
To any, my beloved, but thee,
My mocked, my murdered one; to feel
Thy pardon first! It may not be.
No more. Did I not hear thee pray
So long, so long, to me that day?
Roman Romanovitch, I bow
Beneath thy curse; no more I strive;
I do not ask thy pity now,
Thou willest it, with soul alive.
What else is left me to atone?
Have all thy will! I am thine own.
Beneath thy curse; no more I strive;
I do not ask thy pity now,
Thou willest it, with soul alive.
What else is left me to atone?
Have all thy will! I am thine own.
35
Yet, even at the last, there streams
Something like hope into my heart;
I hold it fast within my dreams,
That hour when I shall have my part;
Down in the depth of all, I know,
Stronger than death, it must be so.
Something like hope into my heart;
I hold it fast within my dreams,
That hour when I shall have my part;
Down in the depth of all, I know,
Stronger than death, it must be so.
Once we must meet, however long
The bead-roll of the centuries
Is counted by the Planet's Song;
The dead in Christ shall first arise;
And I no more may hide my head,
That day when Hell gives up her dead.
The bead-roll of the centuries
Is counted by the Planet's Song;
The dead in Christ shall first arise;
And I no more may hide my head,
That day when Hell gives up her dead.
The earth and heaven in thunders flee
Before His face: each awful page
Unrolls of human history,
Written in blood from age to age;
Then Christ, the Slain and Risen anew,
Shall speak and judge between us two.
Before His face: each awful page
Unrolls of human history,
Written in blood from age to age;
Then Christ, the Slain and Risen anew,
Shall speak and judge between us two.
36
And first to me, outcast, who stand,
Nor dare to look on Him or thee,
Nor meet thy holy eyes and grand,
Amidst thy shining company,
The awful Judge will turn and say:
‘Most miserable man, to-day
Nor dare to look on Him or thee,
Nor meet thy holy eyes and grand,
Amidst thy shining company,
The awful Judge will turn and say:
‘Most miserable man, to-day
‘The sum of all thy scarlet sin
Is written up, and found no more;
And thou snow-white may'st enter in
My Temple—am not I the Door?—
And by that way, that door, thy strife
Of penitence hath led to life.
Is written up, and found no more;
And thou snow-white may'st enter in
My Temple—am not I the Door?—
And by that way, that door, thy strife
Of penitence hath led to life.
‘Do I not rule above the stars,
To bind or loose from any curse?
Against me Hell hath got no bars,
No spaces hath the universe;
Thy weeping still was in my ears
Through all the music of the spheres.
To bind or loose from any curse?
Against me Hell hath got no bars,
No spaces hath the universe;
Thy weeping still was in my ears
Through all the music of the spheres.
37
‘But thou didst mourn and I did mourn,
Together mourning thy disgrace,
In thy dark prison-house forlorn,
Though never couldst thou see My face;
Nor hast thou known a Victim bleeds,
A Priest for ever intercedes.
Together mourning thy disgrace,
In thy dark prison-house forlorn,
Though never couldst thou see My face;
Nor hast thou known a Victim bleeds,
A Priest for ever intercedes.
‘Baptism of water and of fire
Each soul of My redeemed must prove;—
Oh, drowned amidst Love's anguish dire,
And burnt amidst the flames of Love,
Come unto Me at last, and rest
Long-lost, long-loved, upon My breast!
Each soul of My redeemed must prove;—
Oh, drowned amidst Love's anguish dire,
And burnt amidst the flames of Love,
Come unto Me at last, and rest
Long-lost, long-loved, upon My breast!
‘And thou, O Martyr merciless,
Thou who so long from age to age
Hast shared serene in blessedness
Among the Saints their heritage,
The crimson crown, the deathless palm,—
No looking back disturbed thy calm.
Thou who so long from age to age
Hast shared serene in blessedness
Among the Saints their heritage,
The crimson crown, the deathless palm,—
No looking back disturbed thy calm.
38
‘The hands of angels carried thee
To Paradise, and dried thy tears;
The leaves of that immortal Tree
Have healed thy wounds these many years
Beside the living water's stream
Lying in one unbroken dream.
To Paradise, and dried thy tears;
The leaves of that immortal Tree
Have healed thy wounds these many years
Beside the living water's stream
Lying in one unbroken dream.
‘Short was thy pain, and long thy rest,
Earth was thy loss, and heaven thy gain;
Oh, safe and sheltered with the blest,
No after-thought didst thou retain,
Wrapt in My love, and didst forget
The soul thou mightest succour yet.
Earth was thy loss, and heaven thy gain;
Oh, safe and sheltered with the blest,
No after-thought didst thou retain,
Wrapt in My love, and didst forget
The soul thou mightest succour yet.
‘Thy peace was won, thy triumph crowned:
Hath Love no thought for them that slew?
Love in the Highest, in the Profound,
Crucified every day anew.—
Where Love is, there must Suffering be;
O Unforgiven, depart from Me.’
Hath Love no thought for them that slew?
Love in the Highest, in the Profound,
Crucified every day anew.—
Where Love is, there must Suffering be;
O Unforgiven, depart from Me.’
39
Then will I spring forth, then will seize
My one last moment of all time;
‘Not me, but him, Lord, take with these!
Mine was his crowning and his crime;
A martyr made by pangs so sore,
As froze his heart for evermore.
My one last moment of all time;
‘Not me, but him, Lord, take with these!
Mine was his crowning and his crime;
A martyr made by pangs so sore,
As froze his heart for evermore.
‘He is Thine own; he has but slept;
Now he will wake and love again;
So long to him in vain I wept,
He, too, at last must weep,—a rain
That reconciles him to Thy heart.
Take back Thine own,—as I depart.’
Now he will wake and love again;
So long to him in vain I wept,
He, too, at last must weep,—a rain
That reconciles him to Thy heart.
Take back Thine own,—as I depart.’
Then surely, over the abyss,
Roman Romanovitch, I see
Thee, glorious, bending with one kiss
For me, accursèd, even me.
Thine eyes forgive me from the brink
At last, as out of sight I sink.
Roman Romanovitch, I see
Thee, glorious, bending with one kiss
For me, accursèd, even me.
Thine eyes forgive me from the brink
At last, as out of sight I sink.
| Ballads of the North and Other Poems | |