 | Memorials of a residence on the continent |  |
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HISTORICAL POEMS.
SAUL AND DAVID.
And it came to pass, when the spirit from God was upon Saul, that David took an harp, and played with his hand: so Saul was refresht, and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him.
1 Sam. xvi. 23.
“An evil spirit lieth on our King!”
So went the wailful tale up Israel,
From Gilgal unto Gibeah; town and camp
Caught the sad fame that spread like pestilence,
In the low whispers of pale maiden lips,
And tones, half-stifled by religious awe,
Outbreathed from hearts that else had known no fear.
So went the wailful tale up Israel,
From Gilgal unto Gibeah; town and camp
Caught the sad fame that spread like pestilence,
In the low whispers of pale maiden lips,
And tones, half-stifled by religious awe,
Outbreathed from hearts that else had known no fear.
There stood a Boy beside the glooming King,
Whose serfish garb was strangely dissonant
To the high bearing and most gentle air
That waited on his beauty; health and joy,
Tho' tempered now by sorrowing reverence,
Lay on his rose-red cheek; transcendent love
Rounded his brow; and when the deli'cate hand
Swept o'er the chords of that sweet instrument,
With which it long had been his use to fill
The lonely measure of his pasto'ral hours,—
It would have been no weak idolatry
To shroud your eyes and feel your heart beat strong,
As in the presence of one fresh from heaven,
Come down to save that doomed and deso'late man.
Whose serfish garb was strangely dissonant
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That waited on his beauty; health and joy,
Tho' tempered now by sorrowing reverence,
Lay on his rose-red cheek; transcendent love
Rounded his brow; and when the deli'cate hand
Swept o'er the chords of that sweet instrument,
With which it long had been his use to fill
The lonely measure of his pasto'ral hours,—
It would have been no weak idolatry
To shroud your eyes and feel your heart beat strong,
As in the presence of one fresh from heaven,
Come down to save that doomed and deso'late man.
A strain of war,—a deep and nervous strain
Of full and solemn notes, whose long-drawn swell
Dies on the silence, slow and terrible,
Making the blood of him who listens to it
To follow the great measure; every tone
Clear in its utterance, and eloquent
Above all words: there was the settled tramp
Of warriors faithful to ancestral swords;
There was the prayer that was not all a prayer,
But rising in a suppliant murmuring
Grows to a war-cry,—“Victory, oh God!
For Israel's God and Israel, victory!”
Then came the onset,—chord fast following chord,
In passio'nate clang, as if the conscious harp
Were prodigal of all its life of sound,
To give that awful feint reality.
Of full and solemn notes, whose long-drawn swell
Dies on the silence, slow and terrible,
Making the blood of him who listens to it
To follow the great measure; every tone
Clear in its utterance, and eloquent
Above all words: there was the settled tramp
Of warriors faithful to ancestral swords;
There was the prayer that was not all a prayer,
But rising in a suppliant murmuring
Grows to a war-cry,—“Victory, oh God!
For Israel's God and Israel, victory!”
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In passio'nate clang, as if the conscious harp
Were prodigal of all its life of sound,
To give that awful feint reality.
From off the couch, at one enormous leap,
To where his helmet and long-shadowing spear
And brazen target hung beside the wall,
Bounded the King, and graspt the quive'ring arms.
He raised his hand, and, as to gathe'ring hosts,
Shouted, “Where's Jonathan?—he is not here;
Watchman, look out! I cannot find my son;
Here is the Ark,—there is the Philistine,—
There too is Jonathan! On, Israel,—on!
Alloo! Alloo !” He ceast; and while the short
Heroic blaze flared and died out, he cried,
In a most faint and miserable voice,
“He is not there,—the foe!—he is within!”
And fell upon his face, even as before.
To where his helmet and long-shadowing spear
And brazen target hung beside the wall,
Bounded the King, and graspt the quive'ring arms.
He raised his hand, and, as to gathe'ring hosts,
Shouted, “Where's Jonathan?—he is not here;
Watchman, look out! I cannot find my son;
Here is the Ark,—there is the Philistine,—
There too is Jonathan! On, Israel,—on!
Alloo! Alloo !” He ceast; and while the short
Heroic blaze flared and died out, he cried,
In a most faint and miserable voice,
“He is not there,—the foe!—he is within!”
And fell upon his face, even as before.
The harper paused; and when a struggling tear
Dropt on the string from his uplifted eye,
The spirit of the strain was changed;—awhile
An under-current of discordant tones
Went trickling on, beneath the random fingers,—
Till, from a labyrinth of tangled notes
Came up with placid step a shape of sound
Distinct and fine-proportioned, redolent
Of love,—a fair old Hebrew melody,
Most plaintive numbers, born of that pure time,—
That golden-shaded, half-revealèd time,
When Israel's patriarchs fed their wealth of herds
About the myrrhine shades of Araby,
And eve'ry passion out of their chaste hearts
Gusht freely forth, and wove a sepa'rate song.
But, more than all, to the tormented King
That rythm was full of memo'ries;—fold by fold
The grey loose veil of long-forgotten Time
Shrunk back before the mystic minstrelsy;
He was once more the simple Benjamite,
The gallant Boy, the innocent, the brave,
The choicest and the goodliest of his peers ;
He was once more the owner of a life
Whose moments were all feathered, and kept cool
From scorching passion by continuous airs
Of gaysome hope and self-contenting joy.
Awful command and peri'lous empery
The diffi'cult mean of power,—the hard, hard, task
To be at once a lord and servitor,
To rule allotted kingdoms and obey,
The caster of the lot, the King of Kings,
Had set no snaring choice before him, then.
How often in the vain and weary guest
When he pursued his father's wande'ring droves
All down the slopes of pleasant Ephraim
Thro' Shalisha and Shalim, had his ear
Drunk in the burthen of that antique tune
Giving him brotherhood with stranger-lands:
Oft too the maid, whose image ever lived
Within his breast, stronger than all real things,
Returning homeward when the' expiring Sun
Mingled its life-blood with the waning light,
Had clothed her long farewell in that rich form,
While he, expecting on some distant height
His starlit watch, sent back such loud response
As made a chorus of the echoing hills.
Dropt on the string from his uplifted eye,
The spirit of the strain was changed;—awhile
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Went trickling on, beneath the random fingers,—
Till, from a labyrinth of tangled notes
Came up with placid step a shape of sound
Distinct and fine-proportioned, redolent
Of love,—a fair old Hebrew melody,
Most plaintive numbers, born of that pure time,—
That golden-shaded, half-revealèd time,
When Israel's patriarchs fed their wealth of herds
About the myrrhine shades of Araby,
And eve'ry passion out of their chaste hearts
Gusht freely forth, and wove a sepa'rate song.
But, more than all, to the tormented King
That rythm was full of memo'ries;—fold by fold
The grey loose veil of long-forgotten Time
Shrunk back before the mystic minstrelsy;
He was once more the simple Benjamite,
The gallant Boy, the innocent, the brave,
The choicest and the goodliest of his peers ;
He was once more the owner of a life
Whose moments were all feathered, and kept cool
From scorching passion by continuous airs
Of gaysome hope and self-contenting joy.
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The diffi'cult mean of power,—the hard, hard, task
To be at once a lord and servitor,
To rule allotted kingdoms and obey,
The caster of the lot, the King of Kings,
Had set no snaring choice before him, then.
How often in the vain and weary guest
When he pursued his father's wande'ring droves
All down the slopes of pleasant Ephraim
Thro' Shalisha and Shalim, had his ear
Drunk in the burthen of that antique tune
Giving him brotherhood with stranger-lands:
Oft too the maid, whose image ever lived
Within his breast, stronger than all real things,
Returning homeward when the' expiring Sun
Mingled its life-blood with the waning light,
Had clothed her long farewell in that rich form,
While he, expecting on some distant height
His starlit watch, sent back such loud response
As made a chorus of the echoing hills.
As when the surges of the midland sea,
Break on the carious, citron-fruited, shore
Of Western Italy in morn's grey prime,
Slowly above the coasting Apennine,
The sun appearing meets the wallowing foam
And pierces it with light, till eve'ry wave
Loses its frowning aspect and now sports
About the myrtles, showe'ring precious gifts,
Rare diamond globes and flecks of liquid gold:
So to the fury of the darkened Spirit
The sunrise of that harmony unveiled
Its beauty, making beautiful, so fell,
Transformed from out its former terri'ble shape,
The passion into tender sympathy.
Tears, blessed tears, in full profusion burst
From the dry sockets, breaking up the dams
And foul embankments, arts of ill had raised
Against all holy natu'ral impulses.
Break on the carious, citron-fruited, shore
Of Western Italy in morn's grey prime,
Slowly above the coasting Apennine,
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And pierces it with light, till eve'ry wave
Loses its frowning aspect and now sports
About the myrtles, showe'ring precious gifts,
Rare diamond globes and flecks of liquid gold:
So to the fury of the darkened Spirit
The sunrise of that harmony unveiled
Its beauty, making beautiful, so fell,
Transformed from out its former terri'ble shape,
The passion into tender sympathy.
Tears, blessed tears, in full profusion burst
From the dry sockets, breaking up the dams
And foul embankments, arts of ill had raised
Against all holy natu'ral impulses.
From the prostration of his body' and soul
Saul rose, but as a man who long had lain
Wasted by dire disease,—pale, sorrowful,
Yet calm and almost smiling in his woe.
And did He not rejoice, that marve'llous youth,
To see his pious mediating work
Consummated? Glowed not his downy cheek
With a serene delight, while fade away
The notes in linge'ring trills and solemn sighs?
But is his countenance of other hue
When Saul, in gene'rous gratefulness profuse,
Proffers him jewels, wealth, and titled name,
Or other gift, whate'er his soul might crave.
A pallid tremor swept across his face,
As with a suppliant but determi'nate mien
He speaks, “Oh! deem not, deem not, gracious Lord!
That I, of mean estate, dare scorn the boon
Thy sove'ran bounty would pour forth on me,
But yet no gems, no gold, no praise for me!
Glory and praise and honor be to Him,
In the great circle of whose single will
I and my harp are most poor instruments,
His mightiness and goodness to proclaim.
Go forth into the clear and open air,
Look at all common things, and thou wilt find
The form of all this outward Universe
Is as the Body of the Living God:
And eve'ry movement, odour, shade, and hue
Is animate with music as divine
As lute, or harp, or dulcimer: to thee,
The' anthemnal voice of aged cataracts,
The jovial murmurings of summer brooks,
The carol that emblazoned flowers send up
From the cold earth in spring-time, the wild hymn
Of winter blasts sitting among the pines,
And the articu'late pulse of that large heart
Which beats beneath the Ocean, will be parts
Of the eternal symphony sublime,
In which the Maker of all worlds reveals
The spirit-depths of his untiring Love;
If then all Nature, rightly askt, can do
What I have done, how dare I claim reward?”
Saul rose, but as a man who long had lain
Wasted by dire disease,—pale, sorrowful,
Yet calm and almost smiling in his woe.
And did He not rejoice, that marve'llous youth,
To see his pious mediating work
Consummated? Glowed not his downy cheek
With a serene delight, while fade away
The notes in linge'ring trills and solemn sighs?
But is his countenance of other hue
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Proffers him jewels, wealth, and titled name,
Or other gift, whate'er his soul might crave.
A pallid tremor swept across his face,
As with a suppliant but determi'nate mien
He speaks, “Oh! deem not, deem not, gracious Lord!
That I, of mean estate, dare scorn the boon
Thy sove'ran bounty would pour forth on me,
But yet no gems, no gold, no praise for me!
Glory and praise and honor be to Him,
In the great circle of whose single will
I and my harp are most poor instruments,
His mightiness and goodness to proclaim.
Go forth into the clear and open air,
Look at all common things, and thou wilt find
The form of all this outward Universe
Is as the Body of the Living God:
And eve'ry movement, odour, shade, and hue
Is animate with music as divine
As lute, or harp, or dulcimer: to thee,
The' anthemnal voice of aged cataracts,
The jovial murmurings of summer brooks,
The carol that emblazoned flowers send up
From the cold earth in spring-time, the wild hymn
Of winter blasts sitting among the pines,
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Which beats beneath the Ocean, will be parts
Of the eternal symphony sublime,
In which the Maker of all worlds reveals
The spirit-depths of his untiring Love;
If then all Nature, rightly askt, can do
What I have done, how dare I claim reward?”
In sooth it was a wondrous sight to see
How far above the proud and vaunted king,
In all the moral majesty of being,
That moment stood the God-selected child.
Thrice through the chamber with irreso'lute step
Saul paced, and prest his hand upon his temples,
As if to hide the passing cloud of shame,
Then answe'ring not a word, and motioning
That David should retire, in thoughtfulness
Or prayer, he past into the outer hall.
How far above the proud and vaunted king,
In all the moral majesty of being,
That moment stood the God-selected child.
Thrice through the chamber with irreso'lute step
Saul paced, and prest his hand upon his temples,
As if to hide the passing cloud of shame,
Then answe'ring not a word, and motioning
That David should retire, in thoughtfulness
Or prayer, he past into the outer hall.
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DECIUS BRUTUS, ON THE COAST OF PORTUGAL.
Having traverst the whole of the country to the very coast, the conqueror at last turned his standards, but not until, with a certain dread of sacrilege and conscious horror, he had discovered the Sun sinking into the ocean, and its fire overwhelmed by the waters.
Florus.
Never did Day, her heat and trouble o'er,
Proclaim herself more blest,
Than when, beside that Lusitanian shore,
She wooed herself to rest:
Proclaim herself more blest,
Than when, beside that Lusitanian shore,
She wooed herself to rest:
And, freed from all that cumbrous-gilded dress
That pleased the lusty noon,
Lay down in her thin-shaded loveliness,
Cool as the coming moon.
That pleased the lusty noon,
Lay down in her thin-shaded loveliness,
Cool as the coming moon.
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There stood the gentlest and the wildest growth
Together in the calm,
The nightingale's long song was over both,
A dream of bliss and balm.
Together in the calm,
The nightingale's long song was over both,
A dream of bliss and balm.
Pale-amber fruit among the cloiste'ring leaves
Hung redolent and large,
Strong-spikèd aloes topt the broad rock-eaves
Above that fair sea-marge.
Hung redolent and large,
Strong-spikèd aloes topt the broad rock-eaves
Above that fair sea-marge.
When through a thunder-cleft, now summer-dry,
A loosely-straggling band,
Plated in war's offensive blazonry,
Descended on the strand.
A loosely-straggling band,
Plated in war's offensive blazonry,
Descended on the strand.
Men of flint brows, hard hands and hearts, were they,
Hunters of weaker men,
Shedders of blood for pleasure and for prey,
Wolves of the Roman den.
Hunters of weaker men,
Shedders of blood for pleasure and for prey,
Wolves of the Roman den.
From their great home they had come out so far,
Nor ever loss or shame
Had lowered their fierce pride, they likened war
To pestilence or flame.
Nor ever loss or shame
Had lowered their fierce pride, they likened war
To pestilence or flame.
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Frighting the tongueless caves with untuned cries,
They leapt from stone to stone;
But last, and linge'ring, with unheedy eyes,
The leader came alone.
They leapt from stone to stone;
But last, and linge'ring, with unheedy eyes,
The leader came alone.
And suddenly upon the clear-edged orb,
Fast-verging to the sea,
He gazed, like one whom music doth absorb
In mournful reverie.
Fast-verging to the sea,
He gazed, like one whom music doth absorb
In mournful reverie.
His burly limbs were frosted with strange cold,
His blood grew half-asleep,
Beholding the huge corpse of ruddy gold
Let down into the deep.
His blood grew half-asleep,
Beholding the huge corpse of ruddy gold
Let down into the deep.
At last to that wild crew he called aloud,
“O soldiers! we have been
Too daring-hardy,—we have been too proud,—
Too much have done and seen.
“O soldiers! we have been
Too daring-hardy,—we have been too proud,—
Too much have done and seen.
“It is a ventu'rous and unholy thing
To try the utmost bound
Of possibility,—our froward wing
Has reacht forbidden ground.
To try the utmost bound
Of possibility,—our froward wing
Has reacht forbidden ground.
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“We stand upon the earth's extremest edge,
Beside the sacred bed
Of the Sun-god,—it is a privilege
Too lofty not to dread.”—
Beside the sacred bed
Of the Sun-god,—it is a privilege
Too lofty not to dread.”—
But they were drunk with glory as with wine,
They heard him not that day;
That coast to them was nothing but a sign
Of Rome's earth-circling sway;
They heard him not that day;
That coast to them was nothing but a sign
Of Rome's earth-circling sway;
Till when, like dancers by amazing thunder
Stunned in their mad career,
Their bold mid-revel ceased for very wonder,
Their insolence for fear.
Stunned in their mad career,
Their bold mid-revel ceased for very wonder,
Their insolence for fear.
For they had caught a sound, first quive'ring low,
Then wide'ning o'er the brine,
As of a river slowly poured into
A red-hot iron mine.
Then wide'ning o'er the brine,
As of a river slowly poured into
A red-hot iron mine.
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And with confede'rate looks and held-in breath,
They watcht the molten round
Loosing its form, the swelte'ring ooze beneath,
To that terrific sound.
They watcht the molten round
Loosing its form, the swelte'ring ooze beneath,
To that terrific sound.
The hissing storm toward the darke'ning land
A heated west-wind bore;
They closed their ears, they croucht upon the sand,
But heard it more and more.
A heated west-wind bore;
They closed their ears, they croucht upon the sand,
But heard it more and more.
They saw the whole full Ocean boil and swell,
Receiving such a guest
As elemental Light inscrutable,
Within its patient breast.
Receiving such a guest
As elemental Light inscrutable,
Within its patient breast.
At last into the void of dreary space
The tumult seemed to roll,
And left no other noise on Nature's face
Than the waves' muffled toll.
The tumult seemed to roll,
And left no other noise on Nature's face
Than the waves' muffled toll.
But to their first mistempered haughtiness
Those hearts returned no more,—
They were encumbered with a sore distress,
Crusht to the very core.
Those hearts returned no more,—
They were encumbered with a sore distress,
Crusht to the very core.
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The Chief this while had stood apart, and bowed
In penitential pain
His staunch war-soul, till that now-supple croud
His voice thus reacht again:—
In penitential pain
His staunch war-soul, till that now-supple croud
His voice thus reacht again:—
“Oh what a sanctu'ary have we profaned
In this unblest emprize!
Oh that a jealous wrath may be restrained
By timely sacrifice!
In this unblest emprize!
Oh that a jealous wrath may be restrained
By timely sacrifice!
“On these crag-altars let our choicest spoil
Be laid with humblest prayer;
For what avails our valor or our toil,
If angered Gods be there?
Be laid with humblest prayer;
For what avails our valor or our toil,
If angered Gods be there?
“As ye hold dear the memory of Rome,
Implore the Lords of Heaven,
That we once more may bear our victo'ries home,
This sacrilege forgiven!”
Implore the Lords of Heaven,
That we once more may bear our victo'ries home,
This sacrilege forgiven!”
So was it done:—columns of vapo'rous grey
Rose from that lone sea-glen,—
And Brutus and his followers turned away
Wiser and gentler men.
Rose from that lone sea-glen,—
And Brutus and his followers turned away
Wiser and gentler men.
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Thus, in the time when Fancy was the nurse
Of our young human heart,
The Power whose voice is in the universe,
And through each inmost part
Of our young human heart,
The Power whose voice is in the universe,
And through each inmost part
Vibrates, and in one total melody
Man and Creation blends,
Workt out by marvel and by prodigy
Its high religious ends.
Man and Creation blends,
Workt out by marvel and by prodigy
Its high religious ends.
Knowledge to us another scene displays,
We fear nor sight nor sound;
Nature has bared her bosom, and we gaze
Into the vast profound.
We fear nor sight nor sound;
Nature has bared her bosom, and we gaze
Into the vast profound.
A myriad of her subtlest harmonies
Our learnèd ears can tell;
We dare those simple liste'ners to despise,
But do we feel as well?
Our learnèd ears can tell;
We dare those simple liste'ners to despise,
But do we feel as well?
For the notion of the fearful noise which accompanied the fall and quenching of the sun in the great Western Ocean, consult Strabo, lib. iii.; Juvenal, xiv. 279; Ausonius, epist. xviii. The wide credit which this local tradition obtained may be inferred from the serious refutation of the physical fact in the second Book of the Cyclic Theory of Cleomedes.
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THE DEATH OF ALMANZOR.
[_]
Almanzor was the Campeador of the Moors in Spain, the guardian of the fainéant King Hixem;—it is thought he aspired to the crown.
Two and fifty times Almanzor had the Christian host o'erthrown;
Still again the Christians gatherèd, by despair the stronger grown.
Still again the Christians gatherèd, by despair the stronger grown.
Cityless and mountain-refuged they approacht the Douro's shores,
Falling, as a storm in summer, on the unsuspecting Moors.
Falling, as a storm in summer, on the unsuspecting Moors.
Valiantly the Moslem rallied, all unordered as they stood,
Till the Evening, in her shadow, bore them safe across the flood.
Till the Evening, in her shadow, bore them safe across the flood.
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Then they cried, “The stream's between us; now can we their schemes defy;”—
But the great Almanzor spoke,—“I have retreated, and I die.”
But the great Almanzor spoke,—“I have retreated, and I die.”
“Allah, keep us from such evil!” prayed the faithful, crouding round,
While the wise Arabian leech his wounds examined, stauncht, and bound.
While the wise Arabian leech his wounds examined, stauncht, and bound.
“Lightly has the Christian toucht thee,—much for thee is yet in store;
Many are thy years, but Allah gives his conque'rors many more.
Many are thy years, but Allah gives his conque'rors many more.
“Do not the huge bells, that summoned pilgrims to Iago's shrine,
Hang within our prophet's temple, and confess thy work divine?
Hang within our prophet's temple, and confess thy work divine?
“What is it that one small moment thou and thine did seem to yield,
Wielders of Mohammed's sword, and guarded by Mohammed's shield?
Wielders of Mohammed's sword, and guarded by Mohammed's shield?
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“Few shall be their boastful hours,—thou in wrath wilt rise again;
Thou shalt cleanse the mountains of them, like the cities and the plain.”
Thou shalt cleanse the mountains of them, like the cities and the plain.”
So consoled the duteous servant, but he could not still the cry
Bursting from Almanzor's lips,—“I have retreated, and I die.”
Bursting from Almanzor's lips,—“I have retreated, and I die.”
Once he rose and feebly spoke,—“My friends, I perish of self-scorn;
Shame is come on my white hairs,”—and thus he died the morrow-morn.
Shame is come on my white hairs,”—and thus he died the morrow-morn.
Fiercest hands in sorrow trembled, as they deeply dug the grave,
On the spot where Azrael's lance had struck the captain of the brave.
On the spot where Azrael's lance had struck the captain of the brave.
There his spirit's dearest brethren, closest comrades of his glory,
Laid him as a Moslem-martyr, in his garments torn and gory.
Laid him as a Moslem-martyr, in his garments torn and gory.
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There too, from his side unsevered, lay his old familiar brand,
Never to be toucht and tarnisht by a less victorious hand.
Never to be toucht and tarnisht by a less victorious hand.
From a chest that in his marches ever had been borne before him,
Holy dust from two and fifty battle-fields was sprinkled o'er him;
Holy dust from two and fifty battle-fields was sprinkled o'er him;
While arose the imprecation, “Utter Death to Christian Spain!”
Praise to Jesus and his mother, that the vow was vowed in vain!
Praise to Jesus and his mother, that the vow was vowed in vain!
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THE DEPARTURE OF ST. PATRICK FROM SCOTLAND.
FROM HIS OWN “CONFESSIONS.”
Twice to your son already has the hand of God been shewn,
Restoring him from alien bonds to be once more your own,
And now it is the self-same hand, dear kinsmen, that to-day
Shall take me for the third time from all I love away.
Restoring him from alien bonds to be once more your own,
And now it is the self-same hand, dear kinsmen, that to-day
Shall take me for the third time from all I love away.
While I look into your eyes, while I hold your hands in mine,
What force could tear me from you, if it were not all divine?
Has my love ever faltered? Have I ever doubted yours?
And think you I could yield me now to any earthly lures?
What force could tear me from you, if it were not all divine?
Has my love ever faltered? Have I ever doubted yours?
And think you I could yield me now to any earthly lures?
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I go not to some balmier land in pleasant ease to rest,—
I go not to content the pride that swells a mortal breast,—
I go about a work my God has chosen me to do;
Surely the soul which is his child must be his servant too.
I go not to content the pride that swells a mortal breast,—
I go about a work my God has chosen me to do;
Surely the soul which is his child must be his servant too.
I seek not the great city where our sacred father dwells,—
I seek not the blest eremites within their sandy cells,—
I seek not our Redeemer's grave in distant Palestine,—
Another, shorter pilgrimage, a lonelier path is mine.
I seek not the blest eremites within their sandy cells,—
I seek not our Redeemer's grave in distant Palestine,—
Another, shorter pilgrimage, a lonelier path is mine.
When sunset clears and opens out the breadth of western sky,
To those who in yon mountain isles protect their flocks on high
Loom the dark outlines of a land, whose nature and whose name
Some have by harsh experience learnt, and all by evil fame.
To those who in yon mountain isles protect their flocks on high
Loom the dark outlines of a land, whose nature and whose name
Some have by harsh experience learnt, and all by evil fame.
145
Oh, they are wild and wanton men, such as the best will be,
Who know no other gifts of God but to be bold and free,
Who never saw how states are bound in golden bonds of law,
Who never knew how strongest hearts are bent by holy awe.
Who know no other gifts of God but to be bold and free,
Who never saw how states are bound in golden bonds of law,
Who never knew how strongest hearts are bent by holy awe.
When first into their pirate hands I fell, a very boy,
Skirting the shore from rock to rock in unsuspecting joy,
I had been taught to pray, and thus those slavish days were few,
A wondrous hazard brought me back to liberty and you.
Skirting the shore from rock to rock in unsuspecting joy,
I had been taught to pray, and thus those slavish days were few,
A wondrous hazard brought me back to liberty and you.
But when again they met me on the open ocean field,
And might of numbers prest me round and forced my arm to yield,
I had become a man like them, a selfish man of pride,
I could have curst the will of God for shame I had not died.
And might of numbers prest me round and forced my arm to yield,
I had become a man like them, a selfish man of pride,
I could have curst the will of God for shame I had not died.
146
And still this torment haunted me three weary years, until
That summer night,—among the sheep,—upon the seaward hill,
When God of his miracu'lous grace, of his own saving thought,
Came down upon my lonely heart and rested unbesought!
That summer night,—among the sheep,—upon the seaward hill,
When God of his miracu'lous grace, of his own saving thought,
Came down upon my lonely heart and rested unbesought!
That night of light! I cared not that the day-star glimmered soon,
For in my new-begotten soul it was already noon;
I knew before what Christ had done, but never felt till then
A shadow of the love for him that he had felt for men!
For in my new-begotten soul it was already noon;
I knew before what Christ had done, but never felt till then
A shadow of the love for him that he had felt for men!
Strong faith was in me,—on the shore there lay a stranded boat,
I hasted down, I thrust it out, I felt it rock afloat;
With nervous arm and sturdy oar I sped my wate'ry way,
The wind and tide were trusty guides,—one God had I and they.
I hasted down, I thrust it out, I felt it rock afloat;
With nervous arm and sturdy oar I sped my wate'ry way,
The wind and tide were trusty guides,—one God had I and they.
147
As one from out the dead I stood among you free and whole,
My body Christ could well redeem, when he had saved my soul;
And perfect peace embraced the life that had been only pain,
For Love was shed upon my head from every thing, like rain.
My body Christ could well redeem, when he had saved my soul;
And perfect peace embraced the life that had been only pain,
For Love was shed upon my head from every thing, like rain.
Then on so sweetly flowed the time, I almost thought to sail
Eve'n to the shores of Paradise in that unwave'ring gale,
When something rose and nightly stood between me and my rest,
Most like some one, beside myself, reflecting in my breast.
Eve'n to the shores of Paradise in that unwave'ring gale,
When something rose and nightly stood between me and my rest,
Most like some one, beside myself, reflecting in my breast.
I cannot put it into words, I only know it came,
A sense of self-abasing weight, intolerable shame,
“That I should be so vile that not one tittle could be paid
Of that enormous debt which Christ upon my soul had laid!”
A sense of self-abasing weight, intolerable shame,
“That I should be so vile that not one tittle could be paid
Of that enormous debt which Christ upon my soul had laid!”
148
This yielded to another mood, strange objects gathered near,
Phantoms that entered not by eye, and voices not by ear,
The land of my injurious thrall a gracious aspect wore,
I yearned the most toward the forms I hated most before.
Phantoms that entered not by eye, and voices not by ear,
The land of my injurious thrall a gracious aspect wore,
I yearned the most toward the forms I hated most before.
I seemed again upon that hill, as on that blissful night,
Encompast with celestial air and deep retiring light,
But sight and thought were fettered down, where glimme'ring lay below
A plain of gasping, struggling, men in every shape of woe.
Encompast with celestial air and deep retiring light,
But sight and thought were fettered down, where glimme'ring lay below
A plain of gasping, struggling, men in every shape of woe.
Faint solemn whispers gathered round, “Christ suffered to redeem,
Not you alone, but such as these, from this their savage dream,—
Lo, here are souls enough for you to bring to him, and say,
These are the earnest of the debt I am too poor to pay.”
Not you alone, but such as these, from this their savage dream,—
Lo, here are souls enough for you to bring to him, and say,
These are the earnest of the debt I am too poor to pay.”
149
A cloud of children freshly born, innumerable bands,
Past by me with imploring eyes and little lifted hands,
And all the Nature, I believed so blank and waste and dumb,
Became instinct with life and love, and echoed clearly “Come!”
Past by me with imploring eyes and little lifted hands,
And all the Nature, I believed so blank and waste and dumb,
Became instinct with life and love, and echoed clearly “Come!”
“Amen!” said I; with eager steps a rude descent I tried,
And all the glory followed me like an on-coming tide,
With trails of light about my feet I crost the darkling wild,
And, as I toucht each suffe'rer's hand, he rose and gently smiled.
And all the glory followed me like an on-coming tide,
With trails of light about my feet I crost the darkling wild,
And, as I toucht each suffe'rer's hand, he rose and gently smiled.
Thus night on night the vision came, and left me not alone,
Until I swore that in that land should Christ be preacht and known,
And then at once strange coolness past on my long fevered brow,
As from the flutter of light wings: I feel, I feel it now!
Until I swore that in that land should Christ be preacht and known,
And then at once strange coolness past on my long fevered brow,
As from the flutter of light wings: I feel, I feel it now!
150
And from that moment unto this, this last and proving one,
I have been calm and light at heart as if the deed were done;
I never thought how hard it was our earthly loves to lay
Upon the altar of the Lord, and watch them melt away!
I have been calm and light at heart as if the deed were done;
I never thought how hard it was our earthly loves to lay
Upon the altar of the Lord, and watch them melt away!
Speak, friends! speak what you will,—but change those asking looks forlorn,
—Sustain me with reproachful words,—uphold me with your scorn:
—I know God's heart is in me, but my human bosom fears
Those drops that pierce it as they fall, those full and silent tears.
—Sustain me with reproachful words,—uphold me with your scorn:
—I know God's heart is in me, but my human bosom fears
Those drops that pierce it as they fall, those full and silent tears.
These comrades of my earliest youth have pledged their pious care
To bear me to the fronting coast, and gently leave me there:
It may be I shall fall at once, with little toil or need,—
Heaven often takes the simple will for the most perfect deed:
To bear me to the fronting coast, and gently leave me there:
It may be I shall fall at once, with little toil or need,—
Heaven often takes the simple will for the most perfect deed:
151
Or, it may be that from that hour beneath my hand may spring
A line of glories unachieved by hero, sage, or king,—
That Christ may glorify himself in this ignoble name,
And shadow forth my endless life in my enduring fame.
A line of glories unachieved by hero, sage, or king,—
That Christ may glorify himself in this ignoble name,
And shadow forth my endless life in my enduring fame.
—All as He wills! Now bless me, mother,—your cheek is almost dry:—
Farewell, kind brothers!—only pray ye may be blest as I;
Smile on me, sisters,—when death comes near each of you, still smile,
And we shall meet again somewhere, within a little while!
Farewell, kind brothers!—only pray ye may be blest as I;
Smile on me, sisters,—when death comes near each of you, still smile,
And we shall meet again somewhere, within a little while!
152
THE BEGGAR'S CASTLE.
A STORY OF THE SOUTH OF FRANCE.
Those ruins took my thoughts away
To a far eastern land;
Like camels, in a herd they lay
Upon the dull red sand;
I know not that I ever sate
Within a place so desolate.
To a far eastern land;
Like camels, in a herd they lay
Upon the dull red sand;
I know not that I ever sate
Within a place so desolate.
Unlike the relics that convert
Our hearts with antient Time,
All moss-besprent and ivy-deckt,
Gracing a lenient clime,
Here all was death and nothing born,—
No life but the unfriendly thorn.
Our hearts with antient Time,
All moss-besprent and ivy-deckt,
Gracing a lenient clime,
Here all was death and nothing born,—
No life but the unfriendly thorn.
161
“My little guide, whose sunny eyes
And darkly-lucid skin,
Witness, in spite of shrouded skies,
Where southern realms begin;
Come, tell me all you've heard and know
About these mighty things laid low.”
And darkly-lucid skin,
Witness, in spite of shrouded skies,
Where southern realms begin;
Come, tell me all you've heard and know
About these mighty things laid low.”
The Beggar's Castle, wayward name,
Was all these fragments bore,
And wherefore legendary fame
Baptized them thus of yore,
He told in words so sweet and true,
I wish that he could tell it you.
Was all these fragments bore,
And wherefore legendary fame
Baptized them thus of yore,
He told in words so sweet and true,
I wish that he could tell it you.
A puissant Seigneur, who in wars
And tournays had renown,
With wealth from prudent ancestors
Sloping unbroken down,
Dwelt in these towers, and held in fee
All the broad lands that eye can see.
And tournays had renown,
With wealth from prudent ancestors
Sloping unbroken down,
Dwelt in these towers, and held in fee
All the broad lands that eye can see.
162
He never tempered to the poor
Misfortune's bitter blast,
And when before his haughty door
Widow and orphan past,
Injurious words, and dogs at bay,
Were all the welcome that had they.
Misfortune's bitter blast,
And when before his haughty door
Widow and orphan past,
Injurious words, and dogs at bay,
Were all the welcome that had they.
The Monk who toiled from place to place,
That God might have his dole,
Was met by scorn and foul grimace,
And oaths that pierced his soul;
'Twas well for him to flee and pray,
“They know not what they do and say.”
That God might have his dole,
Was met by scorn and foul grimace,
And oaths that pierced his soul;
'Twas well for him to flee and pray,
“They know not what they do and say.”
One evening, when both plain and wood
Were trackless in the snow,
A Beggar at the portal stood,
Who little seemed to know
That Castle and its evil fame,
As if from distant shores he came.
Were trackless in the snow,
A Beggar at the portal stood,
Who little seemed to know
That Castle and its evil fame,
As if from distant shores he came.
163
Like channelled granite was his front,
His hair was crisp with rime,—
He askt admittance, as was wont
In that free-hearted time;
For who would leave to die i' the cold
A lonely man and awful-old.
His hair was crisp with rime,—
He askt admittance, as was wont
In that free-hearted time;
For who would leave to die i' the cold
A lonely man and awful-old.
At first his prayer had no reply,—
Perchance the wild wind checkt it,
But when it rose into a cry,
No more the inmates reckt it,
Till where the cheerful fire-light shone,
A voice out-thundered,—“Wretch! begone.”
Perchance the wild wind checkt it,
But when it rose into a cry,
No more the inmates reckt it,
Till where the cheerful fire-light shone,
A voice out-thundered,—“Wretch! begone.”
“There is no path,—I have no strength,—
What can I do alone?
Grant shelter, or I lay my length,
And perish on the stone;
I crave not much,—I should be blest
In kennel or in barn to rest.”
What can I do alone?
Grant shelter, or I lay my length,
And perish on the stone;
I crave not much,—I should be blest
In kennel or in barn to rest.”
164
“What matters thy vile head to me?
Dare not to touch the door!”
“Alas! and shall I never see
Home, wife, and children more?”—
“If thou art still importunate,
My serfs shall nail thee to the gate.”
Dare not to touch the door!”
“Alas! and shall I never see
Home, wife, and children more?”—
“If thou art still importunate,
My serfs shall nail thee to the gate.”
But, when the wrathful Seigneur faced
The object of his ire,
The beggar raised his brow debased
And armed his eyes with fire:
“Whatever guise is on me now,
I am a mightier Lord than thou!”
The object of his ire,
The beggar raised his brow debased
And armed his eyes with fire:
“Whatever guise is on me now,
I am a mightier Lord than thou!”
“Madman or cheat! announce thy birth.”—
“That thou wilt know to-morrow.”
“Where are thy fiefs?”—“The whole wide Earth.”
“And what thy title?”—“Sorrow.”
Then ope'ning wide his ragged vest,
He cried,—“Thou canst not shun thy guest.”
“That thou wilt know to-morrow.”
“Where are thy fiefs?”—“The whole wide Earth.”
“And what thy title?”—“Sorrow.”
Then ope'ning wide his ragged vest,
He cried,—“Thou canst not shun thy guest.”
165
He stampt his foot with fearful din,—
With imprecating hand
He struck the door, and past within
Right through the menial band:
“Follow him, seize him,—There—and there!”
They only saw the blank night air.
With imprecating hand
He struck the door, and past within
Right through the menial band:
“Follow him, seize him,—There—and there!”
They only saw the blank night air.
But He was at his work: ere day
Began the work of doom,
The Lord's one daughter, one bright may,
Fled with a base-born groom,
Bearing about, where'er she came,
The blighting of an antient name.
Began the work of doom,
The Lord's one daughter, one bright may,
Fled with a base-born groom,
Bearing about, where'er she came,
The blighting of an antient name.
His single son, that second self,
Who, when his first should fall,
Would hold his lands and hoarded pelf,
Died in a drunken brawl;—
And now alone amidst his gold
He stood, and felt his heart was cold.
Who, when his first should fall,
Would hold his lands and hoarded pelf,
Died in a drunken brawl;—
And now alone amidst his gold
He stood, and felt his heart was cold.
166
Till, like a large and patient sea
Once roused by cruel weather,
Came by the raging Jacquerie,
And swept away together
Him and all his, save that which time
Has hoarded to suggest our rhyme.
Once roused by cruel weather,
Came by the raging Jacquerie,
And swept away together
Him and all his, save that which time
Has hoarded to suggest our rhyme.
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