 | The Two Brothers, and other poems |  |
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JOHN BAPTIST.
αστηρ πριν μεν ελαμπες ενι ζωοισιν εωος,
νυν δε θανων λαμπεις εσπερος εν φθιμενοις.
νυν δε θανων λαμπεις εσπερος εν φθιμενοις.
Soft the summer sun is sinking through the saffron sky to rest:
Soft the veil of sultry vapour trembles on the desert's breast;
Golden, crimson, purple, opal lights and shadows, warp and woof,
Wrap the sands in change, and flush Machærus' battlemented roof.
Saying, “'Tis my last,” a captive rose from the cold dungeon floor,
Clank'd the fetters with his rising, lean'd the grated lattice o'er,—
Gaunt albeit in manhood's prime, as he through bitter toils had pass'd,
“One look more on earthly sunsets; my heart tells me, 'tis the last.”
Soft the veil of sultry vapour trembles on the desert's breast;
Golden, crimson, purple, opal lights and shadows, warp and woof,
Wrap the sands in change, and flush Machærus' battlemented roof.
Saying, “'Tis my last,” a captive rose from the cold dungeon floor,
Clank'd the fetters with his rising, lean'd the grated lattice o'er,—
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“One look more on earthly sunsets; my heart tells me, 'tis the last.”
In his eye the fading sunlight linger'd on as loth to go,
Light to light akin and kindling, brother-like; and to and fro,
As the winds crept o'er the desert from the hills of Abarim,
From his brow his unshorn tresses flutter'd in the twilight dim.
Now and then a passing glory from the castle's banquet hall,
Where a thousand lamps bade thousand guests to royal festival,
Smote the topmost turret's ridges with a gleam of fitful light,
As the woven purple hangings, sail-like, caught the gales of night:
Now and then a gush of laughter; now and then a snatch of song,
Seem'd to mock the prisoner's vigil, and to do his silence wrong.
Never a word spake he; but, gazing on the hills and skies and stars,
Free in thought, as Arab ranger, maugre manacles and bars,
Lived again his life, its daybreak with no childish pastimes boon,
Morning, midday, and now evening, ere it well was afternoon.
Light to light akin and kindling, brother-like; and to and fro,
As the winds crept o'er the desert from the hills of Abarim,
From his brow his unshorn tresses flutter'd in the twilight dim.
Now and then a passing glory from the castle's banquet hall,
Where a thousand lamps bade thousand guests to royal festival,
Smote the topmost turret's ridges with a gleam of fitful light,
As the woven purple hangings, sail-like, caught the gales of night:
Now and then a gush of laughter; now and then a snatch of song,
Seem'd to mock the prisoner's vigil, and to do his silence wrong.
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Free in thought, as Arab ranger, maugre manacles and bars,
Lived again his life, its daybreak with no childish pastimes boon,
Morning, midday, and now evening, ere it well was afternoon.
Meet his early homestead: westward of that sea where plies no skiff,
On the bare bleak upland, nestling only to the rugged cliff,
Far from all the noise of cities, far from all their idle mirth,
Where God's voice was heard in whispers, and the heavens were near to earth,
There he grew, as grows the lonely pine upon the foreland's crest,
Fronting tempests, northward, southward, sweep they east or sweep they west,
Wrapping round the rocks her roots like iron bands in breadth and length,
Here and there a moss or lichen shedding tenderness on strength.
Thus he grew: the child of age, no brother clasp'd in equal arms,
No sweet sister throwing o'er him the pure magic of her charms;
Heir of all his father's ripe experience both of things and men,
Ripen'd by the mellow suns that shine on threescore years and ten;
Heir of all his saintly mother's burning concentrated love,
Pent for decades and now loosen'd by a mandate from above.
For the rest, no human friendship shared his fellowship with God,
Lonely like the lonely Enoch was the path his spirit trod:
Meet for him whose fearless banner was ere long aloft unfurl'd,
God's ambassador, Christ's herald, in a lapsed and guilty world.
On the bare bleak upland, nestling only to the rugged cliff,
Far from all the noise of cities, far from all their idle mirth,
Where God's voice was heard in whispers, and the heavens were near to earth,
There he grew, as grows the lonely pine upon the foreland's crest,
Fronting tempests, northward, southward, sweep they east or sweep they west,
Wrapping round the rocks her roots like iron bands in breadth and length,
Here and there a moss or lichen shedding tenderness on strength.
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No sweet sister throwing o'er him the pure magic of her charms;
Heir of all his father's ripe experience both of things and men,
Ripen'd by the mellow suns that shine on threescore years and ten;
Heir of all his saintly mother's burning concentrated love,
Pent for decades and now loosen'd by a mandate from above.
For the rest, no human friendship shared his fellowship with God,
Lonely like the lonely Enoch was the path his spirit trod:
Meet for him whose fearless banner was ere long aloft unfurl'd,
God's ambassador, Christ's herald, in a lapsed and guilty world.
Gliding years pass'd on; and childhood grew to youth, and youth to prime:
Bodings fill'd the land, and rulers call'd the age a troublous time.
Let it be—all time is troublous; and there is no crystal sea
Betwixt Eden and the trumpet ushering in the great To be.
Nathless storms were rife, and rumours each the other chased from Rome,
Though their echo knock'd but feebly at the porch of that far home;
And they scarcely stirr'd the pulses in the old man's languid heart,
As he pled the prayer of Simeon, “Let me now in peace depart;”
Scarcely jarr'd the heavenly foretastes of the rapt Elizabeth,
Oft as was her wont repeating, “Welcome life, thrice welcome death.”
Droop'd they both with drooping autumn, with the dying year they died,
And in one deep stony chamber slumber sweetly side by side;
But before they slept confided to the Baptist's ear a story,
Richer heir-loom, loftier honour than the wide world's wealth and glory:—
From his sire he heard the marvel of his own predestined birth,
From his mother's lips a mystery which transcends all things of earth.
Bodings fill'd the land, and rulers call'd the age a troublous time.
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Betwixt Eden and the trumpet ushering in the great To be.
Nathless storms were rife, and rumours each the other chased from Rome,
Though their echo knock'd but feebly at the porch of that far home;
And they scarcely stirr'd the pulses in the old man's languid heart,
As he pled the prayer of Simeon, “Let me now in peace depart;”
Scarcely jarr'd the heavenly foretastes of the rapt Elizabeth,
Oft as was her wont repeating, “Welcome life, thrice welcome death.”
Droop'd they both with drooping autumn, with the dying year they died,
And in one deep stony chamber slumber sweetly side by side;
But before they slept confided to the Baptist's ear a story,
Richer heir-loom, loftier honour than the wide world's wealth and glory:—
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From his mother's lips a mystery which transcends all things of earth.
Now the lonely home was lonelier, now the silence more unmarr'd,
Now his rough-spun dress was rougher, and his hardy fare more hard.
Yet he moved not. God who guided Israel o'er the trackless waste,
When his hour was come, would call him; and with God there is no haste.
Meanwhile of all sacred stories, which his bosom fired and fill'd,
One, the Tishbite, more intensely through and through his bosom thrill'd.
O that sacrifice on Carmel;—O that fire that fell from heaven;—
O that nation's shout “Jehovah;”—O that bloody stormy even;—
O that solitary cavern;—O that strong and dreadful wind;
Rocking earthquake, flames of vengeance; O that still small Voice behind:
Those long years of patient witness, crown'd by victory at last:
Israel's chariot, Israel's horsemen! like a dream the vision pass'd.
“Would to God the prophet's mantle might but fall upon my soul!
Would to God a seraph touch me with Esaias' living coal!”
Now his rough-spun dress was rougher, and his hardy fare more hard.
Yet he moved not. God who guided Israel o'er the trackless waste,
When his hour was come, would call him; and with God there is no haste.
Meanwhile of all sacred stories, which his bosom fired and fill'd,
One, the Tishbite, more intensely through and through his bosom thrill'd.
O that sacrifice on Carmel;—O that fire that fell from heaven;—
O that nation's shout “Jehovah;”—O that bloody stormy even;—
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Rocking earthquake, flames of vengeance; O that still small Voice behind:
Those long years of patient witness, crown'd by victory at last:
Israel's chariot, Israel's horsemen! like a dream the vision pass'd.
“Would to God the prophet's mantle might but fall upon my soul!
Would to God a seraph touch me with Esaias' living coal!”
As he pray'd, his soul was troubled with a sudden storm of thought,
And again was hush'd in silence with profounder feeling fraught:
And the Spirit's accents,—whether on his mortal ear they fell,
Or without such audience trembled on his spirit, none might tell,
But they came to him. The altar had been built and piled and laid:
God himself alone must kindle that which He alone had made.
Through the crowded streets of Salem, see, they whisper man to man,
Like a flash of summer lightning through the heavens, the tidings ran;
“In the wilderness by Jordan unto us a Voice is sent,
God is on His way. His herald cries before He comes, Repent.”
And again was hush'd in silence with profounder feeling fraught:
And the Spirit's accents,—whether on his mortal ear they fell,
Or without such audience trembled on his spirit, none might tell,
But they came to him. The altar had been built and piled and laid:
God himself alone must kindle that which He alone had made.
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Like a flash of summer lightning through the heavens, the tidings ran;
“In the wilderness by Jordan unto us a Voice is sent,
God is on His way. His herald cries before He comes, Repent.”
On the mart of busy traffic, on the merchant's growing hoard,
On the bridegroom's perfumed chamber, on the banquet's festive board,
On the halls where pleasure squander'd all the heaps of avarice,
On the dreams of blind devotion, on the loathsome haunts of vice,
Like a thunder-roll the tidings fell, and lo! the sudden gloom
Then and there gave fearful presage of the coming day of doom.
But the workman left his workshop, and the merchant left his wares,
And the miser left his coffers, and the Pharisee his prayers:
From Jerusalem to Jordan, see they pour a motley group,
Young men, maidens, old men, children, priests and people, troop on troop:
Neighbour thought not now of neighbour, parent scarcely thought of child:
There were few who spoke or answer'd, there were none who jeer'd or smiled:
No one wept: tyrannic conscience seal'd their eyes and ears and lips,
And Eternity was shadowing Time with terrible eclipse.
On the bridegroom's perfumed chamber, on the banquet's festive board,
On the halls where pleasure squander'd all the heaps of avarice,
On the dreams of blind devotion, on the loathsome haunts of vice,
Like a thunder-roll the tidings fell, and lo! the sudden gloom
Then and there gave fearful presage of the coming day of doom.
But the workman left his workshop, and the merchant left his wares,
And the miser left his coffers, and the Pharisee his prayers:
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Young men, maidens, old men, children, priests and people, troop on troop:
Neighbour thought not now of neighbour, parent scarcely thought of child:
There were few who spoke or answer'd, there were none who jeer'd or smiled:
No one wept: tyrannic conscience seal'd their eyes and ears and lips,
And Eternity was shadowing Time with terrible eclipse.
There it wound that ancient river: there he stood, that lonely man.
Is it yet too late? to rearmost some shrank back, some forward ran:
Brave men quail'd, and timid women bolder seem'd beneath his eye:
Age grew flush'd, and youth grew paler, and the voice was heard to cry,
“God is on His way. The Judge already stands before the gate.
Make the lofty low before Him, rugged smooth, and crooked straight.”
As the multitudes in thousands round him throng'd, a timorous flock,
Fell his words like hail in harvest, like the hammer on the rock,
Breaking stony hearts to shivers, cloaking, sparing, softening nought,
But with lightning flash revealing midnight mysteries of thought.
God was Master, man was servant; right was right, and wrong was wrong:
Sinners might dream on a little, but the respite was not long.
Good or evil fruit-trees—whether of the twain? no test but fruit:
Cut it down; the fire is kindled, and the axe lies at the root.
Wherefore call themselves the children of the God-like Abraham?
Things that are alone are precious unto the supreme I AM.
Generation bred of vipers, wherefore are they pale and dumb?
Will they flee? oh, who hath warn'd them of the dreadful wrath to come?
Is it yet too late? to rearmost some shrank back, some forward ran:
Brave men quail'd, and timid women bolder seem'd beneath his eye:
Age grew flush'd, and youth grew paler, and the voice was heard to cry,
“God is on His way. The Judge already stands before the gate.
Make the lofty low before Him, rugged smooth, and crooked straight.”
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Fell his words like hail in harvest, like the hammer on the rock,
Breaking stony hearts to shivers, cloaking, sparing, softening nought,
But with lightning flash revealing midnight mysteries of thought.
God was Master, man was servant; right was right, and wrong was wrong:
Sinners might dream on a little, but the respite was not long.
Good or evil fruit-trees—whether of the twain? no test but fruit:
Cut it down; the fire is kindled, and the axe lies at the root.
Wherefore call themselves the children of the God-like Abraham?
Things that are alone are precious unto the supreme I AM.
Generation bred of vipers, wherefore are they pale and dumb?
Will they flee? oh, who hath warn'd them of the dreadful wrath to come?
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Are the dry bones stirring, breathing? God can raise up men from stones.
See the Lamb, the dying Victim! only life for life atones:
And the deep red current, flowing from the firstlings Abel vow'd,
Cries from age to age for mercy, louder yet, and yet more loud,
Till the sacrifice be offer'd for the world's stupendous guilt,
And the Lamb of God is smitten on the altar God has built.
Is the hard heart bruised and contrite? Do they weep and vow and pray?
It is well; let Jordan's waters wash their loathèd stains away.
But the coming One, whose coming now was every moment nigher,
He, the Son of God, baptizes with the Holy Ghost and fire:
In His hand the fan that winnows; at His feet the harvest floor;
Chaff the food for quenchless burnings; garner'd wheat for evermore.
See the Lamb, the dying Victim! only life for life atones:
And the deep red current, flowing from the firstlings Abel vow'd,
Cries from age to age for mercy, louder yet, and yet more loud,
Till the sacrifice be offer'd for the world's stupendous guilt,
And the Lamb of God is smitten on the altar God has built.
Is the hard heart bruised and contrite? Do they weep and vow and pray?
It is well; let Jordan's waters wash their loathèd stains away.
But the coming One, whose coming now was every moment nigher,
He, the Son of God, baptizes with the Holy Ghost and fire:
In His hand the fan that winnows; at His feet the harvest floor;
Chaff the food for quenchless burnings; garner'd wheat for evermore.
So it was from dawn to sunset, so it was from day to day,
Thousands coming, thousands going, till the summer wore away:
Ever seem'd the voice more solemn, and the message more sublime:
Jordan's lonesome fords were crowded like God's hill at Paschal time.
When one eve,—the roseate West was watching for the tardy sun,—
Mingling with that throng of sinners came the Only Sinless One;
And the Master knelt a suppliant, and abash'd the servant stood,
While the holy Christ demanded baptism in that cleansing flood.
It is done: Messiah rises from the parted waves; and lo,
The blue heavens are rent asunder, and a Dove, more white than snow,
From the gates of light descending like a crown of glory glow'd,
Moving towards Him, hovering o'er Him, brooding on His head, abode:
And a Voice more deep than thunder from the everlasting Throne,
“Thou, my Son, my well Beloved, Thou art my delight alone.”
This the Baptist heard. And straightway Love Divine his soul possess'd.
Henceforth all his yearning spirit found its centre, knew its rest.
Solitudes no more were lonely, wildernesses were not wild:
He had seen the Word Incarnate, seen the Father's Holy Child.
And the pure ideal imaged in his heart of hearts was such
That no earthly joys could dim it, and no human sorrows touch.
Let the vex'd waves surge around him! Welcome, weariness and strife!
Christ was now his peace, his passion—the one passion of his life.
He must decrease, Christ must increase, and His kingdom know no end.
He had heard the Bridegroom's accents, he was call'd the Bridegroom's friend.
Be it that his days were number'd; this was joy enough for him;
And his cup of life was mantling to the overflowing brim.
Let his lamp grow pale and paler; only let the Sun be bright,
And the day-star hide its radiance in that perfect Light of Light.
Thousands coming, thousands going, till the summer wore away:
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Jordan's lonesome fords were crowded like God's hill at Paschal time.
When one eve,—the roseate West was watching for the tardy sun,—
Mingling with that throng of sinners came the Only Sinless One;
And the Master knelt a suppliant, and abash'd the servant stood,
While the holy Christ demanded baptism in that cleansing flood.
It is done: Messiah rises from the parted waves; and lo,
The blue heavens are rent asunder, and a Dove, more white than snow,
From the gates of light descending like a crown of glory glow'd,
Moving towards Him, hovering o'er Him, brooding on His head, abode:
And a Voice more deep than thunder from the everlasting Throne,
“Thou, my Son, my well Beloved, Thou art my delight alone.”
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Henceforth all his yearning spirit found its centre, knew its rest.
Solitudes no more were lonely, wildernesses were not wild:
He had seen the Word Incarnate, seen the Father's Holy Child.
And the pure ideal imaged in his heart of hearts was such
That no earthly joys could dim it, and no human sorrows touch.
Let the vex'd waves surge around him! Welcome, weariness and strife!
Christ was now his peace, his passion—the one passion of his life.
He must decrease, Christ must increase, and His kingdom know no end.
He had heard the Bridegroom's accents, he was call'd the Bridegroom's friend.
Be it that his days were number'd; this was joy enough for him;
And his cup of life was mantling to the overflowing brim.
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And the day-star hide its radiance in that perfect Light of Light.
So his breast grew calm and calmer, less of self and selfish leaven;
So the fire burn'd pure and purer, less of earth and more of heaven;
And a loftier hope sustain'd him, as his destined path he trod,
Preaching a world-wide salvation, heralding the Lamb of God!
And the voice rang in the palace, as in hovel and in tent,
“Lo the coming One is come: His kingdom is at hand: repent.”
So the fire burn'd pure and purer, less of earth and more of heaven;
And a loftier hope sustain'd him, as his destined path he trod,
Preaching a world-wide salvation, heralding the Lamb of God!
And the voice rang in the palace, as in hovel and in tent,
“Lo the coming One is come: His kingdom is at hand: repent.”
Herod heard him, and Herodias, seated on their ivory throne.
Something in them craved an audience, and he spake to them alone;
Spake of sin and death and judgment, things done wrong and undone things.
What to him a royal sinner? He had seen the King of kings!
Herod trembled: deeds of rapine cluster'd round his bygone path,
Spectres of departed passions, harbingers of coming wrath.
Bid them all avaunt for ever! Blot them from his feverish view!
Still forgotten crimes are rising, and his tortured soul pursue.
He will doff his purple robes, in sackcloth and in ashes lie.
What is time? A day dream. Oh, that burning word, eternity!
Not enough? Why looks the Baptist with that fix'd and solemn gaze?
Gold and silver, pearls and rubies, on the temple gate shall blaze.
Not enough? Why looks the Baptist piercing through his soul and life?
Ha! the queen, his royal consort! nay, his brother Philip's wife.
Herod shrank, but smiled Herodias, though the gathering vengeance drain'd
Lip of blood, and cheek of blushes. Further answer she disdain'd,
But arose, drew forth the monarch, said their royal tryst was o'er;
And that night in chains the Baptist press'd Machærus' dungeon floor.
Something in them craved an audience, and he spake to them alone;
Spake of sin and death and judgment, things done wrong and undone things.
What to him a royal sinner? He had seen the King of kings!
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Spectres of departed passions, harbingers of coming wrath.
Bid them all avaunt for ever! Blot them from his feverish view!
Still forgotten crimes are rising, and his tortured soul pursue.
He will doff his purple robes, in sackcloth and in ashes lie.
What is time? A day dream. Oh, that burning word, eternity!
Not enough? Why looks the Baptist with that fix'd and solemn gaze?
Gold and silver, pearls and rubies, on the temple gate shall blaze.
Not enough? Why looks the Baptist piercing through his soul and life?
Ha! the queen, his royal consort! nay, his brother Philip's wife.
Herod shrank, but smiled Herodias, though the gathering vengeance drain'd
Lip of blood, and cheek of blushes. Further answer she disdain'd,
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And that night in chains the Baptist press'd Machærus' dungeon floor.
Thrice since then had spring and summer carpeted the earth with flowers;
But those dreary walls unchanging fenced his slow and changeless hours,
Save there grew 'twixt blocks of granite from some chancesown seed a fern;
And the captive watch'd it ever with the daylight's first return,
Drinking in the earliest sunbeam, beaded with its dewy tears,
All its tender leaflets laden and emboss'd for future years.
And it spake to him. It chanced there visited his lonely cell,
Chuza, seneschal of Herod; and a word of power that fell
From the Baptist's lips found lodgment in the deep repose of thought
Hidden in a kindred nature, truthful, generous, nobly wrought.
So it was, an unknown friendship unsuspected entrance gains
For a love that loved their master better, dearer for his chains;
Whence he knew One name was wafted now on every passing breath,
Filling Judea's hills and valleys with the fame of Nazareth.
Joy for thee! no weak reed shaken by the fickle fitful wind:
No soft courtier clothed in raiment woven in the looms of Ind:
O true prophet, more than prophet! voice of God! Messiah's friend!
Burning, shining, let thy beacon blaze unwavering to the end!
But those dreary walls unchanging fenced his slow and changeless hours,
Save there grew 'twixt blocks of granite from some chancesown seed a fern;
And the captive watch'd it ever with the daylight's first return,
Drinking in the earliest sunbeam, beaded with its dewy tears,
All its tender leaflets laden and emboss'd for future years.
And it spake to him. It chanced there visited his lonely cell,
Chuza, seneschal of Herod; and a word of power that fell
From the Baptist's lips found lodgment in the deep repose of thought
Hidden in a kindred nature, truthful, generous, nobly wrought.
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For a love that loved their master better, dearer for his chains;
Whence he knew One name was wafted now on every passing breath,
Filling Judea's hills and valleys with the fame of Nazareth.
Joy for thee! no weak reed shaken by the fickle fitful wind:
No soft courtier clothed in raiment woven in the looms of Ind:
O true prophet, more than prophet! voice of God! Messiah's friend!
Burning, shining, let thy beacon blaze unwavering to the end!
Musing thus his past, the captive on his watch nor slept nor stirr'd,
And the hours slid by unheeded, and the cock crew twice unheard:
And the dewy stars more faintly glimmer'd in the doubtful gloom,
And the bursts of mirth were fewer from the royal banquet room.
Thither Galilee had summon'd all her loveliness and state,
And her loveliest there seem'd lovelier, and her greatness there more great:
Flow'd the purple wine like water: Eden's perfumes fill'd the hall;
And the lamps through roseate colours shed a soften'd light on all.
Mirth and music hand in hand were floating through the fairy scene;
All were praising Herod's glory, all were lauding Herod's queen;
When at given sign was silence, and the guests reclined around,
And a lonely harper, waking from the chords a dreamlike sound,
Breathed delight and soft enchantment over ear and heart and soul:
None could choose but list, and listening, none their tenderest thoughts control:
When the young, the fair Salome, from her chamber gently slid,
Nor loose veil, nor golden tresses half her mantling blushes hid:
Young Salome, sixteen summers scarcely on her bloom had smiled;
Art was none, but artless beauty; Nature's simplest fondest child.
At the banquet's edge she linger'd, to her mother's side she press'd,
And assay'd to dance, and falter'd trembling; but again caress'd,
As those wild notes with a stronger witchery on her spirit fell,
Stole into the midst, and startled, timid as a young gazelle,
Trod the air with printless footsteps, as the breezes tread the sea,
Moved to every tone responsive, like embodied melody:
Till embolden'd, as she floated like a cloud of light along,
Mingled with melodious music gentler cadences of song,
And when every ear was ravish'd, every heart subdued with love,
Dropp'd at length, as drops the skylark from its azure home above,
Swiftly with an angel's swiftness, with a mortal's sweetness sweet,
Glowing, trembling, trusting, loving—dropp'd at length at Herod's feet.
And the hours slid by unheeded, and the cock crew twice unheard:
And the dewy stars more faintly glimmer'd in the doubtful gloom,
And the bursts of mirth were fewer from the royal banquet room.
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And her loveliest there seem'd lovelier, and her greatness there more great:
Flow'd the purple wine like water: Eden's perfumes fill'd the hall;
And the lamps through roseate colours shed a soften'd light on all.
Mirth and music hand in hand were floating through the fairy scene;
All were praising Herod's glory, all were lauding Herod's queen;
When at given sign was silence, and the guests reclined around,
And a lonely harper, waking from the chords a dreamlike sound,
Breathed delight and soft enchantment over ear and heart and soul:
None could choose but list, and listening, none their tenderest thoughts control:
When the young, the fair Salome, from her chamber gently slid,
Nor loose veil, nor golden tresses half her mantling blushes hid:
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Art was none, but artless beauty; Nature's simplest fondest child.
At the banquet's edge she linger'd, to her mother's side she press'd,
And assay'd to dance, and falter'd trembling; but again caress'd,
As those wild notes with a stronger witchery on her spirit fell,
Stole into the midst, and startled, timid as a young gazelle,
Trod the air with printless footsteps, as the breezes tread the sea,
Moved to every tone responsive, like embodied melody:
Till embolden'd, as she floated like a cloud of light along,
Mingled with melodious music gentler cadences of song,
And when every ear was ravish'd, every heart subdued with love,
Dropp'd at length, as drops the skylark from its azure home above,
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Glowing, trembling, trusting, loving—dropp'd at length at Herod's feet.
Heaven be witness, Herod grants her the petition she prefers:
Half his kingdom were mean dowry for a loveliness like hers.
Half his kingdom were mean dowry for a loveliness like hers.
To Herodias young Salome fondly turns, with grateful smiles:
Gold of Ophir, pearls of ocean, nard and spice of happier isles,—
What of choice and costly treasures, choicest, costliest, shall she claim?
Then a glare of fiendish triumph in that cruel cold eye came;
And the queen's heart heaved with vengeance; and she gasp'd with quicken'd breath
Brief words of envenom'd malice, warrant of the prophet's death.
Why that sudden ashy pallor? why that passionate caress?
Bends the sapling in the tempest: weakness yields to wickedness.
Musing still his past, the captive on his watch nor slept nor stirr'd,
Gold of Ophir, pearls of ocean, nard and spice of happier isles,—
What of choice and costly treasures, choicest, costliest, shall she claim?
Then a glare of fiendish triumph in that cruel cold eye came;
And the queen's heart heaved with vengeance; and she gasp'd with quicken'd breath
Brief words of envenom'd malice, warrant of the prophet's death.
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Bends the sapling in the tempest: weakness yields to wickedness.
And the dawn drew on unheeded, and the cock crew thrice unheard.
Of the sentinels of morning, shining over Abarim,
Only one was left, the day-star; and its lamp was growing dim.
Hark! the bolt is drawn, how slowly: see! the dungeon door flung wide:
Weapons gleam along the passage: armed men are by his side.
In their looks he read his sentence, and he knew his hour was come,
And his proud neck meekly offer'd to the stroke of martyrdom:
And, as flash'd the headsman's broadsword, rose the sun on Pisgah's height;
And the morning star was hidden in the flood of golden light.
1868.
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