Amenophis and Other Poems Sacred and Secular :: :: University of Virginia Library

Gorgeous in pride, and satiate full with bliss,
Within his halls sate King Amenophis,
The sacrifice just over: for the steam
Yet curl'd round each gay-chequer'd cedar-beam
And roof-recess, from Amoûn's altar high.
Meanwhile the ram was slain, and cautiously
The red-skinn'd priests o'er Amoûn's golden face
The bearded muzzle of the creature place,
And cautiously the form of Horus bring
And set it fronting that ram-facéd thing,
Beating themselves for Horus' sake, that he
So mask'd alone the holy face must see,
And then go down his journey to the west,
And up the skies again, and find no rest.

For so the story runs, that Horus pray'd
Himself to see God face to face, and laid
Such heart into his prayer, that the Most High
Before the hero pass'd disguisedly,
Veiling his glory 'neath a creature's face.

212

And Horus look'd, and went about his ways:
Though now he sits before him in the skies,
And sees God face to face without disguise.

Amenophis survey'd the annual rite;
Symbol half-dimm'd through Time's effacing night.
Each priest now put aside his lissom rod,
And knelt before him, and invoked as God.
Then something stirr'd within his vaulted breast,
And prick'd his pride and woke a vague unrest.
He call'd aloud and said

‘Before the King
‘Life's lordly pageant, all her pleasures, bring;
‘That he may view them all, and judge, and try.’

Then first the train of dancing-maids went by:
Each lustrous bosom, to the mid-waist bared,
Fit pillow for the King's own head prepared;
Each virgin form suggesting new delight;
Each suppliant archly for one bridal night.

So they pass'd onwards: and Amenophis sigh'd.
Then thirty Ethiopians, ebon-dyed,
In golden vessels bore red gold heap'd up.
The gleamy harvest overran the cup,
Waste unregarded. Next, an equal train
Brought other stores of parti-colour'd grain
In Ethiopia glean'd and Arya far:—
Carbuncles, redder than the warrior star,

213

Sapphirus, Amethystus, and the light
Of Adamas, that rivals in his might
The sun, when o'er Syéné zenith high:—
Then Emeralds, to take the wearied eye
And bathe it in a bath of greener green
Than sun-smit tarns from Eira's summit seen.
Save 'mong the treasures of earth's garner-floor,
Where, age on age, the gnomes their jewels store,
None e'er were known, or dreamt in poet's dream,
Like those that now on Egypt's master gleam.

So these pass'd onwards: and Amenophis sigh'd.
Now through the pillar'd corridors and wide
High-lighted hall soft wailings fill'd the space,
And low pulsations moved with even pace,
As though the heart that eased itself in song
Beat 'neath its own voice with a sense of wrong,
Delicate agony; painful delight, and strong.
Now Maneros' and Lityerses' name
Through the high-sorrowing dulcimers oft came,
And Linus young, who withers in his bloom,
And hides each summer in the ocean-tomb,
The yearly darling of the Syrian maid:—
A tale from Libanus to Nile convey'd.
Like wind-swept wheat at that belovéd word
Smote on each harp runs up a shivering chord;
And all the voices blend in one long strain,
That circled snake-like round the pillar'd fane:

214

—Fair O fair beyond all fairness here,
In thine own season to thine own appear:
O Linus young, who wither'st in thy bloom,
Wake, the Spring summons, in thy salt sea tomb;
The Amathusian calls thee: Linus, come!

As one the bosom of the crowd was moved
Beneath the Linus' song, the lost, the loved:
Eyes large and humid; bosoms big with sighs,
Long sighs, and love, and voiceless ecstasies.
But with a short and broken laugh, the King
Turn'd in his throne, as one half-wakening
From fever'd sleep, and rose and left the hall:
Stopping his ears when past the sight of all,
And moving fast, and sometime looking round,
To know when safe beyond the reach of sound.

But as he saw that giant temple lie
Behind like one great bank against the sky,
He stay'd his stumbling pace across the sands,
Pressing together, palm on palm, his hands,
And wing'd his sight through the deep vault of blue,
And gazed as if the soul could pierce it through,
Mounting through sphere o'er sphere of lucent air:
And then fell flat, and spoke out his despair.

‘O whether Amoûn or Osiris named,
‘Or some dread sound as yet by man unframed,

215

If once to Horus thou didst bend thine ear,
‘Amenophis, another suppliant, hear!
‘The King of Kings and Lord of Lords below,
‘One only boon I beg thee to bestow.
‘If thou be He that made the earth and skies,
‘To thine own creature come without disguise.
‘Long have I blindly groped around thy throne,
‘But the sense sees not what the heart has known.
‘I strain for thee, I gaze with eager nerves,
‘But my glance backward to my eyeballs curves;
‘To meet thine arms my arms I fling abroad;
‘My arms fold on me, vacant of the God.
‘Upon the dark I paint thy secret face,
‘But night holds nothing in her hollow space.
‘Dost thou not see my tears, not hear my cry?
‘I cannot see nor hear, yet know thee nigh.
‘I feel thee in the dust-wreaths of the plain,
‘And in the rare, quick drops of sacred rain:
‘I seek thee round the corners of the rocks,
‘Or on the riverain pasture of the flocks;
‘And thou art there, but art not there for me:—
‘Take all the world, all else I yield to thee:
‘But I must see the God before I die.’

He spoke. His own voice was the sole reply.
Then a small hand went lightly o'er his head
Softening the deep-brown curls: and Anaïs said,
Anaïs the Ionian slave, the most beloved,
‘O King, for great things art thou greatly moved’?

216

But he: ‘I would see God before I die.’
Then Anaïs with low voice resignedly:

‘What is it that he says, Amenophis,
‘In this thing only have I set my bliss
‘To see God ere I die? Is not he God?
‘By what more noble foot is Egypt trod?
‘His form as very God's? Is not he Lord,
‘Aye, Lord of Lords, the fear'd one, the adored?
‘I saw him by the golden Horus stand,
‘And he seem'd born for worship and command.
‘Ionia's Gods are fairer far than these,
‘Nor would I aught dispraise the deities:
‘Yet when my trembling eyes first scann'd his face,
‘Lordliest and best meseem'd of human race;
‘And me he chose out from all else, and cried
‘Nothing should part us, Anaïs, ere we died.
‘What word is that, I would see God and die.’

Then the King's form rose up against the sky.
Meanwhile the sun had sunk, and overhead
E'en as they gazed, and ere the words are said,
The whole sky went at once from blue to red,
Like sapphire furnace-fused to carbuncle.
The rosy radiance over Egypt fell;
The hills around and sand-plains caught the flood;
The river ran a burning belt of blood.
Then, North and South, a trembling 'gan to shake
The fiery curtain of the sky, and break

217

Its crimson foldings: then the blue look'd through,
And all the heaven unflush'd itself anew.
Faint grays and tender azures float afar,
And purple after-glows the horizon bar;
And lo! the tremulous silver of the twilight star.

Both gazed in silence on the arching skies,
And turn'd and look'd within each other's eyes.
‘—What more would'st grasp, what more, Amenophis?
‘What closer perilous Vision ask than this?
‘Is not His presence in the aether far,
‘His eyes and glory in the twilight star?
‘What nearer nearness, man to God, would'st have’?
But he: ‘These things are not the thing I crave.
‘For I would see him plain before I die:
‘Let all the world, and all in it, go by.’

Then with a little tremor in her voice,
‘O King, in your God can I not rejoice!
‘Harsh in their aspect are the Gods of Nile,
‘That call men off from love and joy and smile:
‘Far other those Ionian maidens love,
‘Not alien so from man, so far above.
‘O Delian archer, when thou climb'st the sky,
‘Enough for me to watch thy car go by;
‘To know that Hypereion's form is there,
‘And drink his beauty in the golden air.
‘O Cyprian queen, enough to see thy smile
‘As the light waves lap in on Lesbos' isle;

218

‘To breathe thee mong the violet beds at dawn,
‘To read thy rosy footsteps on the lawn.
‘—Was it for this, that I was nursed and bred,
‘And train'd fit partner for the royal bed,
‘And taught the name of Love, and tasted thine?
‘O me, I fear a common fate is mine;—
‘Man holds out love to woman first, and then
‘Flies, and she vainly chases him again.
‘Another common fate I also prove:
‘He loves her for himself, she him for love.
‘Art thou so prompt to yield the world and me
‘For some high vision that thou ne'er wilt see?
‘Will sight of God be more to thee than this—
‘Ah, take it! ah, refuse me not thy kiss!
‘Say, shall I tire thee with my baby words?
‘Bear with me: speech some little aid affords.
‘—What was it first, the magic and the power
‘That drew me so to thee? The day, the hour,
‘The minute I remember; and the fear,
‘Thou would'st not look, and know how thou wert dear.
‘I went before thee slowly down the hall,—
‘O might I turn and on thy bosom fall!
‘Before thy feet I spread the rushes green,
‘That thy feet might go where my hands had been:
‘I kiss'd the fringéd curtains of the bed,
‘And where thy neck would be, and where thy head
‘And shook and listen'd and my face conceal'd,
‘And yet was ready at a look to yield.

219

—I tell thee all, by maiden-shame reproved:
‘Thou never knew'st before how thou wert loved.
‘Now as thou wilt, my sovereign, do with me.
‘A little while love made me equal thee:
‘Now I am nought, and thou the King of men.’

She bow'd her face, and knelt to him again.
Then, where behind the head a little space
Lay white below her dark hair's braided grace,
He kiss'd her, parting with his hand the braid.
And by her hand he led the slender maid,
Smoothing her odorous tresses oft and oft,
While Love came wafted on the perfume soft,
And brought her where the palace, long and vast,
Lay like a hill-side gainst the horizon cast.

But when the night was well advanced, the two
Rose from their couch, and to the casement drew.
Then Anaïs look'd forth on the landscape fair,
And Sirius quivering in the crystal air;
And said ‘I cannot fathom thy desire,
‘But feel it smouldering in the heart like fire.
‘Then lest it lay thee waste in ashes, take
‘Some counsel of the wise this heat to slake.’
And he: ‘O Love, O ever wise and true,
‘There is nought else but this for me to do.
‘And I have heard Paapis, priest of On,
‘Dying, bequeath'd such wisdom to his son,

220

‘That he, if any, can set forth the road
‘Which brings a man in presence of the God.
‘So be it, then, to-morrow, as thou say'st.’
With that, he slept his last untroubled rest.
For with the morrow to the palace came
The dark-hair'd sage of more than mortal fame,
Such signs and wonders at his hand were wrought:
Yet to see God his power availéd nought.
And evil counsel gave he to the King.

‘O master, much about the Gods men sing,
‘That they are great and strong and just and wise:—
‘And I should hold them foolish who despise
‘Such speech: for they are strong, and just, and great:
‘Yet are they also jealous and irate.
‘All prayers but of the loyal they refuse,
‘Who do them service in the mode they choose.
‘Now in this land where once the Faith was one,
‘A monstrous thing and horrible is done.
‘For there be some who mock the blesséd Gods,
‘And those who minister in their abodes,
‘And say that Amoûn, far beyond our ken,
‘Dwells not in temples made by hands of men,
‘And little cares for sacrifice or priest.
‘Also they reck not where the soul deceased
‘Passes, or ask if it exist again;
‘For These things to the God alone pertain.

221

‘Also to shepherd life and flocks they lean.
‘Now, though the men are sordid, poor, and mean,
‘Nay, cursed by God's own finger, for the most
‘With leprosy are smitten, white as frost,
‘Yet do the poorer sort their counsels hear;
‘And so the crowd grows stronger, year by year.
‘These therefore, if the God thou would'st behold,
‘Drive from the land, Amenophis; be bold;
‘For on the side of God the war will be.’

Then with a sudden hiss from throat to knee
Amenophis rent his robe, and o'er his head
Flung ashes from the altar top, and said:
‘Son of Paapis, now the sign I know
‘Seen yesternight: if it be this or no,
‘(I will recount it), say; for thou art wise.
‘I was in dreams where Rhampsinitus lies,
‘And from the chamber of his coffin went
‘A downward slope of shining stone, that bent
‘Its way to central earth, where Isis great
‘In the dim realm of death, Amenthes, sate.
‘Like Rhampsinitus, there I diced: yet not
‘Like him, for her game gain'd the alternate lot;
‘And when mine fell, a Syrian robed in snow
‘Snatch'd all the lucky dice, and foil'd the throw.
‘And Isis frown'd and said, The toil is vain.
‘Then on the tables fell a crimson rain;
‘And as the vision fled, I heard, The toil is vain.

222

‘—But now I know the vainness of the toil.
‘First will I sweep and cleanse the holy soil
‘Of these profane, the scum of Hyksôs' brood,
‘Fit leaders of the leprous multitude.
‘Then, having purified the land from ill,
‘Thou shalt entreat for me Osiris' will,
‘That I may know what sacrifices best
‘Will bend the God to grant me my behest,
‘That I may see his glory, even I.’

‘So be it,’ the magician made reply:
‘But for the men are many, and their creed
‘Allures both them who have, and them who need,
‘And that their chieftain, nursed up as a boy
‘In all our wisdom, now to our annoy
‘Ungrateful turns the magic lore he gain'd,
‘A royal slave within thy halls maintain'd,
‘Best to begin with hallow'd guile, and then
‘Smite the base throng, their leaders being slain,
‘Defeated in their atheist palmistry.
‘For by the skill that Hermés lodged in me
‘Here in thy presence will I show them fools,
‘And Amoûn only he that is and rules.
‘This done, they will be readily thy prey.’
So spake he, and departed on his way.

223

BOOK II

Again within the pillar'd hall and high
Amenophis sate and watch'd the hours go by,
Whilst at the throne's foot the long shadow pass'd
From the tall gnomon o'er the pavement cast.
Meanwhile the leaders of the Syrian throng,
Marvelling and moved at thoughts of threaten'd wrong,
Beneath Osarsiph range them in the hall,
Osarsiph, their great chief, and soul of all:

Like one of those gray pillars he stood there,
Firm in himself alone, with quiet air
Doing his office: somewhat scant in phrase
And mild of aspect: but his mouth betrays
Throughness that cannot falter; and his eye
On some far vision dwells incessantly,
Making it full of inner light and heat:
As when on holy ground he bared his feet
Watching the harmless flame to heaven ascend,
And talk'd with the Most High, as friend with friend.
So, courteous and unfearing he stood there,
As one to whom all places equal were,
And equal to all presences: and bore
Like a light load his threescore years and more.

224

Then said the King:

‘Osarsiph, for I hear
‘That thou art wise in all our lore, and dear
‘To many in the land, fain would I see
‘What holy power and wisdom is with thee.’

Then he: ‘I am obedient to thy word,
‘O King, what thing soever thou hast heard.
‘The Most High, whom alone I serve and know,
‘Will what He will upon His slave bestow.’

Then budding osier-twigs in rows they lay,
And strip them white, and cast the bark away.
And every priest his osier-rod throws down,
Which leaps and flashes to a serpent brown
And with a sudden hiss passes from sight.

Osarsiph also takes an osier white,
And on the polish'd floor the rod throws down,
Which leaps and flashes to a serpent brown
And with a sudden hiss passes from sight.

‘The Gods are equal: equal is the fight’
The people shout.

‘Ye foolish ones, not so:
‘From Amoûn's hand all signs and wonders flow.
‘The blesséd ones e'en from the bad man's eyes
‘Withdraw not all the secrets of the skies;

225

‘For Typhôn guards his sons, and Horus smiles
‘To see the wicked trapp'd in his own wiles.
‘And other wonders, past his word and spell,
‘The God allots to those who love him well.
‘But first, as we would do the right by all,
‘Upon our slave, Osarsiph, here we call
‘In whose name, by whose power, he does this thing.’

So from his chair of splendour spoke the King
Seemingly just: but he, in sober phrase,
‘Not unto us, not unto us, the praise,
‘Royal Amenophis, for this or aught.
‘The God who from far lands our fathers brought,
‘The God Most High, working through me this sign,
‘Has put a word in my mouth, even mine.
‘Alone by his own will he made all things,
‘El-Shaddai, Lord of Lords, and King of Kings.
‘The sun and stars, the sea and the dry land
‘Are dust within the hollow of his hand;
‘The nations and their Gods being nought before
‘This only one who is for evermore.
‘His house is not in temples made by hands,
‘Or where the altar and the offering stands;
‘For earth and skies and all that is in them
‘Are but the waving of his garment-hem.
‘How should ye climb up to his presence thus?
‘We may not see him, as he sees through us.
‘And he within my heart has put this word:
‘The groaning of his people he has heard,

226

‘And bids thee lift the burden from their back
‘Or’....

But at this a roaring, hoarse and black,
Went up throughout the hall, as when the dyke
Breaks, and the boulder-rocks and waters strike
Down the doom'd vale in thunder: and some were
Who call'd to smite him to the pavement bare,
With glittering eyes and teeth, and frantic cry,
And noise of hands, and falchions flash'd on high.
But, smiling 'neath his beard, he calmly stood
(God being with him) mid the riot rude,
As one who knows his time is not yet come,
A willing exile from the promised home.
Likewise the King survey'd the tumult hoarse
Calmly, nor loth to give the flood its course,
And then to silence waved, and briefly said
‘Son of Paapis, he is with the dead.
‘But first, for we would bring the slave to shame
‘Lest, after death, the followers use his name,
‘Let us entreat that Horus, through our hand,
‘Shall work some sign that he cannot withstand
‘Or equal or undo.’

So silence reigns
One hour throughout the hall, and each refrains
Almost from very breath, lest Horus' ire
Should smite with arrowy storm of forkéd fire.
Now sacrifice is done, and embers red
Glow like faint rubies on each altar-head,

227

And smoke and incense cloud the noontide air.
When lo! obedient to the sage's prayer
A globe of light, that none can gaze upon,
Liquid and large hangs o'er the ivory throne,
And in it work and waver sapphire wings
And eyes of hawks and fearful nameless things.
And all men veil'd their faces, and fell prone
And cried ‘Amoûn is God, and he alone.’
Osarsiph also bow'd, as if to one
Seen clear in far-off heaven, beyond the sun,
Speaking with Him, who by the burning tree
Said, Of a surety I will be with thee:
‘And if so, O if ever, now! O God,
‘Pitying thine own beneath the bitter rod
‘In the dark house of bondage...’

And he sigh'd.
—Then in one moment darkness o'er the wide
Hall, and great Memphis, and all Egypt fell;
Close clinging darkness, like the soot of hell.
First one sheer shriek among the crowd arose,
Then murmurs seething down to blank repose;
As bees when brimstone fills the hive atop
Hum fierce and high, then fold their wings and drop
So sat the throng that eyeless gloom beneath,
And each held other's hands, and thought it death.
But in the Syrian dwellings there was light.
Softly they then withdrew beneath the night,
And none else stirr'd, till o'er the land afeard
The three days wept-for dawn

Dante's phrase

—la molt' anni lagrimata pace.

at length appear'd.

228

Now when Amenophis saw his might defied,
He call'd the lords of Egypt to his side,
And the decree went forth How all that bow'd
Before Osarsiph's God, the leprous crowd,
Shepherds and herdsmen, East-North-East should go,
Where the great quarries lie, a land of woe,
And leave the holy soil of Egypt free
From the white plague and foul impiety.
'Twas added also, ‘Let a leaden cone
‘Over each leper, fitting him, be thrown,
‘And he be cast within the Eastern sea.’

So through the whole land roll'd the loud decree,
Mendés to Ipsambûl. And though the few,
True to Osarsiph as their chieftain true,
Look'd for some aid from God, some pity shown,
The bitter day went by, and yet was none.
Then from their reedy huts and caves of mud
The royal soldiers, like the rising flood
Of Nilus round some village, chase the crowd,
Old men and youths and babes a-wailing loud,
And women's cries; but the men mostly dumb,
Quitting hard days for harder days to come.
The red Egyptian and the Ethiop black
Mock'd that brown rabble on its painful track;
‘Ye godless slaves, be these your Gods ye bear,
‘In baskets upon asses, rich and rare’?
For sordid loads, in sooth, the exiles bore:
Broken utensils, tatter'd rags and poor

229

Treasures; beneath, what gold and arms they had.
But Hope went not beside that army sad;
Stubborn Persistance only, with keen teeth
Together clench'd, and fix'd immutable Faith.

Behind them crawl'd the lepers, white-hair'd, thin,
Starr'd with bright spots that ate below the skin,
And eyes that glared like wild things in despair,
Beneath the blazing skies outcast and bare.
Gray rolls of lead they dragg'd, each twelve a load,
And soldiers scourged them on the knee-deep road.

Along a terrace, where they pass'd the gate,
Amenophis and his lords to watch them sate
On ivory chairs, with purple canopied,
Fork'd pennons streaming o'er them, blue and red.
Osarsiph also, bound, was set beside.
Then his true wife went by, who vainly tried
With yearning hands to touch his feet, and kiss,
Saying ‘Is this the end, the promise this’?
So she pass'd on among the common herd.
But he look'd down, and spoke no single word.
And in likewise went by his eldest son,
The first fruits of his love, the dearest one,
Bleeding and bound, and raised a bitter cry
‘I go to death: but wilt thou let me die,
‘Father’... then on among the common herd.
But he look'd down, and spoke no single word.

230

Last came there one with white unshelter'd head,
And war-scarr'd limbs, half-hid in patch and shred,
Who to the King stretch'd up his wither'd palms,
And for his utter misery ask'd an alms.
And then Osarsiph beat his breast, and wept.
And the King marvell'd: ‘Wherefore hast thou kept
‘Thy grief for this one, who is none of thine’?
And he: ‘Because they were too nearly mine.
‘But, seeing him, I weep the wrong I see,
‘That after righteous days such end should be.
‘How long, O God, how long shall it be thus?
‘O God our hope; hast thou forgotten us’?

Then the King also wept at hearing him.
And Anaïs, where she lay, the maiden slim,
Crouch'd by the chair, knelt on her knees upright
And touch'd the King's knees and his raiment white,
And scarce could cry his mercy on the man,
Her mouth so fill'd with sobs as she began.
‘Though he be bound for death, yet bid him go:
‘Such tears, falling unwiped, will work us woe.’
So they unloosed and bade him go his way;
And the King said ‘Osarsiph, as a prey
‘Thy life I give thee back, to thine own woe.’
‘Yea,’ answer'd he, ‘but, if God wills, e'en so.’
‘Fool, it is not thy God who bids thee live,
‘But I, that will, to take life or to give.’
Then said he: ‘I shall see thy face no more.
‘But thou, in other days, when these are o'er,

231

‘Only one hour to see my face shalt pray.
‘But He thou mockest shall mock thee that day.’
Now from the black earth and the blazing green
Of those bank-sides the brown Nile slips between,
A little march athwart the wheaten land
The wanderers traverse to the desert strand.
Far as the blesséd waters rise and flow,
So far the emeraldine meadows go;
At a step almost, then, from life's green domain
To the white ashes and the pebbly plain;—
The din of the great cities and the cry
Of labourers in the millet fields and rye,
And creaking dredge-wheels and the Linus song
Making one chorus the whole valley long,—
And the black silence of that horrid plain:
—So nigh, there, life and death hold their domain.
As midsea sailors silent at the bows
Watch the small strip of yellow deck, that ploughs
The furrow of life the barren blue athwart.
But on the people so the scene had wrought,
That here Typhôn and Horus once, men said,
The Powers of Good and Evil, combated;
And in their combat strange the poison breath
Of dark Typhôn well-nigh work'd Horus' death.
For that grim Power took strength continually
From Earth below, who shot forth mountains high
To lend him foothold, till, with sudden clasp
Uplifted high in Horus' mighty grasp

232

(Whom Athor-Isis strengthen'd with new strength);—
O'er giant Evil Good triumph'd at length.
But the sad scene, with its dark tales of old,
Woes present, coming miseries manifold,
With such despair upon the lorn ones press'd,
E'en on those scorching sands they thought to rest;
And there had perish'd, had not God before
Spread a green mirage, to allure them o'er:
And ghostly shafts of light, and mist between,
Like pillars winding o'er the waste were seen.
So guided, they paced on.

But when what gleam'd
So fair and fresh, another Nile it seem'd,
At even-fall a pool of salt they found,
And a few bitter herbs on the white ground,
They drew Osarsiph out, with curse and cry,
Like wolves in circle: ‘Stone him, that he die.’
But forth his sister Miriam, where she stood
With kind hands busy for the multitude
Binding the footsore children of the crowd,
Came, and with passionate gesture cried aloud
‘Not him, not him, but me; the eldest one:
‘He might have made his peace; I urged him on.’
Then others said: ‘Let both together die!
‘Better to fall in Egypt, manfully,
‘Than here of thirst, like beasts.’

Whereat their chief:
‘Let be, for surely will He grant relief.’
And on the bitter pool his staff he threw,

233

As one who knows that, whatso'er he do,
The end has come. But when the people drew,
They drank, and were refresh'd; for it was sweet.
And they fell down, and kiss'd Osarsiph's feet.

Yet, as men redden oft the gray-blue steel
In furnace plunged, anon in ice anneal,
To put the keenest temper on its edge,
E'en so 'tis aye the nation's privilege
Fated to great things, to be greatly tried.
And when they reach'd the allotted mountain-side
And the stern quarries, many times they said
‘Better it were in Egypt, 'mong the dead.’
For there, the green fields and the blesséd Nile;
Here, the bare rocks and thorny herbage vile:
There, the slim fruitful palm, that waves on high
His happy canopies 'gainst a laughing sky;
Here, the dwarf plant upon the stony shelf,
With barren boughs low-twisted on itself,
Like a slave crook'd with toil, and every limb
So bent, man's form is well nigh gone from him.
Thus also bent the people 'neath their toil,
In the fire burn'd, yet not consumed.

Meanwhile
Those were dark years, whilst, where the sunblanch'd rocks
Lay crowding o'er the plain, like folded flocks,
Or in the quarries, where the limestone ledge
Went climbing up the precipice,—edge on edge

234

Crawling like ants, they labour'd at the stone.
Pale spaces and keen blue above them shone,
And stars went by, gazing down pitiless
Upon their iron toil, and long duresse,
Rounding the back, and parching up each limb.
No cheering green; no water-voice; but grim
And silent the dead desert, round its prey.

But whilst in the red furnace thus they lay,—
The drowsihood of Egypt, the soul's rust,
The life according to the flesh, and lust,
Soft selfishness of city luxuries,
And hardening want, that has no hope to rise;—
The baser nature in the slave begot,
Who, treated beast-like, beast-like learns to rot;—
The boastings of vain science, that could give
Blessings to life, whilst she untaught to live;
The boastings of vain priesthoods, who deny
All ways to God, but what themselves supply,
The sensual impulse of the gorgeous rite,
The myriad Gods, that hid the One from sight:
—All this, the fire of Heaven burn'd out from them;
And a new heart within the people came,
Raising to higher things than yet they dream'd.

God also was more near them than He seem'd
In multitudinous Egypt, where the sighs
And glare and steam of life o'er-hazed the skies.

235

—For though man gains from man, yet something then
Of higher nature slips beyond his ken,
Nor does the heart within the heart speak plain,
Till to the lonely land he turns again,
In valleys, where the still small voices brood,
And hints of Heaven that flash through solitude:—
There in blue fire the silver summits rest,
Scored with a thousand secrets on their breast;
There, snow and sapphire mingled as they go,
Wild murmuring messages down the torrents flow:—
—O hall of audience for high converse fit!
Where the All speaks with man, and he with It;
And drinks the free fresh life of mountain peace,
Learning himself in the waste wilderness.

236

BOOK III

Meantime the King, as one secure from ill,
His foes withdrawn, work'd out his utmost will,
And the long vale of Nile, from side to side,
From North to South-ward, swept and purified,
Bringing the land back to her earlier ways.
Now, as gray herons, whom men and dogs upraise
From their still mere, and scatter through the copse,
When those they fear are gone, from the tree-tops
(Their leader calling them with one shrill cry)
Come down and o'er the mere in ecstasy
One moment skim, with outstretch'd neck and bent;
Then settle in their haunts down, well content,
Lords of the place, to dig and dive for food,
—So back on Egypt came the multitude
Of her strange-headed Gods, and crowd the soil

Then in the polish'd temples, by long toil
Cameo'd with acts of kings, and holy names,
From low-built altars sparkled the white flames,
Incense, and fat of sheep, and phoenix-root.
And Buto's oracle, long choked and mute,
Regain'd her voice, for counsel or to warn,
And Memnon's image sang once more at morn.

237

Likewise the Linus-burden Fair, O fair,
Each reaping-band alternate taking share,
Across the Nile, above the harvest boats,
In melancholy cadence answering floats:
And Isis on the husbandmen pours down
Her yearly blessings in the cornsheaves brown.
So to its earlier ways the land return'd,

But the King's heart, which first within him burn'd,
Raising the faith up, and from their abodes
Chasing the enemy of the blesséd Gods,
Grew cold, he knew not why; and all his toil
Came back upon him with a dull recoil,
As when in dreamland men uproll a stone
Which ever to their hand returns anon
Making their labour piteous: and the thirst
To see the God, was hot in him as erst;
So far as light 'twas, to the light was true,
Yet to his heart's desire no nearer drew.
So sate he crown'd with care, and sick at ease.

‘All has been done, that should Osiris please;
‘His foes driven out; the whole land once more his:
‘The God is debtor to Amenophis.
‘Should he not pay, shall I pay sacrifice?
‘Alas! but I can aid me thus nowise.
‘For, seen or unseen, satisfied or irate,
‘The Gods are there, and masters of our fate.

238

‘Yet if I saw him once, then might I know
‘Whether our prayers and deeds reach him, or no.
‘I must be sure here, or in doubt of all.
‘For the great vision I, the Pharaoh, call!
‘However named, however form'd, appear:
‘The King of Kings can look on thee, and bear.’
Thus thinking, he survey'd the pictured wall,
And watch'd the flushing sunbeam softly crawl
O'er Rhampsinitus, red and huge of limb,
Dicing with Isis in Amenthes dim.
Then with quick steps a Nubian, crisp-hair'd, small,
White-girded, broke the silence of the hall:
Holding above his head a letter seal'd,
And said ‘This for the King of Kings,’ and kneel'd.
But when Amenophis took it, he was gone.
And the King, wondering, read the scroll anon.

The dead son of Paapis to the King.
‘From dark Amenthes this last word I bring:
‘Because thou hast, among the leprous throng,
‘Driven hence a holy priest, doing him wrong,
‘Who now in the great quarry, a brown speck
‘Beneath the ledgy rocks, and o'er his neck
‘A halter hung, wearied and shrunk in limb,
‘Melts his life down, a soldier scourging him,
‘Though he has trodden where the angels trod,
‘Holding free converse with the most high God,
‘And seeing that, which thou shalt never see,—
‘I then, son of Paapis, say to thee

239

‘Repent thee of this thing, and set him free.
‘For I who counsell'd thee to do this wrong
‘Am call'd away from life, in mid-age strong,
‘From pleasures, and all sweet things on the earth,
‘From wisdom, and from wisdom's inner mirth
‘When a man thinks of all he knows,—but then
‘Dies down among the herd of common men,
‘And is like me, a shade, and man no more.’

Then the King shouted, and his raiment tore,
Like one who suddenly to madness goes
From reason calm, nor his own purpose knows,
Nor what he was, remembers; but despair
Folds round him as a robe, closer than air;
Sitting like stone: and should the world go by,
The show of it had not reach'd his absent eye.

Only a memory murmur'd in his brain
Restless and saying low The toil is vain:
That also, Thou to see my face shalt pray,
But he thou mockest shall mock thee that day.

Then far off, faint, like insect voices fine
Heard and not heard, when midday sunbeams shine
On meadows, where the golden grasses rear
Their spiked array above the listener's ear,
High notes, in intermittent strain, stole through
Where the King sate, and mingled with his woe:
But he just raised his hand, as though to chase
Some clear-wing'd gauzy minstrel from his face.

240

Next, four-string'd lyres, as near the music draws,
With webs of rich embroidery fill'd each pause,
And mellow chords beat undulating low
Like throbs from happy hearts that overflow
With too much happiness.

Anon they stand
Before the throne, the Lydian chorus-band:
And now, as one who thanks the Gods,

To lovers of music this passage may faintly recall the marvellous Quartet in A minor (Op. 132),—Beethoven's hymn upon recovery from severe illness. In the central portion of this Poem without words, the solemn Canzone Lidico of thanksgiving is soon followed by the brilliant outburst, marked Sentendosi nuova forza.

restored
To life from sickness, a full strain they pour'd,
Sweetness unearthly, solemn blissfulness:—
Now, as if new force came within them, press
Hurried, and bounding high: then, gliding, toy
With the low notes, and sighs of utter joy.
Last, a gay march like wreathéd pearls flung round.
Then one sang out, in words of Lydian sound:

‘Return, Adonis, for the Hours are near:
‘Return, Cythéré: thy beloved is here.
‘The long months’ tomb hath hid each dainty limb;
‘O bitter frost-months, parting her and him!
‘Seal'd in the barren cave he may forget,
‘But Cypris Queen sighs and remembers yet,—
‘The hyacinth beds, that from the pinewood dip,
‘The little Loves that flew from lip to lip
‘Like birds from bough to bough, and all that bliss:—
‘O Cypris dear! and yet to end in this!
‘—Dióné's child, lament him now no more;
‘The Hours Adonis to thine arms restore.

241

‘Lo here for thee and here for him we spread
‘The ivory couch, and smooth the purple bed:
‘O young Adonis, crown for us the year!
‘Sick with delay, let thy fair face appear;
‘Here with the violet-crown'd take up thy rest;
‘Blest in thy coming, in thy going blest.’

So Anaïs fair sang, and before the throne
Crouch'd and her eyes hid, when the rest were gone.
But from his heart meanwhile despair had fled,
By the soft touch of music banishéd,
And the consoling passion of that strain:
And calmer blood came back into his brain,
And hopes and thoughts more fitting man's estate.
Then on a low stool at his feet she sate,
Drawing the gauze over her breast, and laid
Her head into his hands, and smiled, and said,

‘O Lord and King, if I may speak thee aught
‘Of counsel, (thou being wise, and Anaïs nought),
‘But 'tis not so as thou this thing hast done
‘That in my country men the God have won,
‘As, chasing them who other altars prize,
‘Or taking heaven by storm with instant cries.
‘For in their quiet seats They sit and smile.
‘And though 'tis said their forms were seen erewhile
‘By mortal men, as those round Ilios slain,
‘Aiding the Heroes in their toil and pain,

242

‘Yet at their own good will from heaven they shot,
‘Like lightning flashes keen, and then were not.
‘Likewise as though by chance, at moments when
‘None reck'd: as he of the Arcadian glen,
‘Laphanés, Euphorion's son, the shining Two
‘Housed in Azania: or where, neath the snow
‘Of Bermion, mid the gardens of the King,
‘The sixty-petall'd roses burn in spring,
‘And men came by and caught Silenus there
‘Sleep-flush'd and rose-drunk in the lavish air.
‘But far from me, my Lord, may such things lie!
‘Lest I should see the blesséd ones, and die:—
‘But I would live; what pleasure is in death?
‘For we have but a cubit's span of breath,
‘The gnat's one-day life; and, e'en thus, the sun
‘Oft hides his face, ere our brief line be run.
‘Let me be so, or let me cease to be.—
‘O young Adonis, thus I envy thee,
‘Having no frozen age, but in thy bloom
‘Closed in the chambers of the restful tomb!

Then he: ‘O little heedful of thy doom!
‘As though indeed this one fair hour of love
‘Were all the circle, neath us, and above!
‘Whilst, deep in central space, Osiris sits
‘Judging the soul, as from the corpse it flits,
‘Whether it willeth not, or if it will.
‘And Horus holds the scale of Good and Ill,

243

And he I name not, standing with his rod,
Measures the dreadful balance for the God.
Seek not the Babylonian star-lore vain,
But simply bear whate'er the Powers ordain.
For so it must be, Anaïs, even so;
Whether we will it, Anaïs mine, or no.
And these things often in thy soul should'st view,
Lest, too late waking, thou shalt find them true.
Remember'st not the words thy kinsman sung,
The young Aeolian minstrel to the young?—
‘—O thou too confident in the strength of youth,
‘All too young yet to dread the day of truth;
‘When the sad years are white upon thy head,
‘And that dark plumage of thy shoulders shed,
‘And the soft blush-rose blanch'd from out the cheek,
‘And from thy eloquent mirror-glass shall speak
‘Another Anaïs, then, Alas, wilt say,
‘Why, what I think now, thought I not that day?
‘Or why, when wisdom comes, in wisdom's train.
‘Do not the untarnish'd roses bloom again?”

Then Anaïs soft: ‘So be it, an it must!
We are their playthings; they are strong and just.
And I have heard how Peleus and his son,
Cadmus, and Herakles, and many a one
Like them, as Gods among the Gods are set:
—Where all our night long their sun shineth yet,
And red-rose meadows round their city fold,
And waveless waters starr'd with flowers of gold.

244

‘Likewise they toil not now by sea or shore,
‘With the just Gods living for evermore,
‘Life without tears.

But I would rather be
‘With him that lies by Megara-on-sea,
‘Diokles, who erewhile from Athens came,
‘He who loved children, and was loved of them:
‘—Ever around his tomb, when Spring is nigh,
‘The village-youths with rival kisses vie;
‘And he who sweetest lip on lip hath press'd,
‘Goes violet-crown'd, and is proclaim'd the Best.
‘So would I lie, and list the whispers sweet,
‘And rosy shufflings of unsandall'd feet.
‘—Be these things as they may! But O my lord
‘Wilt thou not hearken to the wise man's word,
‘Loosing the lepers from their misery?
‘For to the God should they be left, whom he
‘Hath smitten with a heavy hand, and woe.
‘Have pity on them: Let the people go.’
So Anaïs pleaded, with a woman's heart
Right to the right, and to the better part
Strove to win o'er the King.

But whether pride
Wrought in him for his purposes defied,
Or wrath of mere despair, some say his heart
Was harden'd, and refused the better part,
Hurling his chariots on, and seaward chased
Those whom, at Heaven's command, the waves embraced

245

As friends, and yielded passage; but the host
Of Egypt and her King were sunk and lost.
For as a mountain torrent to the sea
So rush'd all Egypt's might confusedly,
And the sea claim'd his own.

But when the morn
Came, pure and peaceful from the tempest born,
Over a plain of smiles the sunbeams glide,
And the white whispers of the rippling tide.

—But God hath also gentler ways to deal
With his own creature, and with him can feel,
Pitying his pride of heart, not smiting him.
Nor is He less within the twilight dim
Of seeking souls, than in the soul upright
That sees him face to face, and walks in light;
Knowing all knowledge nothing before His.

Thus also fared it with Amenophis.
For other stories tell, how the King's heart
Was changed and soften'd to the better part
By Anaïs and her sweet womanliness.
And how he loosed the people from duresse,
Giving them gifts, that they should take their way
East, where the dwellings of their kinsfolk lay,
And serve the God of all, so as they chose.

Then the great King and his land had repose
A many years, and all things rich and good:
For Nilus bless'd them with his living flood,

246

And kine, and wine, and golden granaries.
And from the leprous taint they had release,
Cleansing the land: nor did the Lybian foe,
Nor he from far Assyria, work them woe
Wasting as locusts: nor the pirate-bands
Of Crete or Sidon, dropping on the sands,
Harry the palm-roof'd cabin-huts, or those
In cities, where the seven-branch'd Nile outflows.
But when the time was now fulfill'd, that he
Should go, where man at length the God may see,
Then Anaïs, being younger, was afraid
Lest she alone should linger, life-delay'd.
So, going to the shrine, the God besought,
That if her faithfulness had merit aught,
He would vouchsafe them what for man was best.

Thus having pray'd, she took the maiden vest
Wherein she cross'd the seas, and crown'd her head.
Likewise the King came robed and garlanded;
And sacrifice was held, and feasting high.
Then, where close-veil'd from touch of human eye
The image of great Isis darkly gleams,
Within the furthest shrine, a place of dreams,
Silent, before the smouldering altar-brand,
With the last kisses, and the hand on hand,
They fell on sleep together where they lay;
Awaking to the long, long, better Day.