 | Poems at Home and Abroad |  |
xi
POEMS OF ITALY AND ABROAD
1
May-time on Monte Subasio
This is the Mount of God;
These heights St. Francis trod
In days as fresh as is the springtide grass.
Yea, and he left behind
The footprints of his mind
Whereby who follow peace and joy may pass.
These heights St. Francis trod
In days as fresh as is the springtide grass.
Yea, and he left behind
The footprints of his mind
Whereby who follow peace and joy may pass.
Wherefore when May is come
Men leave their city home
And all their work and all their cares below,
And seek the upper air
To find St. Francis there,
The haunting spirit of Subasio.
Men leave their city home
And all their work and all their cares below,
And seek the upper air
To find St. Francis there,
The haunting spirit of Subasio.
Eight days the snows have fled
From off the mountain's head;
Not yet the herds upon the uplands rove;
Unharmed by goat and sheep
The blesséd flowers may peep
To give us happy welcome as we move.
From off the mountain's head;
Not yet the herds upon the uplands rove;
Unharmed by goat and sheep
The blesséd flowers may peep
To give us happy welcome as we move.
2
Passed is the city gate
Where Rome once held its state;
Farewell brown roofs, old Castle wall and towers;
Up through the sunburnt rocks
Cool for the fresh-leaved box,
We seek St. Francis' world of thought and flowers.
Where Rome once held its state;
Farewell brown roofs, old Castle wall and towers;
Up through the sunburnt rocks
Cool for the fresh-leaved box,
We seek St. Francis' world of thought and flowers.
How fragrant is the May
That blooms beside the way,
How gold the broom, how green each hazel bush;
There is no wing that stirs
The thorn and junipers,
And over all there broods a solemn hush;
That blooms beside the way,
How gold the broom, how green each hazel bush;
There is no wing that stirs
The thorn and junipers,
And over all there broods a solemn hush;
There on their ruddy steep
The dead men lie asleep,
They cannot hear what Tescio sings to-day;
No lark is in the air
As up the silent stair
We climb, unhelped by song, our mountain way.
The dead men lie asleep,
They cannot hear what Tescio sings to-day;
No lark is in the air
As up the silent stair
We climb, unhelped by song, our mountain way.
But where with tufts of flowers
A grassy lawn is ours,
And hazels cease, and cease the junipers,
Sudden sweet song is given,
Larks fill with joy the heaven,
And at our feet the happy cricket chirrs.
A grassy lawn is ours,
And hazels cease, and cease the junipers,
Sudden sweet song is given,
Larks fill with joy the heaven,
And at our feet the happy cricket chirrs.
3
Tired with the stony ways,
How must our feet not praise,
Subasio, these long miles of grass outspread!
How could the heart not own
God gave no nobler down,
Flower-sprinkled thus, for weary feet to tread!
How must our feet not praise,
Subasio, these long miles of grass outspread!
How could the heart not own
God gave no nobler down,
Flower-sprinkled thus, for weary feet to tread!
For here without its peers
The towering orchis rears,
The fritillaria hangs a mottled bell,
Shines the narcissus eye,
With turquoise jewelry
The fair forget-me-not has worked her spell.
The towering orchis rears,
The fritillaria hangs a mottled bell,
Shines the narcissus eye,
With turquoise jewelry
The fair forget-me-not has worked her spell.
With thoughts of home most sweet,
About the traveller's feet
The golden cowslip glitters far and near.
But better still than all
St. Francis seems to call
‘Ye gave me joy, give these poor strangers cheer.’
About the traveller's feet
The golden cowslip glitters far and near.
But better still than all
St. Francis seems to call
‘Ye gave me joy, give these poor strangers cheer.’
Cool as the air of dawn
Across the fragrant lawn
Comes a soft wind from distant worlds of snow.
Here Thrasymene shines,
And there the Sibilines,
And there Abruzzi's hills in splendour glow.
Across the fragrant lawn
Comes a soft wind from distant worlds of snow.
Here Thrasymene shines,
And there the Sibilines,
And there Abruzzi's hills in splendour glow.
4
From distance, lo! we hark
The wolf of Gubbio bark,
And, where Bagnara 'neath Pennino lies,
I see the soldiers move,
Bearing the man they love
Home to his death, in pain, with blinded eyes.
The wolf of Gubbio bark,
And, where Bagnara 'neath Pennino lies,
I see the soldiers move,
Bearing the man they love
Home to his death, in pain, with blinded eyes.
Or there across the plain,
Purple and patched with grain,
Where grey Bevagna rests beneath the hills,
I hear the good man reach
Bird-hearts, with loving speech,
By which men touch the heart of wild birds still.
Purple and patched with grain,
Where grey Bevagna rests beneath the hills,
I hear the good man reach
Bird-hearts, with loving speech,
By which men touch the heart of wild birds still.
Then back my soul takes flight
To this untroubled height
The ‘little poor man’ loved long years ago,
When for his great heart's rest
He climbed the grassy crest
That looks on Carceri folded far below.
To this untroubled height
The ‘little poor man’ loved long years ago,
When for his great heart's rest
He climbed the grassy crest
That looks on Carceri folded far below.
With what enchantment strange
The mountains, range on range,
Move through the hours in multi-coloured pride;
Now grey with russet hue
Now silver-white and blue,
They boldly show or swift their beauty hide.
The mountains, range on range,
Move through the hours in multi-coloured pride;
Now grey with russet hue
Now silver-white and blue,
They boldly show or swift their beauty hide.
5
Now far away they gleam,
Then, near to touching seem,
While over all in bluest depths of air
White cloudlets fleck the dome
Like choirs of angels come
With pure desire to look on scenes so fair.
Then, near to touching seem,
While over all in bluest depths of air
White cloudlets fleck the dome
Like choirs of angels come
With pure desire to look on scenes so fair.
Here, on this hill of rest
With song and wild flower blest
One presence haunts the ever-changing day,
Changeless in heart and mind,
The lover of his kind,
Still Francis comes to greet us on our way.
With song and wild flower blest
One presence haunts the ever-changing day,
Changeless in heart and mind,
The lover of his kind,
Still Francis comes to greet us on our way.
He points us to the town
Wherein to him was shown
Vision of palace, arms, and beauteous bride;
Then tells us of the fight
Won by a nobler knight
Than rode to old Spoleto in his pride.
Wherein to him was shown
Vision of palace, arms, and beauteous bride;
Then tells us of the fight
Won by a nobler knight
Than rode to old Spoleto in his pride.
He lets us gaze our fill,
Then leads us from the hill
To where the Carceri gave him sure retreat,
Shows where in ilex wood
The angels brought him food
And bids us be partaker of his meat.
Then leads us from the hill
To where the Carceri gave him sure retreat,
Shows where in ilex wood
The angels brought him food
And bids us be partaker of his meat.
6
‘Come ye, yourselves apart,’
He whispers to each heart,
‘And learn how little needs our earthly life,
Then forth like strong men go
From your Subasio
Of loftiest thought—peace-makers in all strife.’
He whispers to each heart,
‘And learn how little needs our earthly life,
Then forth like strong men go
From your Subasio
Of loftiest thought—peace-makers in all strife.’
7
On the Way to Rivo Torto
When on that April day the prophet turned
His back on all that he had loved so well
—Mother and home, and through the forest glade,
Sought, by the road the Roman soldiers made,
That coiling stream beside the leper's cell,
For him no young corn grew—no poppies burned.
His back on all that he had loved so well
—Mother and home, and through the forest glade,
Sought, by the road the Roman soldiers made,
That coiling stream beside the leper's cell,
For him no young corn grew—no poppies burned.
Yet had he found life's surest anodyne,
The love of all earth's common brotherhood,
And in his hand he bore most precious seed
To be the bread whereon true souls may feed
—Sense of a spirit in earth and air and wood
—And in man's heart the power to be divine.
The love of all earth's common brotherhood,
And in his hand he bore most precious seed
To be the bread whereon true souls may feed
—Sense of a spirit in earth and air and wood
—And in man's heart the power to be divine.
And we who wander through Mojano's gate,
Or at the cross-way talk with brother Giles,
Then forward go beneath the shadowy elms,
Feel the dark shame that well nigh overwhelms,
To think, though still St. Francis on us smiles,
We will not taste the heavenly food he ate.
Or at the cross-way talk with brother Giles,
Then forward go beneath the shadowy elms,
Feel the dark shame that well nigh overwhelms,
To think, though still St. Francis on us smiles,
We will not taste the heavenly food he ate.
8
Ah! would to God that through the rustling corn
Some leper from Saint Madelena's home
Would cry for pity, so that we might prove
At least there lives on earth St. Francis' love,
At least his great compassion still may come
To succour outcast sorrowing ones forlorn.
Some leper from Saint Madelena's home
Would cry for pity, so that we might prove
At least there lives on earth St. Francis' love,
At least his great compassion still may come
To succour outcast sorrowing ones forlorn.
Now have we reached the stable by the well,
Have knelt a moment in the neighbouring shrine,
But no one asks our cloak, we are full fed
No need to seek for bits of broken bread,
And when the stars to-night above us shine,
We shall not share with beasts a leper's cell.
Have knelt a moment in the neighbouring shrine,
But no one asks our cloak, we are full fed
No need to seek for bits of broken bread,
And when the stars to-night above us shine,
We shall not share with beasts a leper's cell.
So, wrapt in thought, to home we turn our face
Cool towards the sunset over rippling corn,
Through silver olives, vine-clad mulberries,
Comes the soft air of eve, and as it flies
I hear a voice, ‘Behold! ye must be born,
Born once again, to find St. Francis' grace.’
Cool towards the sunset over rippling corn,
Through silver olives, vine-clad mulberries,
Comes the soft air of eve, and as it flies
I hear a voice, ‘Behold! ye must be born,
Born once again, to find St. Francis' grace.’
Then through the elms I hear a little bell,
Not that great thunderer—St. Francesco's pride,
Nor the deep bell beneath the purple dome
That masks and mocks the ‘Little Portion's’ home,
A bell that speaks as if an angel cried,
The bell that rings where Clara used to dwell.
Not that great thunderer—St. Francesco's pride,
Nor the deep bell beneath the purple dome
That masks and mocks the ‘Little Portion's’ home,
A bell that speaks as if an angel cried,
The bell that rings where Clara used to dwell.
9
And as it rings, beside a rose in flower,
The sweet wild rose that touches every heart,
I see a grey monk kneeling in the way;
He prays, and knows St. Clara too will pray,
Then rises blest, and never more apart,
Walks with her soul towards heaven in peace and power.
The sweet wild rose that touches every heart,
I see a grey monk kneeling in the way;
He prays, and knows St. Clara too will pray,
Then rises blest, and never more apart,
Walks with her soul towards heaven in peace and power.
The dream has vanished, but in all the plain
Henceforth there is no path so dedicate
To love as this, where moving up and down
To beg for alms in old Assisi's town
Called by the bell above St. Damien's gate,
St. Francis quite forgot his life-long pain.
Henceforth there is no path so dedicate
To love as this, where moving up and down
To beg for alms in old Assisi's town
Called by the bell above St. Damien's gate,
St. Francis quite forgot his life-long pain.
And still each time with blessing in the air
For those who pass down Rivo Torto's way
The tinkling bell of Damien's church may sound,
There on his knees St. Francis will be found
As happy as a lover, sworn to pray
And work with one God gave him, Sister Clare.
For those who pass down Rivo Torto's way
The tinkling bell of Damien's church may sound,
There on his knees St. Francis will be found
As happy as a lover, sworn to pray
And work with one God gave him, Sister Clare.
10
St. Francis
To his seraphic city on the hill,
Not ever hid since Francis passed away,
From all the world we pilgrims come to-day
Because his heart on earth is beating still,
Because we feel the indomitable will
That fought its fight beneath the cloak of grey,
That bade men know they rule who best obey
And in pure love Christ's golden law fulfil.
Not ever hid since Francis passed away,
From all the world we pilgrims come to-day
Because his heart on earth is beating still,
Because we feel the indomitable will
That fought its fight beneath the cloak of grey,
That bade men know they rule who best obey
And in pure love Christ's golden law fulfil.
True, knightly-hearted, simple and sincere,
We know thee now; come forth with shepherd's rod
And song of praise to feed us and to guide!
For poor men call, and still we seek thy bride;
Star-flowers on earth, and stars in heaven shine clear
To lead us thro' obedience up to God.
We know thee now; come forth with shepherd's rod
And song of praise to feed us and to guide!
For poor men call, and still we seek thy bride;
Star-flowers on earth, and stars in heaven shine clear
To lead us thro' obedience up to God.
11
Sabbath Dawn at Castel di Poggio
Tired of the Pisan railway thunder,
Flash of the day and flicker of night,
Happy the man who sees the wonder
Of silent dawn from this castle-height.
Flash of the day and flicker of night,
Happy the man who sees the wonder
Of silent dawn from this castle-height.
Vallombrosa all lilac and tender,
Lilac tender on olives pale,
And the cypress towers in sunlit splendour
High o'er the Arno's sunless vale.
Lilac tender on olives pale,
And the cypress towers in sunlit splendour
High o'er the Arno's sunless vale.
Not a sound in the tree-tops going,
Not a cicala to greet the morn;
Only the voice of a shrill cock crowing,
Only the note of a goat-herd's horn.
Not a cicala to greet the morn;
Only the voice of a shrill cock crowing,
Only the note of a goat-herd's horn.
Yet as I lean and drink the beauty
Sudden I hear the clang of bells,
‘God is the Lord and praise is duty,’—
So the throb of their melody tells.
Sudden I hear the clang of bells,
‘God is the Lord and praise is duty,’—
So the throb of their melody tells.
12
Praise, yea praise for His mercy, giving
Strength to the toiler, fruit to the plain,
Another day for joy to the living,
Another day for the end of pain.
Strength to the toiler, fruit to the plain,
Another day for joy to the living,
Another day for the end of pain.
Praise from the city just waked from dreaming,
Praise from Arnolfo's wondrous dome,
Praise from the farms like white stars gleaming
Each with a gift of love and home.
Praise from Arnolfo's wondrous dome,
Praise from the farms like white stars gleaming
Each with a gift of love and home.
Ring on bells, though the sheep are scattered,
And a thousand hills have a thousand ways,
Night shall tell that it little mattered,
For all were one in their need of praise.
And a thousand hills have a thousand ways,
Night shall tell that it little mattered,
For all were one in their need of praise.
13
Sunrise at Castel di Poggio
High o'er the castle tower, and round and round
With leathern wings those fugitives from day,
The whispering bats, rejoiced in tremulous play,
And from the sleepy forest came no sound.
Soft was the air, but all Val d'Arno's bound
Was filled with sudden winter; far away
White Arctic icefloe held unwonted sway
With minished hills of purple beauty crowned.
With leathern wings those fugitives from day,
The whispering bats, rejoiced in tremulous play,
And from the sleepy forest came no sound.
Soft was the air, but all Val d'Arno's bound
Was filled with sudden winter; far away
White Arctic icefloe held unwonted sway
With minished hills of purple beauty crowned.
Red-gold and saffron, wondrous, bar on bar,
Brightened above the hills of Casentine,
And slowly rose the sun, so slow, the fawn
Felt not its shadow on the dewy lawn;
And still as dark as midnight stood the pine,
And still o'er Vallombrosa hung one star.
Brightened above the hills of Casentine,
And slowly rose the sun, so slow, the fawn
Felt not its shadow on the dewy lawn;
And still as dark as midnight stood the pine,
And still o'er Vallombrosa hung one star.
14
The Vindemia at Degli' Angeli
The ox was stalled, the last dark cluster pressed,
The last grape torrent to the vat was poured,
The knives laid by, the empty baskets stored,
The vineyard men and maidens all at rest;
But in the courtyard were the tables dressed
With flowers of flame, and round the cheerful board
—Not without thanks unto the Harvest's Lord—
The cup went round and merry was each guest.
The last grape torrent to the vat was poured,
The knives laid by, the empty baskets stored,
The vineyard men and maidens all at rest;
But in the courtyard were the tables dressed
With flowers of flame, and round the cheerful board
—Not without thanks unto the Harvest's Lord—
The cup went round and merry was each guest.
Old toasts were given, and then beneath the blue
Of Fiesole's star-spangled Heaven we spoke
Our heart's content, and banished all our care.
Ah, never wine was poured, nor bread was broke
By gladder hands, while host and hostess true
Were entertaining angels unaware.
Of Fiesole's star-spangled Heaven we spoke
Our heart's content, and banished all our care.
Ah, never wine was poured, nor bread was broke
By gladder hands, while host and hostess true
Were entertaining angels unaware.
15
On leaving Florence by Starlight
When the first saffron flushed the silver sky
Above the hill where Francis met his friend,
And thro' the homes of sleep—too soon to end—
The Arno like a tranquil dream went by,—
I passed from Florence. One bright star on high
Upon the Vecchio's tower stood still to send
Hope that the power of Heaven with grace would tend
The fortune of that ancient signory—
Above the hill where Francis met his friend,
And thro' the homes of sleep—too soon to end—
The Arno like a tranquil dream went by,—
I passed from Florence. One bright star on high
Upon the Vecchio's tower stood still to send
Hope that the power of Heaven with grace would tend
The fortune of that ancient signory—
There thro' the hushed piazza as I moved
From a bronze tablet on the ground was borne
A voice of exultation, and it cried
‘Savonarola not in vain has died,
Still over Florence burns the star of morn,
The star of Faith and Freedom that he loved.”
From a bronze tablet on the ground was borne
A voice of exultation, and it cried
‘Savonarola not in vain has died,
Still over Florence burns the star of morn,
The star of Faith and Freedom that he loved.”
16
From Orta to Varallo
Over the Colma.
Come! climb to Colma's western height
When Orta's mist at morn ascends,
When vines are filled with golden light
And chestnut shade befriends,
When Orta's mist at morn ascends,
When vines are filled with golden light
And chestnut shade befriends,
And hear a sound, that ever falls
With joy on ears of Cumbrian men,
Pellino's voice of might that calls
From out his woody glen.
With joy on ears of Cumbrian men,
Pellino's voice of might that calls
From out his woody glen.
Knitting with busy hands the while
The women lead their black-woolled sheep;
Men bearing gourds upon us smile
To cheer us up the steep.
The women lead their black-woolled sheep;
Men bearing gourds upon us smile
To cheer us up the steep.
The children bring with liberal hands
Dark grapes warm-hearted from the sun,
Or where the threshers ply their wands,
With chestnut fruitage run.
Dark grapes warm-hearted from the sun,
Or where the threshers ply their wands,
With chestnut fruitage run.
17
We leave tall Arŏla's tower behind,
Its vintage toil, its wayside stream,
By level paths the box has lined,
By golden gourds that gleam.
Its vintage toil, its wayside stream,
By level paths the box has lined,
By golden gourds that gleam.
By ample barns, straw-thatched and warm,
Still up we climb the mountain stair;
Pellino cools us with his charm,
And cowbells fill the air.
Still up we climb the mountain stair;
Pellino cools us with his charm,
And cowbells fill the air.
The height is reached, the ways incline,
Here angels surely love to dwell;
The peasant pauses at the shrine
As if he felt the spell.
Here angels surely love to dwell;
The peasant pauses at the shrine
As if he felt the spell.
A moment stayed for sheer surprise,
Down to another world we leap;
Sad women with their grey-blue eyes
Pass, panniered, up the steep.
Down to another world we leap;
Sad women with their grey-blue eyes
Pass, panniered, up the steep.
Such tinkling music fills the air,
On the green slopes such walnuts stand,
Such chalêts peep, as on we fare,
We dream of Switzerland.
On the green slopes such walnuts stand,
Such chalêts peep, as on we fare,
We dream of Switzerland.
Now Civiasco's street we hail,
With leafage rosy in the sun,
And gaze on that grey gleaming vale
Where Sesia's waters run.
With leafage rosy in the sun,
And gaze on that grey gleaming vale
Where Sesia's waters run.
18
Deep in the woody gorge below
The infant Padus springs to birth;
Though far to Adria's gulf he go
He leaves a sound of mirth.
The infant Padus springs to birth;
Though far to Adria's gulf he go
He leaves a sound of mirth.
And heavy is the peasant's load,
And dark as night the wanderer's care,
Who, listening, cannot leave his load
Upon the mountain stair.
And dark as night the wanderer's care,
Who, listening, cannot leave his load
Upon the mountain stair.
And if the voice can bring no rest
He need but look with backward eyes
To where in gracious woodland drest
Those triple peaks arise.
He need but look with backward eyes
To where in gracious woodland drest
Those triple peaks arise.
Down, down by loop and gyre we went
Along the milk-white rock-hewn way,
With hearts brimful of life's content,
Upon that Autumn day.
Along the milk-white rock-hewn way,
With hearts brimful of life's content,
Upon that Autumn day.
Magnificently, range on range,
The mountains of chameleon hue,
Rose grey against the green, to change
To grey against the blue.
The mountains of chameleon hue,
Rose grey against the green, to change
To grey against the blue.
Strange towery cliffs of rock and wood
Stood up, like giant castles planned
To stem all fierce invaders' flood
And rule a peaceful land.
Stood up, like giant castles planned
To stem all fierce invaders' flood
And rule a peaceful land.
19
The chestnut forest climbed the height,
And in the depth acacia groves
Flashed emerald green, where lost to sight
The double torrent moves.
And in the depth acacia groves
Flashed emerald green, where lost to sight
The double torrent moves.
Then sudden, like a diadem,
White towers above the woodland gleamed,
We saw the new Jerusalem
Old Bernardino dreamed.
White towers above the woodland gleamed,
We saw the new Jerusalem
Old Bernardino dreamed.
Ah! who that knows of Life and Death
And hopes for Life from Death restored,
Would, at such sight not hold his breath
And pray to Christ the Lord!
And hopes for Life from Death restored,
Would, at such sight not hold his breath
And pray to Christ the Lord!
20
At the Chapel of the Madonna del Belmone above Taponacchio, Fobello
They must have eagle's wings, the men who
dwell
On this far slope beneath La Tourba's height,
But they have souls that dare a nobler flight,
For yonder shines their faith's high citadel
Where prayers are said, where rosaries they tell;
First seen at morn and latest seen at night
The snow-white chapel seems a beacon-light,
A sign that Mary loves and guards them well.
On this far slope beneath La Tourba's height,
But they have souls that dare a nobler flight,
For yonder shines their faith's high citadel
Where prayers are said, where rosaries they tell;
First seen at morn and latest seen at night
The snow-white chapel seems a beacon-light,
A sign that Mary loves and guards them well.
Even as I gazed, with looks resigned and calm,
A shepherd went strong-hearted from the shrine,
And up impracticable slopes were driven
The goats, while to the chanting of a psalm
I heard young girls come singing home the kine,
And knew that labour here was blest of Heaven.
A shepherd went strong-hearted from the shrine,
And up impracticable slopes were driven
The goats, while to the chanting of a psalm
I heard young girls come singing home the kine,
And knew that labour here was blest of Heaven.
21
Ponte Gula
Who, from Varallo, seek Fobello's height
May hear the Mastallone all the way
Making rich music, happy in its might,
And, like a giant, happy in its play.
May hear the Mastallone all the way
Making rich music, happy in its might,
And, like a giant, happy in its play.
But, when it nears to Gula's fearsome cleft
The torrent seems to lose its playful mood,
And solemn moves, of all its joy bereft,
As if it felt some deep inquietude.
The torrent seems to lose its playful mood,
And solemn moves, of all its joy bereft,
As if it felt some deep inquietude.
Black are the crags, and even the autumn's gold
No sense of gladness to its way can lend,
While lamentation as for sorrows old
Fills the tall murmuring cliffs from end to end.
No sense of gladness to its way can lend,
While lamentation as for sorrows old
Fills the tall murmuring cliffs from end to end.
But, where beneath that ancient bridge it goes
To change from green to silver and to sun,
Its moody waters quite forget their woes
And on with laughter towards Varallo run.
To change from green to silver and to sun,
Its moody waters quite forget their woes
And on with laughter towards Varallo run.
22
How many a life in this strange world of ours
Has its dark gorge of loneliness and grief
So deep we cannot reach with human powers
And sympathetic touch to bring relief!
Has its dark gorge of loneliness and grief
So deep we cannot reach with human powers
And sympathetic touch to bring relief!
But Nature still abides, her hand can bring
Help to the heart in darkness doomed to move,
And sudden, makes a sun-lit opening
To give us back new happiness and love.
Help to the heart in darkness doomed to move,
And sudden, makes a sun-lit opening
To give us back new happiness and love.
23
Bilâl the Muedzzin
God's Mohammed is dead!
He of the Prophet's choice,
He of the beautiful voice.
Bilâl now sits in the gate,
Bowed and disconsolate,
Cannot lift up his head;
And for his heart's great pain
He never will climb again
The twisted minaret stair,
Never will thrill the night
With the call of the Prophet to prayer,
Crying aloud in his might,
Over camp over castle and keep,
That ‘prayer is better than sleep’:
Bilâl is heart-broken, forlorn.
He of the Prophet's choice,
He of the beautiful voice.
Bilâl now sits in the gate,
Bowed and disconsolate,
Cannot lift up his head;
And for his heart's great pain
He never will climb again
The twisted minaret stair,
Never will thrill the night
With the call of the Prophet to prayer,
Crying aloud in his might,
Over camp over castle and keep,
That ‘prayer is better than sleep’:
Bilâl is heart-broken, forlorn.
The years have flown and the hair
That falls on his bosom is white,
But still with unquenchable fire
Bilâl the Muedzzin must share
The shame or the glory of fight,
The fury of Mussulman war;
Still must follow the host
That follows the crescent and star,
Still, whatever it cost,
Must mix with the conquering host
That, led by the Caliph Omar,
Will preach the New Faith by the sword.
That falls on his bosom is white,
24
Bilâl the Muedzzin must share
The shame or the glory of fight,
The fury of Mussulman war;
Still must follow the host
That follows the crescent and star,
Still, whatever it cost,
Must mix with the conquering host
That, led by the Caliph Omar,
Will preach the New Faith by the sword.
And now from the blue sea's hem
And the shore's long carpet of grain,
Over the ridges of grey
That roll from Jerusalem
South to the Beersheba plain,
North to great Hermon, and height
Of Lebanon white with its snow,
The flame of the Paynim fight
Has flashed on its terrible way
Right through the heart of its foe,
Searing the land with its bale:
Yea, and the City that lies
By Pharpha, set like a gem,
Green in the golden sand,
Portal of Paradise,
Damas has opened its gates,
Has cast the crown from her hand,
Has bowed to the crescent and star
And owned the Caliph Omar.
And the shore's long carpet of grain,
Over the ridges of grey
That roll from Jerusalem
South to the Beersheba plain,
North to great Hermon, and height
Of Lebanon white with its snow,
The flame of the Paynim fight
Has flashed on its terrible way
Right through the heart of its foe,
Searing the land with its bale:
Yea, and the City that lies
By Pharpha, set like a gem,
Green in the golden sand,
Portal of Paradise,
Damas has opened its gates,
25
Has bowed to the crescent and star
And owned the Caliph Omar.
So to the sea by the coast
Has passed the victorious host,
Down by the way where of old
Sennacherib's car was rolled,
Down by the rocks that tell
The power of Nimrod and Bel;
And gathered there by the shore
Of burning Barytus they cry,
‘Caliph command once more
Thy warriors all draw nigh
And hear once again from the wall
A blessing from heaven fall,
Hear as in days gone by
Bilâl the Muedzzin cry.’
Has passed the victorious host,
Down by the way where of old
Sennacherib's car was rolled,
Down by the rocks that tell
The power of Nimrod and Bel;
And gathered there by the shore
Of burning Barytus they cry,
‘Caliph command once more
Thy warriors all draw nigh
And hear once again from the wall
A blessing from heaven fall,
Hear as in days gone by
Bilâl the Muedzzin cry.’
Then did the Caliph Omar
Command; and his men of war
Stood by the shore of the sea,
Silently man by man,
To listen the loud ‘Adhan.’
Command; and his men of war
Stood by the shore of the sea,
Silently man by man,
To listen the loud ‘Adhan.’
And Bilâl clomb up as of yore
The minaret there by the shore,
Climbed, but in panting and pain,
Rested his breath to gain;
Then with his face to the east
Waited till light be increased
And the rose should bloom in mid air,
And the Paradise gates unclose,
And the star should stoop through the rose
To hearken the call to prayer.
The minaret there by the shore,
26
Rested his breath to gain;
Then with his face to the east
Waited till light be increased
And the rose should bloom in mid air,
And the Paradise gates unclose,
And the star should stoop through the rose
To hearken the call to prayer.
He cried, and the listening sea
That before in its thunder was rolled,
Heedless of man and free,
Sank in purple and gold
To silence there on the beach,
And the wild fowl out in the bay
Clamorous ceased from speech,
And the dolphin stopped in his play.
That before in its thunder was rolled,
Heedless of man and free,
Sank in purple and gold
To silence there on the beach,
And the wild fowl out in the bay
Clamorous ceased from speech,
And the dolphin stopped in his play.
For words by Bilâl were cried
That, echoing far and wide,
Seawards and up to the land
Fell like a charm and were heard
By wandering dolphin and bird,
Heard by the wind-deafened tide,
Heard by the sea-deafened sand.
And there 'twixt the rose and the star
There by the solemn flood,
Spellbound, silent, there stood
The army of Caliph Omar;
Faces fierce from the scar,
Hearts made hungry by blood,
Hands made cruel by war.
That, echoing far and wide,
Seawards and up to the land
Fell like a charm and were heard
By wandering dolphin and bird,
Heard by the wind-deafened tide,
Heard by the sea-deafened sand.
And there 'twixt the rose and the star
There by the solemn flood,
27
The army of Caliph Omar;
Faces fierce from the scar,
Hearts made hungry by blood,
Hands made cruel by war.
For the quavering, wavering voice
Of the Man of Mohammed's choice
With ever-increasing power
To silver reverberance grew,
And the swarthy Mussulman crew
Felt on their heads a shower
Of sound, on their hearts a spell
Of a human resonant bell,
Waking old echoes that rang
From the past as Bilâl outsang.
Of the Man of Mohammed's choice
With ever-increasing power
To silver reverberance grew,
And the swarthy Mussulman crew
Felt on their heads a shower
Of sound, on their hearts a spell
Of a human resonant bell,
Waking old echoes that rang
From the past as Bilâl outsang.
Thrice over rampart and gate,
On the warriors hushed and still,
Fell with a magical thrill
The words ‘Our God he is great’:
Twice with unearthly tone,
‘Beside our God there is none.’
And lo! at the last came the cry,
Cry of an angel's voice,
‘Brothers I testify
Mohammed was our God's choice,
Mohammed his prophet alone.’
And answered the trembling air,
Over the land and the deep,
‘Prayer is better than sleep,
Worshippers come to prayer!’
On the warriors hushed and still,
Fell with a magical thrill
The words ‘Our God he is great’:
Twice with unearthly tone,
‘Beside our God there is none.’
And lo! at the last came the cry,
Cry of an angel's voice,
‘Brothers I testify
Mohammed was our God's choice,
28
And answered the trembling air,
Over the land and the deep,
‘Prayer is better than sleep,
Worshippers come to prayer!’
And at the Muedzzin's call,
There by the sea and the shore,
Clear on the minaret wall
Sudden to sight there starts
He their leader of yore,
He of the godlike form,
Lord of their joy and of pain,
King of their calm and their storm;
There by Bilâl once again,
He the delight of their eyes,
He the fire of their hearts,
Giver of Paradise,
Mohammed beloved evermore!
There by the sea and the shore,
Clear on the minaret wall
Sudden to sight there starts
He their leader of yore,
He of the godlike form,
Lord of their joy and of pain,
King of their calm and their storm;
There by Bilâl once again,
He the delight of their eyes,
He the fire of their hearts,
Giver of Paradise,
Mohammed beloved evermore!
Still the Muedzzin's call
Rang from the minaret stair,
Still from the city wall
Echoed the call to prayer;
And at the sound there came,
Warm and bright as a flame,
Memory clear of the days
When they lived for the Prophet's praise,
And would die for the Prophet's word.
And each unbuckled his sword,
And each man leaned on his spear
As 'twere but a staff of wood—
Men made fearless by fear,
Men made careless by blood.
And sudden between their eyes
And the crescent beside the star
A strange mist seemed to rise,
And the tear was felt on the cheek,
And the strong were a moment weak;
For the fierce wild men of war
Remembered the prophet's love
And all he would have them to be;
And through them man to man
A sound like a night wind ran,
Sound of a sighing deep,
As a forest that wakes from sleep,
And sobbed with the sob of a sea
The army of Caliph Omar.
Rang from the minaret stair,
Still from the city wall
Echoed the call to prayer;
And at the sound there came,
Warm and bright as a flame,
Memory clear of the days
29
And would die for the Prophet's word.
And each unbuckled his sword,
And each man leaned on his spear
As 'twere but a staff of wood—
Men made fearless by fear,
Men made careless by blood.
And sudden between their eyes
And the crescent beside the star
A strange mist seemed to rise,
And the tear was felt on the cheek,
And the strong were a moment weak;
For the fierce wild men of war
Remembered the prophet's love
And all he would have them to be;
And through them man to man
A sound like a night wind ran,
Sound of a sighing deep,
As a forest that wakes from sleep,
And sobbed with the sob of a sea
The army of Caliph Omar.
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