Dirge for Aoine and other poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Out of the East we have followed a star,
Gaspar, Melchior, Balthazar.
I who am Melchior, bent and gray,
Bear not lightly the toilsome way;
Bear not gladly the shivering wind,
Leagues before us and leagues behind.
Crown and orb will not keep from the cold;
I was a King, but now I am old.

Many a battle and many a scar
Marked out my cousin Balthazar:
Of Gaspar the boy no harpers sing—
Of a flowerless country the deedless King.
But age and youth in the quest have met,
And journeys come to the good end set;
And lighting down by a stable door
I bring the homage of Melchior.

“I bring and give to the Holy Child
Snowy pearls for the Undefiled,
Rose-red rubies that put to shame
Flower of sunset or flower of flame.
Jasper, jacinth, and selenite,
Sea-green beryl and malachite,
Milky fires that in opals shine;
Take, little King, for they all are Thine.”

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But mine-brought jewel or sea-wrought gem,
The fair Child heeded not one of them.

Then knelt and greeted Him, Balthazar,
Swart and scarred from his last wild war.
“Here, little King, is homage free—
He knows not Herod who kneels to Thee.
Gums I have brought Thee, sweet with spice
As winds that blow out of Paradise,
A lump of amber that fishers drew
Up where the green sea meets the blue,
A silver casket, a bag of musk,
And a dagger carved from a wild beast's tusk.”

But the young Child turned from the spice and gums,
And now 'tis Gaspar who greeting comes.
“My country lies near the sunrise: thence
I have brought but a handful of frankincense
And a little flasket of bitter myrrh.
Poor is my land and the King of her,
And out of our poortith thus I bring
Gifts for a slave, not gifts for a King.”

But deep in the young Child's quiet eyes
We saw a flickering smile arise,
And the little hands that were all too frail
To grasp red ruby or silver pale,

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They closed and clung over Gaspar's gift—
And we went forth in the blinding drift.

The Child was scarce to a lad's height grown,
When over my grave they laid the stone,
With many a royal and wizard rite,
And torches scaring afar the night.
He had broken the seals on Lazarus set
When Balthazar and his death-hour met.
Gaspar wept over Him when He died,
Kneeling and mourning the Cross beside,
When the veil of the Temple was torn in twain,
And the earth was rocking in travail-pain.

We are dead and dust, and our realms forget
That ever such Kings by a stable met,
Yet we remember and rise and ride,
Ghosts though we be, each Christmas tide.
But the cock crows soon, and it well may be
We shall ride Time down to Eternity.
The clouds are heavy with more than rain,
But we ride, for the Christ is come again,
And we must meet Him as once of old,
With gifts of frankincense, myrrh, and gold.