The fall of Nineveh A poem by Edwin Atherstone. Second edition: diligently corrected, and otherwise improved. In two volumes |
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| 27. | BOOK THE TWENTY-SEVENTH. |
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 | The fall of Nineveh |  |
265
BOOK THE TWENTY-SEVENTH.
While yet the king his feverish revel held,
Arbaces, from a hot and sleepless bed,—
For his soul grieved when on the woes he thought
Of that Fate-destined city,—rose, and walked
In the sweet air and silence of the dawn,
That he might cool the burning of his brow,
In stillness meditate, and fix resolve.
Loose was his robe; uncovered was his head:
The light breeze stirred his locks of wavy gold.
By care his face was marked: as though with pain,
His high expansive front magnificent,
Was dark, and wrinkled: close were pressed those lips,
Firm, and majestic; and all eloquent
Of the great soul within: of gentleness,
Of justice, and benevolence, in peace;
Of power, and burning ardor, in the strife.
Arbaces, from a hot and sleepless bed,—
For his soul grieved when on the woes he thought
Of that Fate-destined city,—rose, and walked
In the sweet air and silence of the dawn,
That he might cool the burning of his brow,
In stillness meditate, and fix resolve.
Loose was his robe; uncovered was his head:
The light breeze stirred his locks of wavy gold.
By care his face was marked: as though with pain,
His high expansive front magnificent,
Was dark, and wrinkled: close were pressed those lips,
Firm, and majestic; and all eloquent
Of the great soul within: of gentleness,
Of justice, and benevolence, in peace;
Of power, and burning ardor, in the strife.
Through the wide ruin of the wall, at length,
His calm, grand eye, clear as the starry night,
On the lost city pensively he fixed;
Marking how, since the eve, the ravening flames
Black chasms had left, where once had been the homes.
Sacred, perchance, to peace, and all the joys
Of love domestic. Picturing thus the bliss
For ever gone, the miseries yet to be,
Tears filled his eyes; and fain had he resigned
Power, and ambition; and to humblest life
Descended,—so, by that self-sacrifice,
Those ills he might have stayed; yet gained the good,
For which alone the strife.
His calm, grand eye, clear as the starry night,
On the lost city pensively he fixed;
Marking how, since the eve, the ravening flames
Black chasms had left, where once had been the homes.
Sacred, perchance, to peace, and all the joys
Of love domestic. Picturing thus the bliss
For ever gone, the miseries yet to be,
Tears filled his eyes; and fain had he resigned
Power, and ambition; and to humblest life
266
Those ills he might have stayed; yet gained the good,
For which alone the strife.
Resolved, at length,
Soon as the sun, by the glad myriads hymned,
Above the eastern mountains had arisen,—
The princes, and the leaders, to his tent
He summoned: and, when all were well refreshed,
His thoughts made known; nor opposition found.
Soon as the sun, by the glad myriads hymned,
Above the eastern mountains had arisen,—
The princes, and the leaders, to his tent
He summoned: and, when all were well refreshed,
His thoughts made known; nor opposition found.
Almelon then, and fervent Azareel,
Again selecting, he addressed them thus.
“Once more, my friends, unto the city speed;
And to the rulers and the captains say:
‘Are ye not blind,—for one most wicked man,
To call on heads of myriads, innocent,
Assured destruction! What can ye expect?
Your wall is opened wide; the ebbing flood,
In few days more, will leave a broad highway
For thousands, ranked abreast, to pour within:
Nor have ye strength to stay us. Ere the night,
Our horse and chariots will your gates block up:
Ye cannot flee; ye cannot stand in fight:
Your city burns; ye cannot quench the flames.
Were we so bloody-minded,—every man,
And every woman, every living thing
Within your walls, to death might we devote.
But pity moves us: and the brotherly hand,—
Were peace assured,—to all would we extend.
The galling yoke is broken evermore,
Wherewith, for ages, hath Assyria's power
Enslaved the nations; and the East is free.
What would ye, then? Would ye weak mortals tempt,
In pride of conquest, on yourselves the yoke
Retributive to place? Ye have no hope:
Ye cannot conquer; cannot long resist:
Contending, ye must fall. If, then, our blood
Thus needlessly, thus wantonly ye shed,
What can ye look for, but such vengeance dire
As may all future despots pale with dread,
And make the gentle weep? Oh tempt us not!
Weak are the strongest; foolish the most wise!
When boils the blood, its fumes make reason drunk;
And deeds are done, at which the nobler soul,
Recovering, shudders. Once more do we call;
Once more implore you, for yourselves and us,
To stay the scourge of war. Your costly gems,
Your gold, and silver,—spoil of lands enslaved,—
Must to your conquerors now be rendered back.
Plain justice this: but, on allegiance sworn,
Have we not offered life, and liberty?
What would ye more? Yet, lasting peace to gain,
More do we grant you. Hear, and ponder well!
Again selecting, he addressed them thus.
“Once more, my friends, unto the city speed;
And to the rulers and the captains say:
‘Are ye not blind,—for one most wicked man,
To call on heads of myriads, innocent,
Assured destruction! What can ye expect?
Your wall is opened wide; the ebbing flood,
In few days more, will leave a broad highway
For thousands, ranked abreast, to pour within:
Nor have ye strength to stay us. Ere the night,
Our horse and chariots will your gates block up:
Ye cannot flee; ye cannot stand in fight:
Your city burns; ye cannot quench the flames.
Were we so bloody-minded,—every man,
And every woman, every living thing
Within your walls, to death might we devote.
But pity moves us: and the brotherly hand,—
Were peace assured,—to all would we extend.
The galling yoke is broken evermore,
Wherewith, for ages, hath Assyria's power
Enslaved the nations; and the East is free.
What would ye, then? Would ye weak mortals tempt,
In pride of conquest, on yourselves the yoke
Retributive to place? Ye have no hope:
Ye cannot conquer; cannot long resist:
Contending, ye must fall. If, then, our blood
Thus needlessly, thus wantonly ye shed,
What can ye look for, but such vengeance dire
As may all future despots pale with dread,
And make the gentle weep? Oh tempt us not!
Weak are the strongest; foolish the most wise!
267
And deeds are done, at which the nobler soul,
Recovering, shudders. Once more do we call;
Once more implore you, for yourselves and us,
To stay the scourge of war. Your costly gems,
Your gold, and silver,—spoil of lands enslaved,—
Must to your conquerors now be rendered back.
Plain justice this: but, on allegiance sworn,
Have we not offered life, and liberty?
What would ye more? Yet, lasting peace to gain,
More do we grant you. Hear, and ponder well!
“‘Whoso, before to-morrow's noon, shall come
Submissive, and his arms before us lay,
Swearing allegiance,—he as one of us
Shall be regarded: and, when from the walls
Are sent the contumacious, shall remain,
Possessing still his home, and household wealth,—
If such the flames have spared,—and 'gainst him none
Shall cast reproach. Yea, if from out the gates
Come all the people,—unto every man
Such grace shall be: and, when the costly spoil,
Rent from the nations, hath been taken back;
And we a king have chosen, who, with right,
With justice, and beneficence shall rule,—
Then, to the old in-dwellers, cheerfully,
Will we the city yield; and homeward go.
Submissive, and his arms before us lay,
Swearing allegiance,—he as one of us
Shall be regarded: and, when from the walls
Are sent the contumacious, shall remain,
Possessing still his home, and household wealth,—
If such the flames have spared,—and 'gainst him none
Shall cast reproach. Yea, if from out the gates
Come all the people,—unto every man
Such grace shall be: and, when the costly spoil,
Rent from the nations, hath been taken back;
And we a king have chosen, who, with right,
With justice, and beneficence shall rule,—
Then, to the old in-dwellers, cheerfully,
Will we the city yield; and homeward go.
“‘But, to her ancient limits, from that day,
Assyria must return,—room large enough
For proudest monarch,—and all other lands,
Late tributary, must be wholly free;
Each a self-governed kingdom; to none else
In aught accountable. What say ye, then?
Were ye not blind, and barbarous, such terms
Indulgent to reject? And for what end?
To save from punishment one tyrant king,
Who unto all mankind hath been a scourge:
Whose food hath been of broken hearts; whose breath,
His victims' sighs. Oh! for such cause, draw not
On myriads innocent an awful fate!
That man must die! By earth and heaven alike,
Irrevocably hath his doom been fixed:
And, though ye perish all,—ye save not him.
Alone, then, let him die: and on the earth
May peace descend for ever! If at once
Ye do consent,—then, by a solemn oath,
That which we now have said, will we confirm:
And, pouring all our host into your gates,—
With brotherly zeal, regarding neither toil,
Hardship, nor peril,—day and night will strive,
The flames to quench, which, longer uncontrolled,
Too surely will in utter ruin lay
This great and glorious city.
Assyria must return,—room large enough
For proudest monarch,—and all other lands,
Late tributary, must be wholly free;
Each a self-governed kingdom; to none else
In aught accountable. What say ye, then?
Were ye not blind, and barbarous, such terms
Indulgent to reject? And for what end?
To save from punishment one tyrant king,
Who unto all mankind hath been a scourge:
Whose food hath been of broken hearts; whose breath,
His victims' sighs. Oh! for such cause, draw not
On myriads innocent an awful fate!
That man must die! By earth and heaven alike,
Irrevocably hath his doom been fixed:
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Alone, then, let him die: and on the earth
May peace descend for ever! If at once
Ye do consent,—then, by a solemn oath,
That which we now have said, will we confirm:
And, pouring all our host into your gates,—
With brotherly zeal, regarding neither toil,
Hardship, nor peril,—day and night will strive,
The flames to quench, which, longer uncontrolled,
Too surely will in utter ruin lay
This great and glorious city.
“‘But, if ye,
Guilty, not less than mad, will still resist,—
Then on your heads alone be all the weight
Of ills to fall! As conquerors strike we then,
Who would have come as friends. But, be ye wise;
And, for yourselves and us, such fate avert.’
Guilty, not less than mad, will still resist,—
Then on your heads alone be all the weight
Of ills to fall! As conquerors strike we then,
Who would have come as friends. But, be ye wise;
And, for yourselves and us, such fate avert.’
“So to the rulers and the captains speak;
And be not soon repulsed: for if, at first,
With hot speech they reply,—speak yet again,
Conjuringly; and, taking, if ye may,
The bolder men apart,—in private urge,
And with new force, what publicly ye spake.
Go swiftly then; and may the all-ruling gods
Your labors bless!”
And be not soon repulsed: for if, at first,
With hot speech they reply,—speak yet again,
Conjuringly; and, taking, if ye may,
The bolder men apart,—in private urge,
And with new force, what publicly ye spake.
Go swiftly then; and may the all-ruling gods
Your labors bless!”
When they had gone, once more
To the chief leaders turning, thus he spake.
“Take chariots, horse, and tents,—of food, and wine,
A six days' full provision. Hasten then;
And all the distant city-gates well guard,
That none may issue. But if, suppliant,
The men come forth,—their arms delivering up,
And a safe passage craving to our camp,—
Untouched let them proceed. Or, if you see
Unwarlike men, who with their wives come forth,
Their children, or their parents,—let them pass:
Nay, if their household goods they bear away,
Give them free room: for, not against the weak
And humble do we war. But, if ye see
That men of prouder mien do issue forth,
With cars, or loaded wains,—them must ye stay,
And closely search; that neither gems, nor gold,
Be taken from our spoil. But, most of all,
By day, and night, let heedful watch be kept,
Lest that the tyrant 'scape. With wary eye,
Scan every face: for, haughty though he is;
Ay, in his own conceit scarce less than God;
Yet, life to save, in the most mean disguise,
Yea in the beggar's tatters, might he shroud
His deity; and triumph in the guile.
Then look to all; and, whom ye doubt, bring here.”
To the chief leaders turning, thus he spake.
“Take chariots, horse, and tents,—of food, and wine,
A six days' full provision. Hasten then;
And all the distant city-gates well guard,
That none may issue. But if, suppliant,
The men come forth,—their arms delivering up,
And a safe passage craving to our camp,—
Untouched let them proceed. Or, if you see
Unwarlike men, who with their wives come forth,
Their children, or their parents,—let them pass:
Nay, if their household goods they bear away,
Give them free room: for, not against the weak
And humble do we war. But, if ye see
That men of prouder mien do issue forth,
With cars, or loaded wains,—them must ye stay,
269
Be taken from our spoil. But, most of all,
By day, and night, let heedful watch be kept,
Lest that the tyrant 'scape. With wary eye,
Scan every face: for, haughty though he is;
Ay, in his own conceit scarce less than God;
Yet, life to save, in the most mean disguise,
Yea in the beggar's tatters, might he shroud
His deity; and triumph in the guile.
Then look to all; and, whom ye doubt, bring here.”
Again before the council of the chiefs
And rulers of the city, with calm voice,
And not as missives from a conqueror,
Almelon, and the faithful Azareel,
Pleading, conjuring, and exhorting stood.
And rulers of the city, with calm voice,
And not as missives from a conqueror,
Almelon, and the faithful Azareel,
Pleading, conjuring, and exhorting stood.
Their task accomplished,—to an inner room,
Nebaioth leading them, again they went,
There to await reply; and instantly,
In hot debate, thoughts jarring, voices raised,
The captains plunged; and mere confusion reigned.
Nebaioth leading them, again they went,
There to await reply; and instantly,
In hot debate, thoughts jarring, voices raised,
The captains plunged; and mere confusion reigned.
Some, and no few, then inwardly resolved
The offered grace to accept; and privily,
Ere next day's noon, unto the camp repair;
Make full submission, and swear solemnly
Allegiance to the Mede; so of their life,
Their home, and household wealth, to be assured;
For in Arbaces every man had trust;
And all too surely saw that hope was none,
And that resistance but worse fate would bring.
The offered grace to accept; and privily,
Ere next day's noon, unto the camp repair;
Make full submission, and swear solemnly
Allegiance to the Mede; so of their life,
Their home, and household wealth, to be assured;
For in Arbaces every man had trust;
And all too surely saw that hope was none,
And that resistance but worse fate would bring.
So every cautious, every timid man,
Consoled himself, and said, “If, by my death,
Life to Assyria's monarch might be bought,
Good purchase were it: but, my breath of life
Not, like a worn-out garment, may be cast
Unheeded from me, and for no return.
Hot-headed fools, like fiery Jerimoth,
May love their honor better than their life;
And die to save it: but, when life is gone,
What weighs their honor then? The jackall's howl
Above the tomb,—to him who therein rots,
Were just as welcome, as a hymn of praise,
From mourning myriads. Let me, while I can,
Live, and enjoy myself, and take my fill
Of what the gods have given me. The bright hall
More suits me, than the gloomy sepulchre:
The vine's rich juice, more than the grave's dry dust:
I like the sunshine, and the stir of life;
And have no taste for the cold quietness
Of even the most illustrious monument.
Death must o'ertake, run from him as I may;
But I'll not run to meet him.—So farewell,
Assyria's king. Before me lie two roads;
With thee, to death; thee leaving, to new life.
I choose the last.”
Consoled himself, and said, “If, by my death,
Life to Assyria's monarch might be bought,
Good purchase were it: but, my breath of life
Not, like a worn-out garment, may be cast
Unheeded from me, and for no return.
Hot-headed fools, like fiery Jerimoth,
May love their honor better than their life;
And die to save it: but, when life is gone,
What weighs their honor then? The jackall's howl
Above the tomb,—to him who therein rots,
Were just as welcome, as a hymn of praise,
270
Live, and enjoy myself, and take my fill
Of what the gods have given me. The bright hall
More suits me, than the gloomy sepulchre:
The vine's rich juice, more than the grave's dry dust:
I like the sunshine, and the stir of life;
And have no taste for the cold quietness
Of even the most illustrious monument.
Death must o'ertake, run from him as I may;
But I'll not run to meet him.—So farewell,
Assyria's king. Before me lie two roads;
With thee, to death; thee leaving, to new life.
I choose the last.”
Their fear, and selfishness,
Some thus excused: yet none dared speak aloud
The ignoble purpose; for the bolder hearts
Still firmly stood; all resolute, with the king
Rather to die, than basely purchase life,
By him deserting: and the timid shrank,
'Gainst men like these to lift their puny voice,
In counsel cold and selfish.
Some thus excused: yet none dared speak aloud
The ignoble purpose; for the bolder hearts
Still firmly stood; all resolute, with the king
Rather to die, than basely purchase life,
By him deserting: and the timid shrank,
'Gainst men like these to lift their puny voice,
In counsel cold and selfish.
Some there were,
Valiant as those, but wiser, who the minds
Of hotter men, with calm words strove to cool.
Some were there, also, who, among the rest,
Whispered report of succours drawing nigh;
Armies expected long,—though what, or whence,
None rightly understood,—by whose strong aid,
If but delay were gained, great things even yet
Might be accomplished.
Valiant as those, but wiser, who the minds
Of hotter men, with calm words strove to cool.
Some were there, also, who, among the rest,
Whispered report of succours drawing nigh;
Armies expected long,—though what, or whence,
None rightly understood,—by whose strong aid,
If but delay were gained, great things even yet
Might be accomplished.
After long debate,
And stormy,—to the Median captains went
Nebaioth; and reluctantly thus spake.
“Our minds are all discordant; and no voice
Hath o'er the others sway: thus, answer clear
We cannot render: but return ye now,
And to Arbaces and the captains say,
‘Ere noon to-morrow, shall an embassy
Go from the city; and report to you
The general resolve.’”
And stormy,—to the Median captains went
Nebaioth; and reluctantly thus spake.
“Our minds are all discordant; and no voice
Hath o'er the others sway: thus, answer clear
We cannot render: but return ye now,
And to Arbaces and the captains say,
‘Ere noon to-morrow, shall an embassy
Go from the city; and report to you
The general resolve.’”
271
These words, the Medes
Heard doubtingly; inclined the head, and went.
Heard doubtingly; inclined the head, and went.
For long hours still, the hot Assyrian chiefs
Tumultuous conference held: yet o'er the rest
Could none at last prevail. They parted then;
And, for the early morrow, fixed return
To final council.
Tumultuous conference held: yet o'er the rest
Could none at last prevail. They parted then;
And, for the early morrow, fixed return
To final council.
But, ere set the sun,
From out the gates went many a steed and car;
Of men on foot went thousands; and their arms
Unto the Medes delivered; and the oath
Of true allegiance swore. From out the gates
Went also, both that night, and on the morn,
Women, and children, in great multitudes,
On mules, and asses, riding; and, on wains,
By oxen drawn, and mules, their household goods
Bearing away; and weeping as they went.
For, throughout all the city, soon was known
The message of the Medes: and, when they heard
That from Arbaces had the promise come,—
Firm faith had all. They, then, who purposed flight,
Went fearlessly; and, to the Median horse
And chariots, nigh the gates, submission made:
With kindness were received; and hindered not.
From out the gates went many a steed and car;
Of men on foot went thousands; and their arms
Unto the Medes delivered; and the oath
Of true allegiance swore. From out the gates
Went also, both that night, and on the morn,
Women, and children, in great multitudes,
On mules, and asses, riding; and, on wains,
By oxen drawn, and mules, their household goods
Bearing away; and weeping as they went.
For, throughout all the city, soon was known
The message of the Medes: and, when they heard
That from Arbaces had the promise come,—
Firm faith had all. They, then, who purposed flight,
Went fearlessly; and, to the Median horse
And chariots, nigh the gates, submission made:
With kindness were received; and hindered not.
But, on the morrow, when, in council met,
These things unto the rulers and the chiefs
Had been made known; and when they also found
That from among themselves had gone no few,
Who in the Median camp, as enemies,
Now stood against them,—scorn, and rage, burst forth.
Themselves to die, resolved, ere basely yield,—
Nought were they shaken: and the brief debate,
Though stormy, ending, thus spake Jerimoth.
“At length, then, we are fixed. The rotten few
Have dropped away; and all the sound are left;
The stronger for the severance. Our fate
We know, and boldly meet. Whate'er his faults,
The king is yet our king: and though he still,
Despairing, holds aloof,—yet, with our lives,
His life we'll shield; with him will live, or die.
Our soldiers all are true; and, to the last,
For homes, and altars, and the king of kings,
Will stand within the breach; yea pile a wall
Of their dead bodies, 'gainst his murderers
To bar the passage. If in this great cause
Our fate be death,—we shall at least have lived
In honor to the last: and, through the world,
Our names, like bright stars, will for ever shine;
Admired, and worshipped: we shall die, to live
Like gods, 'mong future men;—far nobler life
Than that which is but animated earth;
Dependent on each breath; and shared alike
By every crawling, every noxious thing.
Such death were glorious riches, then, not loss:
As such we leap to seize it; rather far
Than, by dishonor, basely win a life
Which were the bitterest death; a living death;
Death to the soul; and life to but the clay:
Life such as hath the worm, the toad, the asp,
Or, meaner still, the cringing, dastard man,
Hated by all, and hateful to himself:
A breathing plague-spot; a still rotting sore;
A thing, 'gainst which the brave man stops the nose,
Turning aside with loathing. Never be
On us such infamy! Why, what hath life,
In all its pleasures, all its sensual joys,
To match the extatic rapture of the soul,
When in the thick of battle offering up,
For a good cause, the heart's last crimson drop!
When, like the lightning from the dark earth loosed,
Springs up the exulting spirit, radiant
In its own glory; and the mangled clay
Joyfully quitting,—straightway to the stars
Shoots onward; there, in everlasting light,
Itself a star, to dwell!
These things unto the rulers and the chiefs
Had been made known; and when they also found
That from among themselves had gone no few,
Who in the Median camp, as enemies,
Now stood against them,—scorn, and rage, burst forth.
Themselves to die, resolved, ere basely yield,—
Nought were they shaken: and the brief debate,
Though stormy, ending, thus spake Jerimoth.
“At length, then, we are fixed. The rotten few
Have dropped away; and all the sound are left;
The stronger for the severance. Our fate
We know, and boldly meet. Whate'er his faults,
The king is yet our king: and though he still,
Despairing, holds aloof,—yet, with our lives,
His life we'll shield; with him will live, or die.
272
For homes, and altars, and the king of kings,
Will stand within the breach; yea pile a wall
Of their dead bodies, 'gainst his murderers
To bar the passage. If in this great cause
Our fate be death,—we shall at least have lived
In honor to the last: and, through the world,
Our names, like bright stars, will for ever shine;
Admired, and worshipped: we shall die, to live
Like gods, 'mong future men;—far nobler life
Than that which is but animated earth;
Dependent on each breath; and shared alike
By every crawling, every noxious thing.
Such death were glorious riches, then, not loss:
As such we leap to seize it; rather far
Than, by dishonor, basely win a life
Which were the bitterest death; a living death;
Death to the soul; and life to but the clay:
Life such as hath the worm, the toad, the asp,
Or, meaner still, the cringing, dastard man,
Hated by all, and hateful to himself:
A breathing plague-spot; a still rotting sore;
A thing, 'gainst which the brave man stops the nose,
Turning aside with loathing. Never be
On us such infamy! Why, what hath life,
In all its pleasures, all its sensual joys,
To match the extatic rapture of the soul,
When in the thick of battle offering up,
For a good cause, the heart's last crimson drop!
When, like the lightning from the dark earth loosed,
Springs up the exulting spirit, radiant
In its own glory; and the mangled clay
Joyfully quitting,—straightway to the stars
Shoots onward; there, in everlasting light,
Itself a star, to dwell!
“Then, if to die,
Welcome we death! But heaven may yet give life,
Yea victory: for if, as rumour speaks,
Aid be at hand,—upon the foe may we
Pour torrent-like, and sweep him from the plain:
If not, the very ruins of our wall
Will be a rampart hard to overclimb,
When men like us upon it take our stand,—
To die prepared, but resolute, till death,
No foot of ground to yield. If by my voice
Ye were directed, then, our bold reply
Should be at once, defiance to the last:
But, as the general will from mine dissents,—
The rumoured succours hoping; and delay
Esteeming, therefore, wiser,—I submit.
Two captains choose we, then; and to the Medes
Thus let them say, ‘Three days allow us yet
For thought, and for resolve: upon the fourth,
We will decide; and heaven protect the right!’”
Welcome we death! But heaven may yet give life,
Yea victory: for if, as rumour speaks,
Aid be at hand,—upon the foe may we
Pour torrent-like, and sweep him from the plain:
If not, the very ruins of our wall
273
When men like us upon it take our stand,—
To die prepared, but resolute, till death,
No foot of ground to yield. If by my voice
Ye were directed, then, our bold reply
Should be at once, defiance to the last:
But, as the general will from mine dissents,—
The rumoured succours hoping; and delay
Esteeming, therefore, wiser,—I submit.
Two captains choose we, then; and to the Medes
Thus let them say, ‘Three days allow us yet
For thought, and for resolve: upon the fourth,
We will decide; and heaven protect the right!’”
So he, and all approved. But, when himself,
With young Nebaioth, by the general voice,
As messengers were chosen,—scornfully
He shook the head, refusing. With glad heart,
A stern defiance bearing, had he flown;
But, truce to crave, liked not.
With young Nebaioth, by the general voice,
As messengers were chosen,—scornfully
He shook the head, refusing. With glad heart,
A stern defiance bearing, had he flown;
But, truce to crave, liked not.
Nebaioth, too,
The proffered honor, with cold look, declined.
He chose not, with a falsehood on his tongue,
Before his noble enemy to stand,
Time craving for maturer thought, when war
Already was resolved. To the lost king,
As sole resource now left, immediate flight
He still had counselled; and yet cherished hope
His words might not be vain.
The proffered honor, with cold look, declined.
He chose not, with a falsehood on his tongue,
Before his noble enemy to stand,
Time craving for maturer thought, when war
Already was resolved. To the lost king,
As sole resource now left, immediate flight
He still had counselled; and yet cherished hope
His words might not be vain.
Sennacherib,
And Michael, to the doubtful post, at length,
Sore pressed,—not willing,—with a herald went:
And, when before Arbaces and the chiefs,
In council brought,—low-voiced, reluctantly,
Their message told.
And Michael, to the doubtful post, at length,
Sore pressed,—not willing,—with a herald went:
And, when before Arbaces and the chiefs,
In council brought,—low-voiced, reluctantly,
Their message told.
In silence, for awhile,
The whole assembly stood. His piercing eye,
Upon the messengers Arbaces fixed;
And, as he gazed, across his countenance stole
A darkness, like the thickening of the air
When thunder gathers. Round the assembly then
A glance he shot; and every face beheld,
Lowering, and discontent. The priest, alone,
With a proud bearing smiled, as he would say,
“I told you on what hollow reed you leaned:
Their eyes are blinded; and their doom is fixed:
'Gainst Fate all strife is vain.”
The whole assembly stood. His piercing eye,
Upon the messengers Arbaces fixed;
And, as he gazed, across his countenance stole
A darkness, like the thickening of the air
When thunder gathers. Round the assembly then
274
Lowering, and discontent. The priest, alone,
With a proud bearing smiled, as he would say,
“I told you on what hollow reed you leaned:
Their eyes are blinded; and their doom is fixed:
'Gainst Fate all strife is vain.”
Then once again
Upon the Assyrian captains looked the Mede,
And sternly thus:
Upon the Assyrian captains looked the Mede,
And sternly thus:
“Our generous intent,
With fraud is met. Not for maturer thought
Ye ask delay; but for some covert guile.
Succour, perchance, ye hope; or hope, by stealth,
Your sentenced king may 'scape. Now, dare ye stand,
With eyes uplift to heaven; and solemnly
Call on the gods to witness that your words
Hide not a falsehood?—Ye are motionless,
And have no answer. Brave men are ye both;
And all unfit to be the messengers
Of lying tongues. Your sad and downcast looks
More honor you than subtlest eloquence,
The false defending. But now, clear your brows,
And to my words give heed: for much imports,
To you, and us, that they be understood,
And known irrevocable.
With fraud is met. Not for maturer thought
Ye ask delay; but for some covert guile.
Succour, perchance, ye hope; or hope, by stealth,
Your sentenced king may 'scape. Now, dare ye stand,
With eyes uplift to heaven; and solemnly
Call on the gods to witness that your words
Hide not a falsehood?—Ye are motionless,
And have no answer. Brave men are ye both;
And all unfit to be the messengers
Of lying tongues. Your sad and downcast looks
More honor you than subtlest eloquence,
The false defending. But now, clear your brows,
And to my words give heed: for much imports,
To you, and us, that they be understood,
And known irrevocable.
“When ye come
Again in presence of the Assyrian lords,
Say, thus the Medes reply. ‘Your hollow words
We listen not; and by your shallow guile
Are not deceived. For thought, and for resolve,
Time ample have ye had; and have resolved;
Though on no honest course. Fit punishment
Were, now, our offered mercy to recall;
And force you to submission absolute
Beneath the conqueror's will. With every hour,
We mark the Tigris sinking to his bed;
And know that, ere to-morrow's sun shall set,
Your wall will be defenceless. Not less ye
This truth must know. Ye know, too, that your fate,—
Though we stood idle,—on the breath depends
Of the first waking wind. The ravenous flames,
Even in the stillness of this utter calm,
Ye cannot master: what if once again—
And tokens are not wanting, both on earth
And in the sky, portending its approach—
The hurricane should flap its awful wings
O'er your doomed city! think ye that, one day,
Before the flaming Fury it could stand?
What hope then have ye? and why, mad, or blind,
For sake of one great criminal, should ye
Your fate, already dark, make black as night?
But we have warned you: and, if ill the event,
Censure yourselves alone. Now, finally,
Hear our resolve. This one day will we grant,
This only, ere our mercy we retract,
And draw the avenging sword. Day's lightning-steeds
Now more than half way up heaven's arch have run:
Till they beneath the western hills shall sink,
Your answer will we wait. If, ere that time,
The terms propounded ye in full accept,—
Then shall the solemn oath, by you to us,
By us to you, be taken; and may heaven
Send lasting peace between us! But, if ye,
Fate-ruled, will still our offered grace refuse,—
Then, be that sunset as a clarion blast
Proclaiming war awaked. From that time forth,
Cast hope aside; and arm you to endure
The worst that may befall! But still we trust,
For you, and us, that wiser thoughts may rule.’
Again in presence of the Assyrian lords,
Say, thus the Medes reply. ‘Your hollow words
We listen not; and by your shallow guile
Are not deceived. For thought, and for resolve,
Time ample have ye had; and have resolved;
Though on no honest course. Fit punishment
Were, now, our offered mercy to recall;
And force you to submission absolute
Beneath the conqueror's will. With every hour,
We mark the Tigris sinking to his bed;
And know that, ere to-morrow's sun shall set,
Your wall will be defenceless. Not less ye
This truth must know. Ye know, too, that your fate,—
Though we stood idle,—on the breath depends
275
Even in the stillness of this utter calm,
Ye cannot master: what if once again—
And tokens are not wanting, both on earth
And in the sky, portending its approach—
The hurricane should flap its awful wings
O'er your doomed city! think ye that, one day,
Before the flaming Fury it could stand?
What hope then have ye? and why, mad, or blind,
For sake of one great criminal, should ye
Your fate, already dark, make black as night?
But we have warned you: and, if ill the event,
Censure yourselves alone. Now, finally,
Hear our resolve. This one day will we grant,
This only, ere our mercy we retract,
And draw the avenging sword. Day's lightning-steeds
Now more than half way up heaven's arch have run:
Till they beneath the western hills shall sink,
Your answer will we wait. If, ere that time,
The terms propounded ye in full accept,—
Then shall the solemn oath, by you to us,
By us to you, be taken; and may heaven
Send lasting peace between us! But, if ye,
Fate-ruled, will still our offered grace refuse,—
Then, be that sunset as a clarion blast
Proclaiming war awaked. From that time forth,
Cast hope aside; and arm you to endure
The worst that may befall! But still we trust,
For you, and us, that wiser thoughts may rule.’
“Go now; and that which ye have heard, report
Unto your lords and captains. If our terms
In full they will accept,—then, with all speed,
Return unto us; lest, through more delay,
The flames should gather to resistless might,
And utterly consume you. But, if still
Our offer ye reject; and, reasonless,
Will on destruction rush,—then send, at least,
With what despatch ye may, your agëd men,
Your women, and your children, from the walls,
Lest also they should perish; for, be sure,
Not swifter follows thunder on the bolt,
Than, on the sinking of the flooded stream,
Shall follow our assault.”
Unto your lords and captains. If our terms
In full they will accept,—then, with all speed,
Return unto us; lest, through more delay,
The flames should gather to resistless might,
And utterly consume you. But, if still
Our offer ye reject; and, reasonless,
Will on destruction rush,—then send, at least,
With what despatch ye may, your agëd men,
Your women, and your children, from the walls,
Lest also they should perish; for, be sure,
276
Than, on the sinking of the flooded stream,
Shall follow our assault.”
Here ceased the Mede:
The Assyrian captains briefly made reply;
Then bowed, and took their way.
The Assyrian captains briefly made reply;
Then bowed, and took their way.
But when, anon,
Amid the rulers and the chiefs they stood,
And the full answer gave,—then wrath arose
In minds of many; and a stern resolve,
Rather the bitterest ills of fate to dare,
Than basely, in his last extreme of need,
Their king to death abandon. Faithfully
So stood they; willing life itself to lose,
The life to save of him who, recklessly,—
Had his imperious pleasure so impelled,—
Their blood had poured like water.
Amid the rulers and the chiefs they stood,
And the full answer gave,—then wrath arose
In minds of many; and a stern resolve,
Rather the bitterest ills of fate to dare,
Than basely, in his last extreme of need,
Their king to death abandon. Faithfully
So stood they; willing life itself to lose,
The life to save of him who, recklessly,—
Had his imperious pleasure so impelled,—
Their blood had poured like water.
Once again,
As oft of late, Nebaioth urgently
Craved to the king admittance; for he hoped,
By fervour deep of prayer, at last to move
That obdurate heart, in pity for the woes
Of myriads, to bow down; and, by swift flight,
Himself and them to save.
As oft of late, Nebaioth urgently
Craved to the king admittance; for he hoped,
By fervour deep of prayer, at last to move
That obdurate heart, in pity for the woes
Of myriads, to bow down; and, by swift flight,
Himself and them to save.
But now the king
Access denied him; for, in black despair,
Clothed as in armour, to all things without,
Was he impassive. For Assyria, now,
For all the millions that still hailed him king,
No thought had he: he knew that hope was none;
That, with the falling of the flooded stream,
The human tide would enter; ne'er to ebb
Till ruin had whelmed all. One hideous thought
Alone possessed him,—death by his own hand!
With every passing hour was brought report
Of the fast-sinking river; and he knew
That, with the morrow, or the next day's dawn,
The final doom must come. Yet, though resolved
By death to end his woes, and disappoint
The vengeance of his enemies,—to life
Instinctively still clung he; to the last,
The fatal blow deferring.
Access denied him; for, in black despair,
Clothed as in armour, to all things without,
Was he impassive. For Assyria, now,
For all the millions that still hailed him king,
No thought had he: he knew that hope was none;
That, with the falling of the flooded stream,
The human tide would enter; ne'er to ebb
Till ruin had whelmed all. One hideous thought
Alone possessed him,—death by his own hand!
With every passing hour was brought report
Of the fast-sinking river; and he knew
That, with the morrow, or the next day's dawn,
The final doom must come. Yet, though resolved
By death to end his woes, and disappoint
The vengeance of his enemies,—to life
277
The fatal blow deferring.
Nor, as yet,
Of the unnumbered gates which to the realms
Of darkness lead the souls of wretched man,
Had he made choice: the poisoned cup, the sword,
The water offered rest: nay even, when raged
Fiercer the madness, in the very flames,
Exultingly thought he, the oppressive load
Of life to shake away,—so baffling quite
The malice of his foes, that even the bones
Of their once lord supreme,—their victim, last,
Should mock their blood-hound search.
Of the unnumbered gates which to the realms
Of darkness lead the souls of wretched man,
Had he made choice: the poisoned cup, the sword,
The water offered rest: nay even, when raged
Fiercer the madness, in the very flames,
Exultingly thought he, the oppressive load
Of life to shake away,—so baffling quite
The malice of his foes, that even the bones
Of their once lord supreme,—their victim, last,
Should mock their blood-hound search.
Yet still, as sank
The wave of passion, that toward death's dark strand
Thus bore him onward,—back he shrank appalled,
As from a precipice; unnerved his hand,
His very soul aghast.
The wave of passion, that toward death's dark strand
Thus bore him onward,—back he shrank appalled,
As from a precipice; unnerved his hand,
His very soul aghast.
Like mournful ghost
Revisiting the mansion loved in life,—
Through that resplendent palace, all alone,
With downcast look he wandered; and in thought
Called up the glories, and the joys, all gone;
The fearful yet-to-come,—so nigh, so sure,
Its earthquake-step might almost seem to shake
The steadfast present.
Revisiting the mansion loved in life,—
Through that resplendent palace, all alone,
With downcast look he wandered; and in thought
Called up the glories, and the joys, all gone;
The fearful yet-to-come,—so nigh, so sure,
Its earthquake-step might almost seem to shake
The steadfast present.
For long, anxious hours,
Through the vast, brilliant chambers, gloomily
Thus roamed he; then, as if, by change of place,
Some ease from pain to find,—the lofty roof
With weary foot he climbed: yet, but to feel
New torture there; for, 'neath the unclouded sun,
Gorgeously shining, lo! the rebel camp,
In dread magnificence outspread below,
As with a lightning-flash his eye-balls seared.
A moment, with both palms his face he hid,
Heavily groaning: but his soul re-manned;
A deep breath drew; and once again looked forth.
Like marble was his cheek; his lip compressed;
His eye distent and gleaming.
Through the vast, brilliant chambers, gloomily
Thus roamed he; then, as if, by change of place,
Some ease from pain to find,—the lofty roof
With weary foot he climbed: yet, but to feel
New torture there; for, 'neath the unclouded sun,
Gorgeously shining, lo! the rebel camp,
In dread magnificence outspread below,
As with a lightning-flash his eye-balls seared.
A moment, with both palms his face he hid,
Heavily groaning: but his soul re-manned;
A deep breath drew; and once again looked forth.
Like marble was his cheek; his lip compressed;
His eye distent and gleaming.
278
'Twas the hour
Of burning noon; and all within the camp
Was motionless, and hushed. Beneath the shade
Of open tents, the countless myriads lay,
Peacefully resting. Leaning on his spear,
Or with slow foot, like one who walks in sleep,
Listlessly gliding,—here and there he saw
The unneeded sentinel. In long, close ranks,
Like unconsuming fire, the brazen cars
Gleamed to the sun. High o'er the meaner tents,
In midst of all, the vast pavilion rose
Of the dread rebel chief; and, close beside,
The mast-like staff, whence, idly fluttering now,
Drooped the gigantic banner; hated sign
Of black rebellion waked. He closed his eyes,
And shuddered.
Of burning noon; and all within the camp
Was motionless, and hushed. Beneath the shade
Of open tents, the countless myriads lay,
Peacefully resting. Leaning on his spear,
Or with slow foot, like one who walks in sleep,
Listlessly gliding,—here and there he saw
The unneeded sentinel. In long, close ranks,
Like unconsuming fire, the brazen cars
Gleamed to the sun. High o'er the meaner tents,
In midst of all, the vast pavilion rose
Of the dread rebel chief; and, close beside,
The mast-like staff, whence, idly fluttering now,
Drooped the gigantic banner; hated sign
Of black rebellion waked. He closed his eyes,
And shuddered.
But, when elsewhere he looked forth,
No comfort found he. On all sides arose
The devastating flames: and, last and worst,
Vision horrific! lo! the broken wall,
A huge, and ghastly breach! a yawning gulf!
Dire entrance to the everlasting tomb
Of all Assyria's glory!
No comfort found he. On all sides arose
The devastating flames: and, last and worst,
Vision horrific! lo! the broken wall,
A huge, and ghastly breach! a yawning gulf!
Dire entrance to the everlasting tomb
Of all Assyria's glory!
Heart-sick, gazed
The miserable king; and longed for death,
To blot out all for ever! To the brink
Of that high roof he walked, and looked below.
“Here might I die,” he said; “here all forget!
One onward step; one resolute downward leap;
One moment's passage through the whizzing air;
And all would be a blank! What, then, to me
Would matter,—though Assyria, as myself,
Should fall, and perish! At the final hour,
Then hither will I come: and, when I mark
Destruction covering all, here will I die,
And disappoint my hated enemies!
The miserable king; and longed for death,
To blot out all for ever! To the brink
Of that high roof he walked, and looked below.
“Here might I die,” he said; “here all forget!
One onward step; one resolute downward leap;
One moment's passage through the whizzing air;
And all would be a blank! What, then, to me
Would matter,—though Assyria, as myself,
Should fall, and perish! At the final hour,
Then hither will I come: and, when I mark
Destruction covering all, here will I die,
And disappoint my hated enemies!
“But this most glorious palace of the earth,
By their abominable revelries
Defiled shall never be: its sumless wealth
No rebel hand shall clutch. The seer foretold
Banquet, and flood, the earthquake, and the fire,
As the gods' scourges. Three have come to pass;
But, for the last, myself will be the god
To execute the doom. This gorgeous pile
The flames shall swallow; and my own right hand
Shall kindle the great fire. The vault beneath,
With every element of combustion quick,
Shall be surcharged. The palace of the world
Shall be extinguished, as a burnt-out torch:
And the detested rebel shall not glut
His wolfish eyes with even the very dust
That was Assyria's king. But, no delay:
The end draws nigh.—Thought must be action now.”
By their abominable revelries
Defiled shall never be: its sumless wealth
No rebel hand shall clutch. The seer foretold
279
As the gods' scourges. Three have come to pass;
But, for the last, myself will be the god
To execute the doom. This gorgeous pile
The flames shall swallow; and my own right hand
Shall kindle the great fire. The vault beneath,
With every element of combustion quick,
Shall be surcharged. The palace of the world
Shall be extinguished, as a burnt-out torch:
And the detested rebel shall not glut
His wolfish eyes with even the very dust
That was Assyria's king. But, no delay:
The end draws nigh.—Thought must be action now.”
Strong in that dire resolve,—with rapid step,
Downward he went: before him called in haste
The astonished captain of the household guard;
And hurriedly thus spake.
Downward he went: before him called in haste
The astonished captain of the household guard;
And hurriedly thus spake.
“Jehabad, heed
What now I bid thee. See that it be done
Swiftly, and well; else, will the monarch's wrath
Fall heavy on thee. Summon instantly
Thy soldiers, every man. Throughout the vault
Beneath the palace, let them pile up wood,
As for a thousand watch-fires: and thereon
Be poured, in torrents, pitch, and bitumen,
Naphtha, or aught inflammable more,—that fire
Unquenchable may in a moment rise.
What now I bid thee. See that it be done
Swiftly, and well; else, will the monarch's wrath
Fall heavy on thee. Summon instantly
Thy soldiers, every man. Throughout the vault
Beneath the palace, let them pile up wood,
As for a thousand watch-fires: and thereon
Be poured, in torrents, pitch, and bitumen,
Naphtha, or aught inflammable more,—that fire
Unquenchable may in a moment rise.
“The foe, to-morrow, or the next day's dawn,
Will enter at the breach. They look to feast
Within the radiant chambers of the king;
And revel in his spoils. Fools! let them come!
Will enter at the breach. They look to feast
Within the radiant chambers of the king;
And revel in his spoils. Fools! let them come!
“But now no time for words. Away at once.
When all is ready,—see that thou appear
Again before the king; that his own eyes
May look upon the work; and that his hand
May deal the rich reward.” Jehabad bowed,
With knee upon the floor; then rose, and went.
When all is ready,—see that thou appear
Again before the king; that his own eyes
May look upon the work; and that his hand
May deal the rich reward.” Jehabad bowed,
With knee upon the floor; then rose, and went.
A strength demoniac gathered in the soul
Of the great despot, as the fearful end
He thus resolved. The world itself in flames,
To him had seemed but fitting funeral pyre
For the world's dying lord. A bitter laugh
Burst, ever and anon, as to and fro
With heavy foot he stalked; and his red eye
Flashed mockery, as round the gorgeous walls,
And on the priceless treasures, oft he glanced,
And triumphed o'er his baffled enemy.
Of the great despot, as the fearful end
He thus resolved. The world itself in flames,
280
For the world's dying lord. A bitter laugh
Burst, ever and anon, as to and fro
With heavy foot he stalked; and his red eye
Flashed mockery, as round the gorgeous walls,
And on the priceless treasures, oft he glanced,
And triumphed o'er his baffled enemy.
Anon he called: the obedient lords appeared;
And thus he gave command.
And thus he gave command.
“My sun goes down;
But shall set brightly. What to-morrow's eve
May bring, I know not: but to-day is mine;
And shall be joyous, though the jaws of death
Gape for me ere it close. Then, order take,
That in the chamber of the sun be spread
This night a banquet, such as may outshine
All former revel. Through the palace go:
And whatsoe'er is richest, and most rare,
That gather ye; and in the feasting hall,
On the spare tables, and the couches spread.
The golden, and the silver statues, place
Around the walls; and on the floor pile up
The treasure-chests, the vases, and the bowls,
The jewel caskets,—and whate'er beside,
Of rare and costly, may not elsewhere stand.
But shall set brightly. What to-morrow's eve
May bring, I know not: but to-day is mine;
And shall be joyous, though the jaws of death
Gape for me ere it close. Then, order take,
That in the chamber of the sun be spread
This night a banquet, such as may outshine
All former revel. Through the palace go:
And whatsoe'er is richest, and most rare,
That gather ye; and in the feasting hall,
On the spare tables, and the couches spread.
The golden, and the silver statues, place
Around the walls; and on the floor pile up
The treasure-chests, the vases, and the bowls,
The jewel caskets,—and whate'er beside,
Of rare and costly, may not elsewhere stand.
“But with my concubines alone I feast:
In all their beauty, their most bright attire,
Then bid them come; and let their hearts be glad.
To-morrow, haply, may they—but, enough:
Ye know my will. See it be all fulfilled.”
In all their beauty, their most bright attire,
Then bid them come; and let their hearts be glad.
To-morrow, haply, may they—but, enough:
Ye know my will. See it be all fulfilled.”
When thus the king had spoken,—and his lords
Submissively had bowed, and gone their way,—
Again he felt alone: his soul again
Bent underneath its load of wretchedness.
Upon a couch his burning frame he threw,
And longed for sleep,—ay, deep eternal sleep.
Submissively had bowed, and gone their way,—
Again he felt alone: his soul again
Bent underneath its load of wretchedness.
Upon a couch his burning frame he threw,
And longed for sleep,—ay, deep eternal sleep.
But not one instant came forgetfulness
To cool his burning brain; and, like to one
By fever racked, his restless limbs he tossed,
And rolled his blood-shot eyes. Thus passed the hours.
To cool his burning brain; and, like to one
By fever racked, his restless limbs he tossed,
And rolled his blood-shot eyes. Thus passed the hours.
281
At length the captain of the palace-guard,
So ordered, in his presence stood again,
Bowed low, and spake. “Dread lord! thy will is done;
The work is finished.”
So ordered, in his presence stood again,
Bowed low, and spake. “Dread lord! thy will is done;
The work is finished.”
With a sudden strength,
As at glad tidings brought, uprose the king;
And downward hurried: the vast vault explored:
And, as the sleeping elements of fire
Upheaped he saw; and knew that, at one touch,
Like a volcano wakened, all would burst
In flame unquenchable,—delirious joy
Shot through his soul. He felt that, at the last,
Himself should be the conqueror; and laughed out
A hollow, fiendish laugh. The vast, dark vault
From all its depths laughed back; as if with mirth
Of demons in derision. But, with scorn,
The thought he banished; and a lustrous gem,
The ransom of a noble, from his vest
Forth drawing, to the captain of the guard
Gave it, and thus; “Faithful, as brave, art thou:
Swiftly and well thy task hast thou performed;
And all dost merit. To thy soldiers, too,
Shall rich reward be given. But hasten now;
And place before the portal chosen men,
Who day and night shall keep a heedful watch,
That no man enter.”
As at glad tidings brought, uprose the king;
And downward hurried: the vast vault explored:
And, as the sleeping elements of fire
Upheaped he saw; and knew that, at one touch,
Like a volcano wakened, all would burst
In flame unquenchable,—delirious joy
Shot through his soul. He felt that, at the last,
Himself should be the conqueror; and laughed out
A hollow, fiendish laugh. The vast, dark vault
From all its depths laughed back; as if with mirth
Of demons in derision. But, with scorn,
The thought he banished; and a lustrous gem,
The ransom of a noble, from his vest
Forth drawing, to the captain of the guard
Gave it, and thus; “Faithful, as brave, art thou:
Swiftly and well thy task hast thou performed;
And all dost merit. To thy soldiers, too,
Shall rich reward be given. But hasten now;
And place before the portal chosen men,
Who day and night shall keep a heedful watch,
That no man enter.”
Having said, he went;
And in his chamber waited restlessly
The hour of his last banquet: knowing not
That in the bottom of the cup lay Death!
And in his chamber waited restlessly
The hour of his last banquet: knowing not
That in the bottom of the cup lay Death!
| The fall of Nineveh | |