I 
 
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SHOBAB 
 
 A Tale of Bethesda 
 
 AND MINOR POEMS. 
 
 '^ Ml. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 N. TIBBAIvS <& SON, 
 
 124 Nassau Street. 
 
 1884. 
 
"PS3^^C| 
 
 
 Copyright, 1884, 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES A. WHITNEY, 
 All Rights Reserved. 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER, 
 ANIAZI^VM WHITNEY. 
 
 WHO DIED THIRTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 A MAN OF KINDLY HEART AND GENTLE WAYS, 
 
 WHO, FROM YOUTH TO AGE, 
 
 FEARED GOD AND KEPT HIS COMMANDMENTS. 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 IS REVERENTLY INSCRIBED. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Shobab, a Tale of Bethesda, - - - 1-145 
 Dies Ir/e, .._.-- 146 
 
 Zathan the Sadducee, . - - - 151 
 
 Cymbals, - - - - - - -154 
 
 The Banshee, . . _ _ . 155 
 
 Hours in Scotland, . _ _ . _ 161 
 
 To a Portrait of Nell Gvvynn, - - 170 
 Asphodels, ______ 174 
 
 The Monk of Capri, . _ _ _ 177 
 
 On the Hackensack Meadows, - - - 180 
 
 Escambia, ______ 181 
 
 Santa Rosa, - - - " - - - 182 
 
 Lily and Violet, _ _ _ _ _ 183 
 
 Two Roses, - - - - - - 185 
 
 Magnolia Grandiflora, _ _ . _ 186 
 
SHOBAB: 
 
 A TALK OK BETHKSDA. 
 
 I, Shobab, son of Shimei who wed 
 The day the tidings unto Hebron came, 
 That in the mouths of the high caves of Seir 
 The Hebrews laid dry fagots, and with fire 
 Slaughtered the mountain robber in his den — 
 Tell this my tale, now that the years remote 
 Seem near again, as seems the desert path 
 Kenned from the height that marks the journey's 
 
 end 
 Through sunset's level light. 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 That winsome day . 
 Joy ran in rivulets within each heart, 
 As wine flowed from the beakers to the lips 
 Of all the village; while triumphant notes 
 Swept from the harp's strained strings. The war- 
 horse loosed 
 Sprang with proud curvet in the pasture field, 
 Hearing the distant cymbals' lordly clang 
 And challenge of the shawm on free winds blown. 
 That day was peace. The ox freed from the yoke 
 In comfort all unwonted chewed the cud. 
 White patient flocks along the wayside grazed 
 The bitter herbs, contented; and the dove 
 Beneath the eaves cooed loving notes and low. 
 Upon the springing wheat the sunshine lay 
 And o'er it swept the shadows of the clouds. 
 The grass gave forth the murmur of the bee. 
 From winding brooks came rustle of the reeds, 
 And from beneath the reeds the monotone 
 Of rippling waters. And anon, the shout 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 Came ringing far, of those rejoicing loud 
 
 That from Seir's caverns nevermore should reach 
 
 The ruffian hordes to spoil the quiet land. 
 
 And with it mingled on the breezy air 
 
 The rhythm of the songs that graced the feast, 
 
 Of this the marriage afternoon, when all 
 
 Was joyousness of triumph, and of love. 
 
 The sun sank from the zenith and its ray 
 Was followed by the dusk on gliding wings. 
 The soft night followed dusk with gentle feet 
 As maidens chase the brown moths mid the ferns. 
 Upon her head the stars came forth and shone; 
 The cool breeze from the mountains swept her hair, 
 For this the gray clouds seemed; and every breath. 
 As from her lips, made murmuring soft and low. 
 Yet on and on the cymbal and the lute 
 And voices shrill and sweet together swam, 
 Now high, now low\ And everywhere the mead 
 Poured slow and luscious; and the sparkling juice 
 
4 BETH BSD A. 
 
 Of Hebron's trodden grapes made glad the hour; 
 
 Until the coming of the morning star 
 
 Beheld all slumber-vanquished; all save where 
 
 A slender ray shone on the glistening cup 
 
 Where the glad bridegroom pledged the smiling 
 
 bride 
 In one last draught ere tender sleep should come. 
 
 Late the next morning to their tasks afield 
 
 Went laborer and master; for the joy 
 
 Was gone its way, and life began again 
 
 Its old accustomed course. The day and night 
 
 Came, blessing, each in turn. And seasons bore 
 
 Each in its turn the burden of its time. 
 
 So triple threefold months went calmly by: 
 And joy unto that dwelling came again. 
 Not clamorous as before but all subdued 
 To soft low spoken words and tenderness; 
 When to my lips they pressed the honey-comb 
 
BETH BSD A. 
 
 And on them, drop by drop, laid spiced wine, 
 Hushing my cry with gently jangled songs 
 Breathed pleasant, low, and sweet. 
 
 This have I told 
 As long thereafter it was told to me. 
 For I knew not the passing of the'years. 
 Until it happened that the women cried, 
 And all the children silent gazed in awe 
 The while, swart armed, the toilers from the field 
 Bore to our door a Roman soldier, dead; 
 A sickle's jagged thrust across his neck 
 And his bright cuirass dabbled with his blood. 
 Then hue and cry there was that quick my sire 
 Should die the death. But Roman vengeance knew 
 No slaking of its thirst; for he was gone 
 Unto the farthest nations of the east 
 And never more Judean. hill or vale 
 Or wife or child beheld. My mother told 
 Me how the hireling cursed him. Him, who sprang 
 
6 BE THE SB A. 
 
 From out the branch of Jesse. Him whose sires 
 
 Had seen the glory of the Lord anear. 
 
 The Roman smote him. Him, a Hebrew, born 
 
 Heir to the glory of this ancient land, 
 
 Son of its kings who ruled o'er all its plains 
 
 Ere yet the distant marshes spawned the crew 
 
 Whose sons on Judah laid their heavy yoke. 
 
 On, through succeeding years that drowsy crept; 
 
 With sorrow duU'd, and with dull'd labor cold, 
 
 We two, alone, a humble shealing held. 
 
 The mother and the child. The reapers knew 
 
 Our loneliness and woe and careful laid, 
 
 As if unheeding, little gavels down 
 
 That we might find them as we gleaned the field. 
 
 And here and there when olive branches gave 
 
 Their last yield to the press, was fruitage still 
 
 A willing guerdon to our anxious quest. 
 
 And so we dwelt, the mother and the child, 
 
 Seeing the springtide and the harvest come 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 To Hebron's fertile fields and go away 
 And come again. And I grew on, apace, 
 Dreaming and wondering of the weary world. 
 
 He who hath seen the cedars on the hills 
 May call them to his eye when they are gone. 
 Though of the meads that charmed him, nevermore, 
 Of slender grass-blades kens he any one, 
 So much alike were they and small to see. 
 Thus, seven things, to me, of all those days 
 Are clear as sight of cedars 'gainst the sky. 
 Though all the rest be faded. 
 
 I recall 
 That by the wayside once a woman laid 
 A brown hand on my head, for she was swart 
 As the ripe olive's husk — a little child 
 Clung to her garments, and with curious eyes 
 Looked up into my face — to me she spake: 
 Oh, child, but thou art fair to look upon, 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 And innocent thine eyes, and soft thy voice; 
 
 Therefore, I would the marvels that I work 
 
 May bless thee in the passing of thy days, 
 
 That whom I love may blessed be through thee. 
 
 Take then these seeds. Aye, in mine own far land 
 
 The stately symmetry of Theban palms 
 
 Have I beheld, when peace and rest were mine. 
 
 And may they spring from out these kernels dark 
 
 To wave o'er thee in peace ere yet ye die; 
 
 So plant them when thy sorrow comes to thee, 
 
 For they bear charm of many a prayer deep breathed, 
 
 In olden rites the living Lord hath blest. 
 
 And water them as to thy burning heart 
 
 Ye would the coolness of great calm should come. 
 
 The three brown seeds I clasped and she was gone. 
 
 Once, in the dark, my mother crooned a song. 
 And slowly on her knee, the while she sang 
 She rocked me to and fro. Oh, Father, hear 
 Thy loved ones of the earth and take them home, 
 
BETHESDA. 9 
 
 That they no more may know the Winter's cold 
 
 Or weariness of Summer's wanton heat, 
 
 The toiling of the Springtime, or the wrath - 
 
 Of sullen Autumn's storms; or any more 
 
 The touch of fear on night and morn and noon. 
 
 There they may rest, and there, perchance, may 
 
 sleep 
 Withouten dream or any thought of toil. 
 Of sorrow, or of pain. 'Twas then I asked: 
 Where is this home ? 
 
 And low she answered me. 
 These bodies that we have are but the bud 
 That holds the odor of the fruiting flower. 
 And when it dies the perfume vanishes 
 But does not die, but lives within the air. 
 Our spirits pass into a world beyond 
 Those distant hills, yea, far beyond the sky, 
 And there they shall have rest forevermore; 
 The peacefulness of all the flowers that lie 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 In Summer in the meadows; all the joy 
 
 The bees in Springtime know amid the trees. 
 
 And it shall be forever — for the just, 
 
 The merciful and pure shall enter in; 
 
 And we shall rest. Yea, we shall rest, she said. 
 
 The while she spake, the crescent moon came forth. 
 
 Casting faint shadows on the stubble ground. 
 
 And shining on her face. Then was she still. 
 
 Saying no more, though waiting patiently, 
 
 I listened for her words till wonder grew 
 
 And fear came on me at the peacefulness 
 
 That spread upon her forehead. Long I watched 
 
 Until afield the reapers came again 
 
 In the glad morning sun. And she was dead. 
 
 With scanty rites they laid her in the ground 
 
 And heaped the earth above her, by the road 
 
 The camel drivers traverse, leaving me, 
 
 Unnoting that I lingered. Then I thought 
 
 Of the dark woman's words; and of the seeds 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 Laid one upon the mold and pressed it deep 
 With weak, tired fingers, weeping all the while 
 That she was gone from me. Three times I brought 
 From the cool spring and three times watered it. 
 So, ere my task was done, the twilight came 
 And night wherein I slept and half forgot. 
 Then woke to weep again. 
 
 Then mourning days 
 And sad months measured their slow length along 
 With gradual lessening of the grief they bore. 
 Each day brought less of sorrow, for it dies 
 Of its own languishing. And memory knows 
 Surcease in labor, and in weariness, 
 Till like an evanescent shadow seems 
 The presence of our woe. So thro' slow lapse 
 Came calmness and content, and I was fain — 
 After forgetful years had come to me — 
 To sing among the reapers: for I learned 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 With them to wield the sickle with a hand 
 Grown deft and strong. 
 
 Yet solitude to me 
 Threw glamour o'er my heart. I sought the vales 
 By rugged paths that led to meadows bright 
 With flowery garniture and slender grass 
 That gave its dusty blossoms to the air 
 Ere tiny seeds were ripe. There came to me 
 Each song the wild bird whistles in the dusk, 
 Or carols at the dawn. I sought the glades 
 Where feeble conies bide among the rocks. 
 I marked the lichens on the boulder stones 
 Rear little purple cups, and wondered oft 
 Why sought they not the richer mold below. 
 I loved the color of the wayside blooms 
 Softened by evening's gray and tender light, 
 And fragrant in the early falling dew. 
 
 The torrents change their courses in the glens 
 And firm rocks deeper groove beneath the storms, 
 
BETHESDA. 13 
 
 The tow'ring tree grows hoary with the years 
 
 And time unmakes the contour of the fields. 
 
 But ever breezes blow as in the time 
 
 When all the earth was young; and fares the same 
 
 Each little wild flower by the wayside grown. 
 
 So, when on heart and brain are furrows found, 
 
 Long wrought by tempests that are stilled and gone, 
 
 Waft memories cool and fragrant as the touch 
 
 Of zephyrs born of sunset, and the scent 
 
 From springing trefoil in the herbage brown. 
 
 So I recall from sunset haze remote, 
 
 From scenes of summer blossoms, and the stress 
 
 Of gently blowing winds on herb and tree, 
 
 A little maiden's face; a child she was 
 
 Of soft unconscious grace and tender ways. 
 
 Yea, younger than myself, and innocence 
 
 Shone in her eyes and her fair forehead crowned. 
 
 And all things pure and stainless seemed to me 
 
 To be her kindred in the earth and air. 
 
14 BE THE SB A. 
 
 I met her in the fields. We chased the bees, 
 White-faced and droning, from the thistle tops. 
 And wove, of golden daisies, slender chains 
 Wherewith to coil her shoulders. Flame-winged moths 
 And dotted butterflies to deck her hair 
 We caught with nimble lingers and fleet steps. 
 And hand in hand we heard the mavis sing 
 His welcome to the night, when shadows deep 
 Of hasting daylight wasted into dark. 
 
 From this, our earliest greeting, came the course 
 Of many eves succeeding. And the tale 
 For each was like the other. In the fields 
 The springing blade changed into slender spire; 
 And swaying spire grew stately in the breeze 
 With golden stem and gently nodding head. 
 And from the springtide to the harvest time. 
 Each twilight like the other in the joy 
 Of love unsullied and of innocence. 
 
BE THE SD A. 15 
 
 The love of youth is gentle, and its touch 
 
 Is like to that which once the prophet's staff 
 
 Gave to the brackish springs of Jericho, 
 
 Beside whose brink no tender herbage grew, 
 
 Or palm bore fruitage, or fair wild bird sang. 
 
 Till suddenly, beneath a holy hand, 
 
 The bitter waters changed, and clear and sweet 
 
 Flowed o'er the barren sands till they were clad 
 
 With waving growth of green, wherein the buds 
 
 Drooped lowly and unkenned; wherein the blooms 
 
 Sprang bright and glorious from the hidden buds; 
 
 Wherein the slender shafts of tufted trees 
 
 Rose skyward from the flowers; and grateful shade 
 
 Was where the aridness of dearth had been. 
 
 So in my heart grew gentleness and trust 
 
 And fervor for well doing all my days. 
 
 Until it seemed, could I but see the ark 
 
 Within our Lord's great temple, and behold 
 
 The seven stems that waxen candles bear, 
 
 That they may light the altar, I would hail 
 
i6 BETHESDA. 
 
 For her and me a life new born and fair, 
 
 To reach out through the years in peacefulness. 
 
 So when the harvest ended; now, I said, 
 
 I will go thither to Jerusalem, 
 
 Shall see its marvels and return to thee, 
 
 To tell them all unbidden. 
 
 So I went 
 And all the wonders saw. But they are hid 
 Behind the memories of nearer years. 
 All, saving this, a narrow pool that lay 
 Beneath high dusky arches where the shade 
 Was cool while yet the lurid sun was high. 
 A pool around whose edges threads of green 
 Lay tangled in loose skeins of slimy drift; 
 Above whose lazy ripples spiders swung 
 Aloft on tiny ropes of gossamer 
 That shone and vanished and then shone again. 
 While on the sullen waters pillars threw 
 Broad bars of shadow. Quick my questioning 
 
BETHESDA. 17 
 
 Was answered by a beggar at its edge. 
 
 Why comest thou, the hale, the young, the strong, 
 
 And in mid afternoon. The stricken comes 
 
 At early daybreak when an angel stirs 
 
 To sudden frenzy all the waters calm. 
 
 And he who touches first the fleeting foam 
 
 Is healed of all his trouble. Go thy way, 
 
 This place is not for thee. 
 
 Chilled as with fear 
 I quick departed. But my fancy drew 
 Within my brain the picture of a form 
 Benign of countenance, and stately clad 
 In stainless linen that unto his feet 
 Swept down in folds majestic, while his hand 
 A sceptre held wherewith to move the pool 
 To merciful unrest when earliest ray 
 Of morning sunlight glinted on its breast. 
 This day-dream dreamed I on my homeward way, 
 For now three days were vanished and my heart 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 Said haste to Hebron, for she waits thee there 
 With welcome on her face. The sunshine fell 
 And faded in the gloaming, and the moon 
 The transient twilight followed with no break 
 Or interlude of dark. In silver light 
 Was silence as of sadness everywhere. 
 
 Twixt midnight and the dawn, upon my couch, 
 
 I sought for sleep in vain. For sorrow seemed 
 
 To lie upon the air, a hazy woe 
 
 That had no object yet was ever near. 
 
 When weary I arose, I, unsurprised. 
 
 In groups saw all the neighbors speaking low 
 
 Among themselves, as if in wrath and fear. 
 
 And when I asked, they answered, knows't thou not 
 The widow's daughter, yea, the little maid 
 That met thee in the fields, is slain and all 
 Her blood is mingled with the ashen earth. 
 A Roman charioteer drove idly by 
 
BETHESDA. 19 
 
 And seeing her sweet beauty, called to her; 
 
 Whereat she fled. Then his fierce anger rose 
 
 And wheeling the strong steeds he rode her down 
 
 Until her little limbs beneath the hoofs 
 
 Were crushed like willow wands; until the wheels 
 
 Across her breast went crackling as the flail 
 
 Breaks the low sheaf upon the threshing floor. 
 
 And we have laid her by thy mother's grave 
 
 Heaping the earth above her, but her blood 
 
 Is crying from the wayside dust ye trod 
 
 But yestereven. Then the Roman's name 
 
 They spake in whispers, but they threatened naught. 
 
 For he was great and in his iron hand 
 
 Lay life and death for them. 
 
 The grave new-mad 
 I sought and in the sunshine smiting down. 
 Of the dark seeds the dusky woman gave 
 I planted now another. Many times 
 From the deep spring I bore the water jar 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 And poured upon it that its blade might rise 
 
 In after days to mark the burial place. 
 
 Then, wearied with the lapse of sleepless hours 
 
 And the long journey and my anxious toil, 
 
 I sought the shelter of a dwarfed oak 
 
 And sank to troubled sleep. Within my sleep 
 
 As if through mists unfolded, came the sight 
 
 Of level meadows, low and interspaced 
 
 With winding still lagoons. And here and there 
 
 Upon the trodden fields war horses writhed 
 
 Pierced by hard driven arrows. All around 
 
 The dead men lay with armor on their breasts. 
 
 And nearest of them all, with helmet doffed, 
 
 With broken scimetar in his right hand. 
 
 Lay my proud father's form, his sable beard 
 
 Strown damp upon his corselet. Then the mists 
 
 Were inward rolled again and I awoke. 
 
 Awoke and said: The dim and slender trust 
 
 I had that I might see him ere he died 
 
 Is gone. And all I loved are gone from me. 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 Then ere the moisture from the grave was dried 
 
 That I had watered ere my sleep began, 
 
 I digged beside it till the mellowed earth 
 
 Was ready for my purpose. Here I laid 
 
 The last of the three seeds the woman gave, 
 
 And watered it anon, and came away. 
 
 In Hebron dwelt a man, Ben Aiden called. 
 
 And he was hale though threescore years he bore. 
 
 Though silver threads were heavy in his hair 
 
 His eye was kindly and his manner free. 
 
 He scoffed at Pharisee, and no Essene 
 
 Dared measure words with him. For he was learned 
 
 In lore of all the Rabbis, and he knew 
 
 The pagan scrolls that came from distant lands. 
 
 That great Jehovah left in outer dark. 
 
 And far Ben Aiden's name was known. His flocks 
 
 Grazed many a hillside and his herdsmen raised 
 
 Their woolen tents on many a pasture plain. 
 
 I sought the village when my task was done 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 Beside the double graves. A high dispute 
 Had risen in the crowd. 
 
 By insult stung 
 K laborer rose and cursed a Sadducee, 
 Ben Aiden's neighbor. When thy bones are dust, 
 He said, Thy spirit in the dark shall lie 
 Vexed by infernal fire. Thy deeds shall rise 
 On thy seared sight. For senses thou shalt have 
 To suffer, though thy flesh be passed away 
 In noisome odors and to clay more foul. 
 And thine own scorn shall mock thee, and thy pride 
 Shall be a dungeon for thee evermore; 
 While we, the toilers, from thy iron hand 
 Released, shall bask in everlasting peace. 
 Aye! Go thy way, he said, beneath thy blows, 
 Weakened by hunger and by grief distraught, 
 Because of thy fierce anger I shall go, 
 And thou wilt bide awhile when I am gone. 
 
BETHESDA. 23 
 
 Yet we will meet again. I wait for thee. 
 
 Yea. At God's Judgment Day, I wait for thee. 
 
 With trembling lips and arm flung high he turned 
 And disappeared. Then loud Ben Aiden laughed; 
 The beggar, quoth he, sings the ancient song 
 And through his nostrils makes the old complaint. 
 Then noting how the list'ners shrank to hear 
 The fearsome words the angered man had said 
 He took a softer tone. 
 
 The dream is fond 
 But futile as the idle wind that blows 
 And wastes itself afar. Not Abraham, 
 Or Isaac, or yet Jacob told the myth; 
 For they were wise. But when our fathers bowed 
 Beneath the willows of far Babylon, 
 Eating the bitter bread of banishment, 
 They from their fellow-slaves within the land 
 Learned thus to dream. And when they came again 
 
24 BETHESDA. 
 
 To this their heritage they knew no more 
 The simple truth the olden prophet taught, 
 He shall come up no more, who goeth down 
 Into the silent tomb. But life is sweet 
 To him who rails not like yon wrathsome wretch. 
 But loves it day by day and feedeth it 
 With tribute of the senses in their time. 
 Ye know that I, Ben Aiden, am no fool. 
 And ken that I am rich. Ye know, my son 
 Is favored by King Herod in his pomp. 
 *Mong all of Israel's daughters, who more fair 
 Than she who calls me father. In my face 
 Ye see of health abounding. And mine arm 
 Is strong at threescore. Who more blest than I 
 Within our Hebron's borders? More than this, 
 A few days hence I seek Jerusalem 
 That I may higher rise: my voice be heard 
 In Councils of the King. Yet through my years 
 I've scorned this thought of judgment and of life 
 Beyond the burial place. Yea, spat upon 
 
BETHESDA. 25 
 
 The very altar stones; yea, since my youth, 
 
 Full forty years agone, defied the God 
 
 Ye call Jehovah. And I prosper still. 
 
 And ye, my neighbors, love me for my ways, 
 
 My bluff plain speech, my gifts of wine and oil 
 
 In days of famine. 
 
 With his. arms outspread, 
 And sparkling eye and pleasant boastful voice 
 He charmed the crowd. And I among the rest 
 Admired his mien of valor. Then my gaze 
 He caught with jovial glance. Aye, lad, he said, 
 Why wilt thou mourn when mourning ever fails; 
 Or lean on broken reeds of foolish faith. 
 Ye know the fields where, called of Chalcedon, 
 The drooping lilies blossom and their scent 
 Is heavy on the air. They rise, they bloom, 
 They fade and wither and, anon, are gone. 
 And others in their places come anew. 
 Cans't thou the perfume of the yester year 
 
26 BETHESDA. 
 
 Gather again for petals dropped and dead. 
 When this thou doest, bring the spirit fond 
 Back to the eyes that once were bright to thee. 
 
 Heartsick, I faltered. Seeing me aghast, 
 For he was kindly in his boist'rous heart, 
 I meant no harm, he said, but know the truth 
 And face the stormy day that soon may turn 
 To warmth of fav'ring sunshine. Come with me. 
 I am thy friend and will thee counsel give 
 As I myself have followed. All is vain 
 That prates of life beyond this pleasant earth; 
 And vainer still the prattle that doth say 
 Thou shalt deny the pleasure of thy days. 
 Thy labor lighten with deep draughts of wine. 
 And in thy rest be joyous with the sound 
 The straken timbrel gives. For we shall die 
 And all be ended then. Again he laughed, 
 With his broad hand laid gently on my head. 
 Yet seeing me despondent, spake again. 
 
BE THE SD A. 27 
 
 Aye, merry be, but yet if wrath do come 
 
 Smite hard thy foeman that his fear may be 
 
 A tribute to thy strength in hearts of men, 
 
 And thou be glorified. An eye for eye. 
 
 Yea, tooth for tooth require. So Moses writ. 
 
 And blood for blood. So I, Ben Aiden, add. 
 
 He was so strong his hand a shelter seemed. 
 
 His words were wisdom to me for I knew 
 
 Men called him wise and great; and being kind 
 
 In word and tone, he seemed a friend to me. 
 
 So when he said, come with me, I will make 
 
 Thine heart rejoice within the hour, I went; 
 
 And with him joined the feast where wine was 
 
 flown 
 In crystal beakers, and where viands spread 
 As I had never known; where dancing girls. 
 In silken raiment, from far Egypt brought. 
 Wrought sensuous grace of movement in our sight. 
 Anear the midnight when the nutty fumes 
 With stupor overcome me, for a jest 
 
28 BETHESDA 
 
 They bore me to the vineyard. In the press 
 They laid me on the pomace. At the dawn, 
 With laughter loud they sought me and their mirth 
 Was praise to me. They said that like a man 
 I grasped the goblet filled with mellow wine. 
 But yestermorn beneath the temple roof 
 I saw the holy ark, and seven branched 
 The golden candlestick shed lambent light 
 Upon the altar. And my fervent heart 
 Was awed and hallowed. Now, an hundred years 
 Seemed passed since then. 
 
 As in an archer's hand 
 A bow may break and so be thrown away. 
 My faith of yesterday was failed and gone 
 Into the common wrack of useless things 
 Forgotten and forlorn. No more I cared 
 To mark the varied glory of the skies 
 Or hues within the wild flowers dainty breast. 
 The bird-note carolled from the coppiced glens, 
 
BETHESDA. 29 
 
 Or kraken from the grain, was idle sound 
 
 Waking no chord responsive. In the wheat 
 
 I saw the thin spires dwindle 'mid the tares 
 
 And said, each liveth for itself alone, 
 
 The greater strength doth conquer. From the hills 
 
 I saw the eagle from his high nest drift 
 
 On steady sloping wings and from the fold 
 
 Snatch the weak lamb and lordly soar again, 
 
 Whereon I said. The innocent shall die 
 
 And strength shall conquer still. 
 
 So triple years 
 Deepened in me the change, and I grew strong; 
 Foremost in labor — yet the first to hear 
 The jangle of the cymbal when the day 
 Gave way to mirth of even. More than all: 
 The readiest to meet the wrestler's skill, 
 Or share in festivals the rivalry 
 With warrior's shaft and blade. I loved the smiles 
 Of bonny brown-eyed maids. From horn or cup 
 
30 BETHESDA. 
 
 Or hollowed gourd I drank the brimming wine 
 
 In joy or weariness, in rest or toil. 
 
 And morn and noon and night each guerdon gave 
 
 To my full senses and my bounding heart. 
 
 For morn had freshness of the dawn and brought 
 
 Brave thoughts of triumph in the daily toil. 
 
 And noon of languid rest within the shade 
 
 With free songs sung and careless stories told. 
 
 And eve the pleasaunce of dark eyes that shone • 
 
 With light reflected from mine ardent gaze; 
 
 And voices breathing music to the sound 
 
 Of tinkling instruments that gave us mirth 
 
 In steady measure of the graceful dance. 
 
 'Twas long ago. Strong-armed and fleet of limb, 
 I climbed the beetling cliffs, and, falcon-eyed, 
 Beheld afar the rugged waters flow 
 In glittering foam through gorges of the hills. 
 And where the fountains shone beneath the moon 
 I wooed the maidens from the village strayed. 
 
BE THE SB A. 31 
 
 Oft in the golden vintage drank the must, 
 
 Joyous that life was sweet and strength was mine. 
 
 Often I hurled the slender javelin 
 
 As never Roman threw it. And the shaft 
 
 Of Parthian archer never from the bow 
 
 Clove the air farther than mine arrows flew, 
 
 I joyed in strength as strong men know of joy, 
 
 As earth rejoices in the glow of sun. 
 
 Or cedars rise exultant in the storm. 
 
 Yea, strong I was. And oft the Roman's name 
 Was coupled in my heart with wrathful thought 
 Of all his evil deed. I waited long 
 To hear that he to Hebron came again, 
 Or drove his chariot on the lonely roads 
 Among the winding vales. At last he came, 
 And passed me scornful as I wrought my task 
 Alone within the field. The steeds were strong; 
 But I was mightier, and with heavy grasp 
 I flung them on their haunches. Quick he sprang, 
 
32 BETHESDA. 
 
 Short sword in hand. But with deft wrist I turned 
 The blade aside. My hand upon his throat, 
 A crimson flood from out his nostrils swept. 
 I dashed him down upon the rocks that lay 
 Below the wayside ledge, and he was still. 
 In distant lanes the furious horses reeled, 
 Dragging the chariot's broken shaft between: 
 And far through all the country went the tale 
 How his wild coursers slew him. 
 
 In my joy 
 I drank anew the fervor of the vine, 
 Welcomed the dalliance of the maidens fond, 
 And bore a secret triumph in my heart. 
 
 Aye, that was long ago. There came a morn 
 When, from the wassail of the vintage night, 
 I went afield and through the darkness passed 
 With reckless shout and song; and lo! mine arm 
 Was like a spear shaft broken or a blade 
 
BE THE SD A. 33 
 
 Wherefrom the hilt hath dropt. And all my strength 
 
 Was vanished into fear until the dawn 
 
 And light and warmth came to me, and I rose 
 
 With wondering sadness; and bethought me how 
 
 The pool was troubled, and that healing came 
 
 To those who sought its waters at the morn. 
 
 Then all my haughty spirit rose again 
 
 As I pressed forward, though my wither'd arm 
 
 Hung helpless as I strode. 
 
 The herbage swayed 
 Beside my rapid steps until the dew 
 Fell glistening on my feet. The air was still, 
 Yet seemed a breeze before me, in my face 
 Blown silently and cool. Anon, I saw 
 The sombre arches and the gleaming pool 
 And waiting people there. 
 
 A crippled youth. 
 With sinews scorched by fire what time a roof 
 
34 BETHESDA. 
 
 Fell flaming on his bed, was in my way, 
 And I with lusty shoulder threw him by. 
 A widow, old and palsied, moaning crept 
 Across my path; and I, with sturdy laugh, 
 Stepped over and across. And by the brink 
 A bUnd man sat, with wavering hands out-thrust 
 To feel when first the waters should be stirred; 
 And at his cry I saw a ripple drift 
 Across the pool, and sprang beyond him far 
 Until the healing wave surged on my breast. 
 Whole I departed, and with buoyant step 
 I sought anew the fountain and the vine. 
 
 For life was sweet, and strength was joy to me. 
 And rapid moons went by and earth was fair; 
 I saw the white flowers of the olive fall 
 As winds swept by them: and beheld the grapes 
 Turn dusk and golden on the sunny slopes. 
 I watched the shadows sleep beneath the oaks 
 That crowned the hills; and the low hyssop grow 
 
BETHESDA. 35 
 
 Along the curb around the well where shone 
 The stars reflected in the summer eve; 
 And where the maidens came, and castanets 
 Made joyous music for our wanton feet. 
 
 Anon, the must was trodden in the vats, 
 The first ripe olives fell, the thistle raised 
 Its head above the grain. And once again 
 The vintage days were come. 
 
 Aye, long ago 
 It was that from the dance, with wine o'erwrought 
 Once more I went afield ere yet the dawn 
 Touched the tall date tree with its purple ray. 
 And wandered where the brambles, wet with dew, 
 Clogged my weak feet. 
 
 In dreamless sleep I lay 
 Until the high sun smote me, and I sought 
 To go my way. But like a bow unstrung 
 
36 BETHESDA. 
 
 Were all my limbs: and sudden, wond'ring fear 
 
 Made my heart faint. Nor did I move nor rise 
 
 Or more than cry along the vacant path 
 
 Till travelers, for plenteous gift of gold, 
 
 On stout arms bore me as I bid them haste 
 
 Far to the pool whose blessed waters heal 
 
 Who first shall touch them as they troubled flow. 
 
 There, by the porches five, a little while 
 
 They laid me down. The crippled youth forebore 
 
 To pass beyond. The widow, old and wan. 
 
 Spread her scant raiment on my naked feet. 
 
 And he who, blinded, held his trembling palms 
 
 To feel the waters quiver, stepped aside, 
 
 With patient air as more than sight had laid 
 
 On him a charge of pity. Yet, I laughed 
 
 As strong arms bore me o'er their heads and laid 
 
 Me down amid the waters as they surged 
 
 And o'er me swelled with healing in their touch. 
 
BE THE SB A. 37 
 
 So. Whole I rose, and whole I went away. 
 I careless trod the path that led afar 
 To famed Engedi's vineyards. Yet the air 
 Seemed sultrier than before; the way more steep; 
 The wild birds' song more distant; and the leaf 
 That from, the olive drooped had duller grown. 
 Upon my tongue the wine found meaner zest, 
 And the pomegranites juice was cool no more. 
 The resonant timbrel that a wayward girl 
 Struck with free fingers as she glanced aside 
 Had undertone of sadness; and the laugh 
 That kindled her dark eyes was vain to me. 
 I lay a while beneath a zaccum branch, 
 And saw the hot noon waver 'gainst the sky 
 Till sleep came o'er me; and the lambent stars 
 Looked down ere I from restless dreams awoke 
 To dreamy wakefulness and discontent. 
 
 I thought. In Hebron have my years been passed. 
 And there their days monotonous and slow 
 
38 BE THE SD A. 
 
 Pass on from eve to eve. I would the change 
 
 Of unknown faces and new pleasures came 
 
 To rouse my listless senses. I have heard 
 
 That far Engedi hath a fount more broad, 
 
 With cooler waters,, and upon the wall 
 
 The hyssop greener clings. That her ripe grapes 
 
 Grow larger clusters, and her wine more bright 
 
 Flows than from Hebron's presses. That her maids 
 
 Their rounded arms fling wide with grace more free, 
 
 And softer sing the canticles of love. 
 
 In fair Engedi found I welcome warm, 
 
 For they had heard of Shobab bold and blythe. 
 
 And glad were they that I had come to them. 
 
 There day by day the vintage passed away, 
 
 And day by day the seed time slow returned, 
 
 When flowers new budded bloomed. And day by 
 
 day 
 The green grapes turned to purple. Day by day 
 Soft lute and viol lured me to the fount 
 
BE THE SD A. 39 
 
 When fell the dusk, and pleasant voices spoke 
 Sweet words of welcome — and the wine was old 
 And sparkled from the goat skin as it poured. 
 I craved a draught more potent than the press 
 Yields from its pomace to the vintner's tread. 
 Aye. It was long ago. 
 
 There came an eve: — 
 The upper vat was heaped high with grapes, 
 While that below with wine o'er ran its rim. 
 They said: Let us rejoice and drink the must, 
 And drink the old wine, too, for life is sweet. 
 Then let the tabor and the timbrel sound; 
 For joyousness is life. And let us dance. 
 Aye. Man and maiden dance. Soft night is here 
 And who hath seen to-morrow. And the morn 
 Our wassail saw ere yet it touched the east. 
 But when the last star withered from the sky. 
 Each gaily homeward turned. One down the vale. 
 Another o'er the hill crest, and beyond 
 
40 BETHESDA. 
 
 The winding stream another. Here and yon 
 Each one departed gaily while the song, 
 And tinkle of the timbrel, answered back 
 One to another till a silence came; 
 And I alone remained beside the well 
 Where crept the hyssop on the curb and where 
 The gourd half filled beside the wine skin lay. 
 Alone I stood, and all the air was pale 
 And dulled the glamour of the rosy dawn. 
 I stooped and from the gourd I drank again 
 And sang a husky song. Aye, life is sweet 
 With love and wine and joyaunce of the lute, 
 I sang, and sang again, till on my brain 
 There fell a cloud, and all my limbs were like 
 Tlie aspen's leaves that shiver in the noon 
 When no breeze stirs the bough. 
 
 The morning air 
 Was full of golden motes that sank and swam 
 Before my dizzy sight. A veil of mist 
 
BETHESDA. 41 
 
 Fell gray upon mine eyes, then sudden dark. 
 Unto mine ear, like murmuring of bees, 
 Slow droning sounds from out the silence came. 
 Prone to the earth I fell, nor anymore 
 Did sound or sight come to me 'till I woke 
 From out a dreamless torpor when the dew 
 Lay sweet and heavy on the mountain grass. 
 And the white moonlight shone upon a palm 
 That feathery shadows threw along the way. 
 I was athirst, and from the herbage lapt 
 The dripping dew. Ahungered, I beheld 
 Ripe dates drop, one by one, from out the palm 
 A dozen: and from one to one I crept 
 And gathered greedily. 
 
 Then, with bowed head, 
 With drooping shoulders, and with limbs that shook 
 As shake the aspen leaves when storms are nigh, 
 I travailled t'ward the city. Aye. The pool. 
 The pool, I cried, whose turbid waters quake 
 
42 BETHESDA. 
 
 In healing turbulence. The trailing moon 
 Sank in its radiance from the azure deep. 
 The cold night wind grew colder and the light 
 Of the clear stars changed slowly into dawn 
 Ere I beheld the city, yet afar 
 Ten thousand cubits. All the eastern sky 
 Grew crimson and then faded into blue — 
 The while the sunshine deepened. Piteously 
 I kept upon my way. The noon was past 
 And sultriness was slumbering in the vales 
 Ere low by Kedron's bank I lay my head. 
 Nor farther wrought for wretchedness and woe, 
 Or uttered any cry for very pain 
 And weary hopelessness. 
 
 Here while I lay 
 I heard the voice of wailing drawing near 
 And saw along the valley slowly wend, 
 To where the children of the people lie, 
 With dubious step a tattered cavalcade. 
 
BE THE SD A. 43 
 
 And as they neared I saw Ben Aiden's son 
 
 With wine-flushed face reel where the mourners led, 
 
 I heard their voices speak Ben Aiden's name; 
 
 And there Ben Aiden's daughter raised her eyes 
 
 With sensual glance nor even grief could slake 
 
 Of all its coarse alluring. Deeper fell 
 
 My heart in loneliness and misery, 
 
 For I had known him in the lusty days 
 
 Of all my earliest youth, and I had thought 
 
 He would befriend me in Jerusalem. 
 
 Then merciful a deep forgetful sleep 
 Weighed softly on mine eyes. The ardent sun 
 Crept through my limbs, a little comforting; 
 And blown from Olivet came scent of flowers, 
 The rustle of high branches and the song 
 Of birds rejoicing in the peaceful day. 
 A pleasant dream came to me: rhythmic words 
 By maidens sung beneath the summer sky: 
 And jangle of clear cymbals. And I woke 
 
44 BETHESDA. 
 
 To the sweet voice of women, on the air 
 Breathed gay and dulcet; and the clang of arms 
 Like cymbals jangling or like castanets 
 By wild free fingers struck. 
 
 Behold! The King, 
 The mighty Herod with a train of spears 
 And shields and glitt'ring corselets. Mid the throng 
 Of clanging horsemen came the silken dames 
 In carven chariots riding. On it swept, 
 Nor would have noted,- had a restless steed 
 Not broken suddenly and sprang aside 
 And reared and sprang again. A lazar here! 
 A captain cried, and vengeful swung aloft 
 His blade as if to smite me; but the king 
 Saw mark for bitter jest. He bade them bear 
 Me o'er the brook and to the porches five. 
 Perchance, he said, the wave may make him clean; 
 Then at the miracle shall wonder rise; 
 Aye, we shall marvel much. 
 
BETHESDA. 45 
 
 His myrmidons 
 The while the throng passed onward bore me up 
 And carried me within the city gates, and then, 
 Their master out of sight, beside a wall 
 Flung me down rudely and with scoff and jibe, 
 Left me alone. Then drowsily anew 
 I felt the creeping heat. I dreamed of feasts 
 And of cool draughts of water and of wine 
 Crushed from new ripened clusters, and anon 
 I restless woke. Ahungered and athirst 
 My moan I made and no man hearkened me. 
 Slow, cubit after cubit, through the night 
 I crept the city streets. 
 
 Before the dawn, 
 Among the earliest who trod the way, 
 I reached the pool, and with my hollowed hand 
 Lifted its turbid waters to my lips, 
 And as one famished, drank; the while a wound 
 That in my arm a jagged stone had made 
 
46 BETHESDA. 
 
 Upon its edge dropped blood. Then from her 
 
 robe — 
 Yea, scant and thin it was — the widow tore 
 A bandage narrow, and the hurt she bound 
 With tremulous fingers and with pitying words 
 In aged quaver spoken. He whose limbs 
 Were scored and seamed by fire gazed curiously, 
 Deep in my hungry eyes, and from his breast — 
 His only bread for all the livelong day — 
 Drew forth of carob pods and gave to me. 
 
 The slanting sun shone on the pavement stones, 
 A green branch waved across the arch where clear 
 The blue sky met the eye. A spider's thread 
 Its venomed burden swayed beside the wall; 
 And clear a linnet's song swam high above 
 The clamor of the street. For now the tread 
 Of hurrying crowds grew loud. The bubbles rose 
 And broke upon the pool. A sullen wave 
 Rolled from its centre to its verge, and then 
 
BETHESDA. 47 
 
 Above us, sandaled or unshod, the feet 
 Of all the rabble passed. Flung far aside, 
 And trampled on, we lay — the weak — while all 
 Those lesser maimed and ill sprang rudely on. 
 One, with some little ailment, touched the wave 
 And buoyant and rejoicing went his way. 
 Then each departed, some with murm'ring words, 
 Some hopeful of the morrow. All save we 
 To whom a home and archway were the same; 
 For us the sun was something in the morn. 
 The shade a guerdon in the noon, and eve 
 When all the stones grew cold, alone of all 
 The hours would drive us forth with willingness. 
 
 So day by day nor any change was wrought, 
 
 Or any kind vicissitude of woe. 
 
 Each morn the waters stirred, each morn the strong 
 
 E^eceived its blessedness, each morn the weak 
 
 Fell helpless 'neath their strength; and so, at last 
 
 We sought, devoid of hope, though seeking still. 
 
48 BE THE SD A. 
 
 'Twas long ago — yea, very many years 
 Since first I brake the carob by the pool, 
 And one year like another, save a change, 
 Impalpable and slow, of which we recked 
 Or cared nor jot or tittle. We who found 
 Companionship that morn, a common bond 
 Of suffering made and waiting, each for each, 
 Gave greeting when we met. For yet alone 
 Hath no man stood, nor any burden borne 
 Unaided by his fellows. In the dawn 
 Ere yet the sun arose the blind man reached 
 His hand to feel the waters. In the dawn 
 The widow's eye grew keen to watch the pool; 
 And in the dawn the crippled youth crept near 
 Its edge to be the first, and I, again 
 Expectant, but unhoping, watched the drift 
 Of stray leaves on its surface. Then the crush 
 And struggle of a moment and the sound 
 Of fast receding feet; while slow and calm 
 The waters sank anew to placidness, 
 
BETHESDA. 49 
 
 And drowsy from the tumult silence came. 
 Then we, upon the scanty alms that fell 
 To us from careless givers, broke our fast; 
 
 We watched on all the things that came and went 
 
 Within our little sphere. The swallow's flight 
 
 Or high or low, foretold the sun or storm. 
 
 The beetle creeping from the creviced stones 
 
 Was herald of the dilatory Spring 
 
 And scant or heavy harvest, while the fly. 
 
 As late or early, forecast for the hills 
 
 The yield of spotted melons. And the mouse 
 
 As he was sleek or gaunt, the promise gave 
 
 Of olive laden boughs or barren branch. 
 
 Yea, when the wind veered from the chilly east 
 
 We counted that men's hearts would kindlier be 
 
 Upon the morrow. When from out the west 
 
 The wind blew fair and steadfast, well we knew 
 
 That from the seacoast marts the millet cakes 
 
50 BE THE SD A. 
 
 Would cheapened come. And when from the far 
 
 south 
 It slowly blew and steady, sure, we said 
 The dancing girls will seek the porches five 
 And we shall hear the cymbals and the song. 
 Whene'er the vapor on the gray cold walls 
 Gathered in drops and slowly trickled down, 
 The plague, we said, will devastate the land. 
 And prayed for each who in the morning gave 
 To us our daily pittance. When afar 
 The thin clouds sailed across the azure skies, 
 And leaves turned sidelong as the wind went by. 
 Behold, we said, the thunder and the rain 
 Shall stay the pestilence, and we shall hear 
 The chanting of the priests in thanks to God. 
 
 Aye, more than this, we watched the black ants 
 
 climb 
 By devious pathways to the coping stone 
 That crowned the arch, and heavy laden bring 
 
BETHESDA. 51 
 
 The gummy residue from leaves that swept 
 Against the outer pillars, lo, we said, 
 How gain doth come from patience. Oft we saw 
 The driving swallows in their reckless flight 
 Dash headlong 'gainst the wall and, fallen low, 
 Lie motionless as dead, 'til breath of breeze 
 And blessedness of sun slow brought them back 
 To joyous flight again. Then comforting 
 Ourselves with gentle thoughts, 'tis thus, we 
 
 cried, 
 The Father's hand shall lift us into peace 
 And healthfulness of days. When, oftentimes. 
 The outland camels choked the narrow streets 
 Until the rich man's litter could not pass. 
 Nor Levite keep the path; and when the steed, 
 Caparisoned for war, raised hoof in vain: 
 The Gibeonite with water jar on head 
 Thridded between, and singing went his way. 
 So shall we pass, we whispered, when the great 
 Are stayed and humbled. 
 
52 BETHESDA. 
 
 Yea, more than this. 
 From out the legends of a billowy past, 
 Where truth shone for a moment and was gone, 
 We gained quaint stories that would comfort us. 
 As of one, leprous stained, who painful drew 
 From plains beyond the Jordan, and while night 
 Still mantled all the earth, lay down and slept • 
 A weary sleep beside the blessed pool: 
 Yet dreaming, when the sunlight smote his face 
 With its first beam; gave vigorous stroke and fell, 
 Ere yet the strongest sprang, and in the wave 
 Left all his leper's whiteness and w^as clean. 
 And of one, cunning, who in distant woods 
 A curious fabric made of springing branch 
 And intertwining leaf, and hid therein. 
 Close by the marge, so that the pilgrims thought 
 A bunch of wild acacias lay anear 
 The edges of the water, 'til he flung 
 Himself abroad when first the ripples stirred, 
 And reached them earliest and himself was healed. 
 
BETHESDA. 53 
 
 Nor lacked we laughter, sad and slender mirth 
 Was ours in many a languid afternoon 
 When olden jests retold gave hollow cheer: 
 Or for an hour a new freak pleasaunce gave, 
 Thus, where pomegranate skins were flung beside 
 The portals of the arches, came the flies 
 In darkening clusters, and the crippled youth 
 Would deftly catch them and with pride would show 
 The buzzing captives; and sometimes a bee, 
 White faced and droning in its drowsy flight, 
 Would fearless clasp. And so it happed, one day, 
 An alien wasp by favoring winds far blown, 
 Drifted within the gates; with agile hand 
 He grasped it as it sped and quick was stung, 
 Whereat we laughed, full long; and many a day 
 The jest made light the languor of the hours. 
 
 There came ofttimes, a fair and pleasant youth 
 Who studied with the priests, that he might speak 
 Some day in the Sanhedrim. He was kind 
 
54 BETHESDA. 
 
 And told us stories of the ages gone 
 Unwritten in the scrolls. And so one day 
 With mimic manner, as himself were king 
 Or seer, or beggar, he the story told 
 How evil Ashmedai, the Amulet 
 Stole from King Solomon, so he was cast 
 Into deep sorrow and to Kedesh came 
 Low w^ailing in his woe. 
 
 'Twas thus the lad 
 With varying accent told the legend old: 
 
 I, Solomon, the wand'rer, I was King 
 Over all Israel, in Jerusalem. 
 Yet now I crave your alms, a beggar's dole 
 Will blunt my hunger and my need assuage. 
 
 Yea, I was Solomon, of Israel King, 
 And through these streets with horses silver-shod 
 Rode on in triumph while my chariot wheels 
 In golden splendor the high sun outshone. 
 
BETHESDA. 55 
 
 Now I am girt with straw, and on my breast 
 
 A tent cloth's fragment shields me from the blast. 
 
 So give me alms. 
 
 Yea, Solomon the Great, 
 Men called me in those days. My sceptre swayed 
 From Euphrates to Tyre. My stately ships 
 Were favored of the skies; and Ophir knew 
 Their white sails swimming on the distant seas. 
 My bowmen and my spearmen in array 
 Were mightier than Egypt's mighty hosts 
 And owned me lord and ruler. Now, the husks 
 From desert branches are sweet food to me, 
 Gathered with trembling hands by barren ways. 
 So give me alms. For it was writ of old 
 The poor and yet the stranger shalt thou aid 
 As this our Israel was from bondage brought. 
 
 I had the love of women. From afar 
 
 Sheba's fond Queen came to my strong embrace. 
 
56 BETHESDA. 
 
 And who were fairest of the varied lands 
 
 Were willing conquest of my ardent heart. 
 
 Love songs I sung, and softly kindled eyes 
 
 Replied in silence. Now, great Solomon 
 
 Wanders unknown. Beyond the eastern gate 
 
 One with bronz'd forehead mocked me. Give me alms 
 
 For I am faint with travail and with pain: 
 
 My eyes are dim and the rough way is dark. 
 
 And Solomon would rest a little while 
 
 Ere the new day new trouble brings to him. 
 
 I owned the charm that demons feared, and knew 
 The secrets of the genii in their guile. 
 And innocent craft of fairies and of elves 
 That haunt the forest dells. Now, demons scoff 
 At my lost amulet. The genii mock. 
 And elf and fairy when my feet draw near 
 Hide in the woodland hollows. I am changed. 
 Yea, Solomon is changed and all is gone 
 Save want and woe and bitter barren years 
 
BETHESDA. 57 
 
 That crave thy pity and thy scanty alms, 
 For Solomon is weary. He is weak; 
 And patient in his asking, for he knows 
 The poor speak often ere they find reply. 
 
 Of God's own Temple the high walls I built. 
 
 Nor sound of hammer fell upon the air. 
 
 While stone on stone uprose. The Lord our God 
 
 Gave me of wisdom for all holy things, 
 
 And knowledge of his work in earth and air 
 
 From Lebanon's high cedar to the herb 
 
 That sways neglected on the toppling wall: 
 
 And vision clear for judgment. Now, my thought 
 
 Heeds but the present hour, and dole that comes 
 
 From hearts grown pitiful to see my woe: 
 
 For Solomon is broken and his state 
 
 Is vanished into rags. Yea, give me alms. 
 
 Me, who was Ruler in Jerusalem, 
 
 And Seer. And priest before the holy Lord. 
 
 I, Solomon, the Preacher. I was King 
 
58 BE THE SB A. 
 
 Over all Israel. Yet my hunger sore 
 Craves pittance from thee, and I fain would find 
 Some little shelter from the winds that blow 
 Through the chill shadows of the creeping night. 
 
 I through the cities of this realm have passed, 
 
 A stranger 'mid my people, and no door 
 
 Swung on its hinges for the king unthroned. 
 
 And in the narrow lanes where beggars hide 
 
 I found each had his place but none for me. 
 
 Amid the graves beyond the outer walls 
 
 I sought where I might shelter. But the dogs, 
 
 According to their strength, each knew the bound 
 
 And limit where he slept, where none might come. 
 
 In autumn fields the little fieldmouse sought 
 
 His home beneath the stones. The swallow's wing 
 
 Swept confident to where below the eaves 
 
 His clay-built dwelling hung. The eagle's flight 
 
 Grew smooth and sloping when from upper sky 
 
 He saw his wild nest resting on the crags. 
 
BE THE SD A. 59 
 
 And I their comfort envied as I walked 
 Crying with tears: Oh, Israel, I was King 
 When from Araunah's floor the temple rose, 
 And David's son ruled in Jerusalem, 
 Until at last, with sorrow overborne 
 I ask thine alms. 
 
 Then quoth a fisherman: 
 Lo! I am poor. No spreading net is mine 
 As wealthy fishers use. On sturdy feet 
 I tread the long leagues to far Galilee 
 Whose waters, like the bounty of the Lord, 
 Are free to all who come. A slender line 
 Braided from nettles in waste places grown 
 Suffices for my need. Within the deep 
 The fishes come and go; nor do I ken 
 Or whence or whither. Scant unto my hand 
 Each day these many years enough has come 
 To find me food and raiment. Share with me 
 The solitary bream mine hook hath caught: 
 
6o BE THE SB A. 
 
 And share my fire the while the outer dark 
 Shall grow forgotten though the chill winds blow: 
 And with me share my shelter 'til the morn 
 Shall warmth of sunshine bring to us again. 
 
 They sat, the twain, and watched the embers glow 
 
 Within a narrow brazier, and the cloud 
 
 Of vapor rise the while the food prepared. 
 
 And the King's eye grew brighter as he gazed. 
 
 His nostrils dilate as the odor rose 
 
 From the quick seething flesh. Anon, they ate; 
 
 As brothers friendly, though their converse brief. 
 
 And when 'twas finished; we are satisfied, 
 
 Spake they together, though it all be gone 
 
 Save yonder entrails thrown beside the knife 
 
 That scored them from their place. But while they 
 
 spake 
 From out the heap revolting shone a light 
 Misty and dim and wavering and strange, 
 
BE THE SB A. 6i 
 
 As if a gleam of gold and gems were mixt 
 And overlaid with sulphur's sapphire flame. 
 
 Then with a cry, as one o'erwrought with joy, 
 
 Sprang Solomon and grasped with trembUng hand 
 
 The amulet and on his finger placed 
 
 Its graven coil. Then through his raiment rude 
 
 Shone all of Kingly manner and of grace: 
 
 And power was on his forehead. In his limbs 
 
 The strength of youth was sudden manifest, 
 
 But in his eyes was tearful tenderness, 
 
 And his red Hps were tremulous as are 
 
 A mother's words when murm'ring of the dead. 
 
 And when the fisherman would kneel to him, 
 He said, not so, my brother. Go with me 
 When comes the morning. Let us seek the hill 
 Whence we may Hermon see, and Libanus, 
 Carmel and Tabor and Esdraelon, 
 And Galilee's fair valley and her sea 
 
62 BETHESDA. 
 
 Wherein thy line was dropt. And tread its shore 
 Where Sons of God shall travail when my name 
 Is but a legend in the hearts of men. 
 
 They slept. And when the morning came, he spake: 
 
 I, Solomon, The Wand'rer, I am King, 
 
 Over all Israel, and Jerusalem 
 
 Is mine own city. Yet mine heart is sad. 
 
 For wiser now than when my wisdom waked 
 
 The wonder of the nations, I am fain 
 
 That all were finished. 
 
 Mine own heart hath known 
 The weariness and burden of the poor. 
 And earthliness of sin that bows the weak 
 Ere they can rise to cry upon the Lord. 
 The sore temptation; and the bitter fruit 
 Which follows evil sowing. Yea. The thought 
 That God is far away and will not hear. 
 And the deep brooding, that the Lord is just, 
 
BE THE SD A. 63 
 
 That we, are evil, and his wrath will come 
 
 Until his broken law be all avenged. 
 
 Not mine the strength or mine the light to know 
 
 Wherefore shall mercy come. My spirit faints, 
 
 For all is vanity that I have done. 
 
 Yet seer am I. 
 
 And now the curtain lifts. 
 Before the front of Ages vast and dim. 
 And One shall come, more wise than Solomon, 
 Purer than Moses, stronger than the sire 
 Of our proud race. And Him the Lord shall own, 
 And in Him kindreds of the earth be blest. 
 Wherein I, Solomon, the weak, am bent. 
 He shall arise in triumph. Then the poor 
 By Him shall pass to joy and blessedness. 
 
 Then forth they went, the twain, the level sun 
 Threw thin, long shadows slanting on the path, 
 Upon the hill where now is Nazareth. 
 
64 BETHESDA. 
 
 They sought the strand and idle at their feet 
 
 The waters lapped with murmurs soft and low^, 
 
 And the King's face was peace. A placid light 
 
 Lay in his eyes ; a look as one who turns 
 
 From arid pathways into meadows cool ; 
 
 Or who from battle coming, sees the roof 
 
 Of his own dwelling in the restful vale. 
 
 His beard the sweet wind wafted, and his hair 
 
 From silver threads threw back the mellow sun. 
 
 And on his white hand shone the amulet 
 
 A wavering drop of gentle sapphire flame. 
 
 He said: My brother. Thou wast kind to me 
 When I was hungered. When I sought for rest 
 Thy couch gave me the blessedness of sleep. 
 And I am King and Seer ; and spirits own 
 My power on earth and sea. So, nevermore 
 In Galilee thy line be vainly cast. 
 And never shall thy brazier fail of fire. 
 Nor ever storm assail thee, till ye die 
 
BETHESDA. 65 
 
 Of many gathered years and kindly age. 
 
 The fisher heard and cast his Hne abroad, 
 
 But scarce the sinker fell beneath the wave 
 
 Ere the cord tightened. Thrice he drew to land 
 
 The finny spoil until it seemed too great 
 
 For his strong arms to bear. Then reverently 
 
 Obedient to a sign, departed thence. 
 
 But in a little while he turned and saw 
 The Kingly form, the sunlight on its head. 
 Silent and calm. Then slow the fingers drew 
 Forth from its place the lambent amulet, 
 And flung it forth, a gleaming arc in air 
 That fell and vanished in the midmost sea. 
 And calm and silent with slow waving beard. 
 With sunlight on his forehead and his hair, 
 The King stood on the shore. The fisher saw 
 And awe was in his heart : and wondering 
 He turned and went his way. And not again 
 In this our land was seen great Solomon. 
 
66 BE THE SD A. 
 
 He ceased the tale, half bashful and half pleased 
 To hear our praises of his mien and speech. 
 But with his kind good eve the story failed 
 And faded from our thought. Nor did I dream 
 I should remember in the after time. 
 
 Sometimes a stranger gave us passing cheer. 
 Once, wandering from the coast a sailor came. 
 Reckless in word but with a kindly heart, 
 And gladdened us with alms and willing speech, 
 For well he liked a list'ner, and we loved 
 To hear his tales of wondrous lands remote 
 From all our warriors knew or sages told. 
 
 Once, so he said, beyond where Roman spears 
 Outshone the glimmer of the Northern seas, 
 He climbed a mountain on whose naked crest 
 The sunlight lay when deep the midnight brought 
 Its darkness to the silent lands below. 
 Yea, there, he said, he saw the sun descend 
 
BE THE SD A. 67 
 
 Aslant and crimson and then rise again, 
 Yet never sink beneath the distant edge . 
 Of the far driven sea ; and so its course 
 Kept onward with no twilight and no night, 
 But ever living radiance on the sky, 
 And light unbroken on the mountain top. 
 Then, ever eager to explain her thought, 
 The aged woman spake. Above the vales 
 Wherein we dwell the peace of God doth lie 
 As on the northern summit dwells the sun. 
 There fear is gone, as on the distant height 
 The darkness hath no place. Yea, we may climb 
 From out these lowly shadows into light. 
 
 The sailor, hearing, wondered, and gave voice 
 To long, low, doubting whistle and away 
 Went with a mocking laugh, forsaking us 
 As all too simple for his courtesy. 
 
68 BETHESDA. 
 
 We heard the daily gossip, that which ran 
 
 From Hp to lip among the folk, and we 
 
 Were glad to join therein, because it gave 
 
 Us lot and share with human kind around 
 
 And made us one with them: we heard and told, 
 
 Of who was wed and who was borne beyond 
 
 The city gates for burial ; and who 
 
 Had come into the world ; and who was old 
 
 And wise, or foolish, and whose wealth was gone. 
 
 Or poverty was done ; who from afar 
 
 Had home returned, or who departed thence. 
 
 Sometimes its sluggish current faster moved 
 
 At some strange thing new told. 
 
 One early morn, 
 Yea, it was long ago, but not more clear 
 Is yesterday within my vision drawn, 
 Where comes the road from Bethlehem we saw 
 A wayworn woman hasten to the mart 
 Where sheep are sold, beyond the healing pool, 
 
BETHESDA. 69 
 
 And in her arms an infant. Quick she drew, 
 With trembling fingers and averted gaze, 
 The coarse, dry herbage from the mangers full 
 Wherein she wrapped the child, and hiding it. 
 Sped t'ward the ford of Kedron. Soon we heard 
 A murmur of shrill voices in the air. 
 And sobbing near at hand. The Edomite, 
 They cried, hath slain the innocents and now 
 Is Rama mourning for her little ones, 
 Aye, thrice accursed shall cruel Herod be. 
 
 And once we heard how from the Eastern lands 
 A lambent star, new risen, passed athwart 
 The calm, blue sky, and wise men followed it. 
 Yea, Kings were they and bore of precious gifts, 
 Until it paused above a humble roof 
 Beneath whose shelter oxen chewed the cud 
 And sheep contented lay. And m^ore they told, 
 Some doubting much and some of fervent faith. 
 How in the manger was a new-born child. 
 
70 BETHESDA. 
 
 Foretold of old a conqueror, and whom 
 A virgin nursed in purity undimmed 
 By any guile or stain, and at whose feet 
 With low obeisance the gifts were laid. 
 
 And later still they said this self-same babe 
 Borne into far-off Egypt safely dwelt, 
 Awaiting that His time of power should come 
 When he should rule — a King. The story told, 
 We pondered for an hour and then forgot, 
 Seeking new wonder in some newer tale. 
 
 But chiefest of the pleasaunce that we knew 
 That dotted here and there the dismal days 
 With scattered shards of light — the tales oft told 
 Of how our people in the olden years 
 Were God's best chosen. How from Egypt's dark 
 And crushing bondage all the tribes rose up 
 With steadfast tread, and sought the purple sea 
 Whose waters rose beside them, like a wall, 
 
BETHESDA. 71 
 
 That they might walk dry shod. How smoke and 
 
 flame 
 Did guide them through the wilderness, and how 
 The manna fell in darkness of the night 
 When they were hungered. How beyond the hills 
 This land allured them, promised of old time, 
 Where rain from Heaven on the thirsty earth 
 Should bring forth bread without the touch of foot 
 To trickling rivulet. How Solomon 
 These naked streets had clothed with shining gold. 
 How he had talked with demons and had known 
 The inmost secrets of the rocks and woods: 
 And over mighty kings held heavy sway. 
 How he from Joktan's deserts charmed the queen 
 That ruled in Sheba. How his daring ships 
 Of carven shittim wood from seas remote 
 Brought back of gems, and birds of colors rare. 
 How, earlier, a shepherd lad had gone 
 To seek his sheep and found a crown instead. 
 How, earlier still, when Israel owned the yoke. 
 
72 BETHESDA. 
 
 A woman drove a tent-pin through the brain 
 
 Of the accursed invader. How our sires 
 
 Mourned 'neath the willows by the still lagoons 
 
 That notched Euphrates' banks. How Esther came 
 
 Mantled in beauty to the conqueror, 
 
 That by the sword her people yet might live, 
 
 Though sorely smitten. How Holofernes 
 
 By Judith pure as snow was smote and slain. 
 
 And all the people said Amen, and she 
 
 Was honored of our God. 
 
 And while we talked 
 Of these the women of old days, the crone 
 Her shaking hands held steadier and a light, 
 Like glint of burnished steel, was in her eyes 
 The while she crooned. It was a woman's arm 
 That saved our people in the evil days. 
 Aye, Israel's maidens are not they who know 
 Alone fair smiles, and softly woven words 
 Sweet spoken in the dusk. And more we told 
 
BETHESDA. 73 
 
 Of many marvels in the ancient days 
 And told them yet again. 
 
 But most of all 
 We conned the mystery that Jacob spake 
 Concerning Judah, that around his hearth 
 Our race should gather until Shiloh come. 
 And who, we questioned, shall this Shiloh be, 
 So long foretold and weary w^aited for? 
 The Roman spears are bright along our streets, 
 And Roman eagles from the standards look 
 Upon us from our hills. When Shiloh comes, 
 Shall Judah rise once more ; shall Zion share 
 Her splendor once again? So queried oft 
 Our desultory talk when fervently 
 Each gave interpretation to the tale. 
 Aye, quoth the greybeard: — 
 
 Judah yet shall know 
 Her garners filled with harvests and her vales 
 
74 
 
 BETHESDA. 
 
 Ablown with flowers new born. Her ships shall sail 
 
 To seas untraversed, as in ancient days, 
 
 And all her marts be filled, nor any tread 
 
 Of alien warrior in her land be heard. 
 
 Not Lebanon with his cedars shall be strong, 
 
 Or Sharon with her roses be more fair 
 
 Than this our land ; for Shiloh sure shall be 
 
 Like unto David, and like Solomon 
 
 In all save guile. 
 
 Then answered quick the youth. 
 Behold, when Shiloh comes, the cymbals' clang 
 Shall clamor loud from Jordan to the sea. 
 And all the pastures shall be swept for steeds. 
 The smiths shall swing the hammers at the forge. 
 From dawn to dark, that spearheads may be made 
 To arm the serried hosts. The chariot wheels 
 Shall grind the pavements of Jerusalem 
 Rolled outward to the gates. The bronzed birds 
 That crown the Roman standards, flown afar 
 
BETHESDA. 75 
 
 Shall dread our trumpet's blast. Like Joshua, 
 But sevenfold more than he, shall Shiloh come. 
 
 Then softly said the widow, when He comes — 
 
 Foretold by prophets, shall a gentle calm 
 
 As of a Sabbath morning fall on all. 
 
 And wrath shall die and peace be everywhere. 
 
 The smiths shall labor, but their cheerful toil 
 
 Shall make of ploughshares and of sickles keen 
 
 And hooks to till the vines. The trumpet's blast 
 
 Shall echo o'er the vales but it shall call 
 
 The people to the feasts. The cymbal's sound 
 
 Shall have but gladness and the voice of joy. 
 
 Yea, in that day the lions from the hills, 
 
 The wild men dwelling in the caves, shall come 
 
 And seeking peaceful shelter shall lie down 
 
 Unharming and unharmed within our walls. 
 
 And none shall be ahungered, for the just 
 
 Shall say that all God's creatures shall be fed. 
 
 And none shall be afraid, for merciful 
 
 Shall all men's hearts be found when Shiloh comes. 
 
76 BE THE SD A. 
 
 And I, in reverie, upon the pool 
 Saw dead leaves dance and shadows come and go. 
 Once with a step sedate, through summer days 
 There came a man robust, in gentle guise, 
 Who spake in voice subdued and gave us alms, 
 With sympathetic words. Ofttimes he stood 
 And gazed upon the pool; not when it stirred 
 In first ebuUiance in the rosy light, 
 But when the shade grew cool at evenfall, 
 When water spiders darted here and there 
 Like dots of darker shadow on its face: 
 When all its deeps grew black and clearer gave 
 Its dusk reflection to the downward gaze. 
 There would he ponder long, then w4th a sigh 
 Would turn away and bid us soft good-night 
 As if we were of brotherhood with him. 
 Whereat we marvelled, for his raiment shone 
 With linen woven in Cyrenian looms. 
 And purple gathered from the murex shell. 
 Upon his hand the cloven diamond shone 
 
BE THE SD A. 77 
 
 Mingled with sapphire and with chrysophrase. 
 
 His words were chosen as a Rabbi's are, 
 
 Full delicate and dainty in their strength. 
 
 And yet he seemed like one of us who knew 
 
 The burden of a sorrow held so long 
 
 That it was daily use and habitude. 
 
 So seeing him we held our woes more light 
 
 As of the common burden of the world. 
 
 But we knew not his name or whence he came 
 
 Till from the fervent heat, one afternoon 
 
 A woman sought the arch. 
 
 Beneath the sky 
 Was never mortal seen more beautiful 
 In face or form or movement of the limbs, 
 Or sensuous grace of speech, or tender ways. 
 Save this, that oft her eyes were sinister, 
 Nor steadily would gaze into our own: 
 And that sometimes around her mouth there came 
 Lines like the leopard's when he nears his prey. 
 
78 BE THE SB A. 
 
 Though seemed she as but yesterday a child. 
 And her we knew. For we had seen her pass 
 With flaunting garments, when the twilight came, 
 And hollow laugh that echoed far and drear. 
 She, resting, stood within the shade and gazed 
 Half curiously on us. Her loosened hair. 
 Like silk from far Sinensis, fleecy fell 
 A sable cloud unto her languid knee. 
 And clustered on her forehead low and broad. 
 She stood, and spake .not, till the angered crone 
 Said, wherefore, woman, comest thou anear: 
 Thy place is out beyond the utmost gates, 
 So trouble us no more. 
 
 She answered not; 
 But with a sudden movement of her arm 
 Disclosed the rounded bosom and the charm 
 Of all the ivory shoulder tinged with gold. 
 And leaned against the wall as leans the vine 
 Upon the trellis in the noontide heat. 
 
BETHESDA. 79 
 
 Then with a careless smile said — sweet and soft, 
 Ah, matron, thou art old: and like the seed 
 From the ripe thistle blown, art harsh and dry, 
 And know no juiciness of life, or touch 
 Of any fervidness of summer noons 
 On thy cold heart or in thy shrinking veins. 
 Yea, matron, thou art old and therefore scorn. 
 I take no coolness from thee in the shade. 
 Nor crowd thee in the narrow resting place 
 Beneath this spreading arch. A little while 
 And I go forth, and leave no word behind 
 Of bitterness or railing. Let the rose 
 Bloom forth its little hour. It hinders not 
 The thistle's seed on chilly winds upborne. 
 
 Then spake the blind man. Woman, hearken me, 
 
 I listen to thy step and hence I know 
 
 That thou art hale and strong. I hear thy voice 
 
 And learn thy heart is fond and passionate. 
 
 Its buoyant accents tell me thou art fair. 
 
8o BETHESDA. 
 
 The rustle of thy garments, dehcate 
 
 Doth hint of sensuous grace and courtesy. 
 
 Thy babble is of roses. Thou can'st see 
 
 The splendor of fair fields with blossoms strown. 
 
 In all these gifts find ye no treasure lent 
 
 Tor which to make accounting? Wherefore now 
 
 In idle dalliance with the drifting days 
 
 Dost loiter far from shelter of the hearth, 
 
 And all the peace of home and loving hearts? 
 
 Quoth she, and hast thou heard the hammers clang 
 
 On anvils of Damascus? By the doors 
 
 Where armorers labored I have marked the scene, 
 
 The glitter of the fire and all the roar 
 
 And splendor of the forges. And the steel 
 
 Lay ready to the master workman's hand. 
 
 And whether from the twisted bar should come 
 
 A blade to shimmer on victorious fields 
 
 Or one to offer up the sacrifice 
 
 Was in his heart alone. Lo. He who made 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 The glory of the sun and earth and skies 
 Has wrought us to the fashion of his will, 
 And who shall hinder him. 
 
 Once knew I truth. 
 And all the trustfulness of innocence, 
 Dreaming that love was like the asphodel 
 That golden grows where gentle spirits are. 
 When him I met whom ye will see to-day 
 Beside this pool when evening shadows fall. 
 For so we twain beside still waters stood, 
 Beheld our faces in them and the stars 
 Twinkle below ere yet our tryst was done. 
 The year hath gone, and sullenly and dark 
 He sees his own reflected all alone. 
 And naught save memory of evil done 
 Hath he and I together. He, who lured 
 And I, who fell unheeding in the snare. 
 Yea, I have faltered by the synagogue 
 To see him, with fond wife, exultantly 
 
82 BE THE SD A. 
 
 Give thanks before the altar of the Lord: 
 
 Wearing phylacteries a handbreadth broad, 
 
 And mark the smiles that all the people gave, 
 
 As in obeisance, did he but deign 
 
 To look upon them there. Then have I gone: 
 
 And shame has followed me along the streets, 
 
 The mocking of the beggar and the jest 
 
 Of Levite passing on the other side. 
 
 Yea, shame and hunger, and the bitter woe 
 
 That comes from dearth of converse with our kind. 
 
 And memory of sweet hours forever dead. 
 
 Aye, blind man, thou art darker in thine heart 
 
 Than in those clouded eyes, to speak of home. 
 
 Or hearthstone shelter, or sweet peace to me. 
 
 Then, turning, with slow steps she went away. 
 But in a little while we heard her sing 
 As if her sorrow a slow comfort found 
 In self-communing words. 
 
BETHESDA. 83 
 
 Aye, love is sweet. 
 When love is guiltless, as the rose is fair 
 Untouched by ardor of the fervid noon. 
 Ah, Love is life and love is dead to me. 
 And life were better ended as the rose 
 Dies in the blaze of suns that gave it birth. 
 Among the branches darker grew the shade 
 And deeper all the shadows 'neath the arch, 
 When at the accustomed hour we heard the step 
 Of him of whom she spoke; but all our hearts 
 Had grown a-cold to him. Yet seeing this 
 He smiled, surprised, and threw a double dole. 
 Two coins, to each and passed toward the pool, 
 And spake no more to us. Anon, we heard 
 Him murmur softly, to himself alone: 
 
 Vain are my gifts upon the altar laid 
 And vain the travail of the stormy years. 
 The gathering of gold, and praise of men. 
 Yea, and the love of woman, cast away 
 
84 BE THE SD A. 
 
 Like blossoms brought with toil from rocky cliffs 
 
 Then flung upon the wa3^side when the joy 
 
 Hath passed a little space. Aye, vain the faith 
 
 Our fathers brought from sore captivity, 
 
 That we shall rise from out the sepulchre 
 
 To a new Eden. Yet, mayhap, as vain 
 
 The Sadduseean's sullen dream of death, 
 
 A sleep wherein no visions come to us. 
 
 Aye. All is vain. Yet Death the riddle solves. 
 
 This calm, still water could the marvel tell 
 
 To who would trust it. When the gentle breath 
 
 Had bubbled to its surface he would know 
 
 The mystery of all the dark beyond. 
 
 Drowsy we listened to his monotone 
 
 That fell on our dulled senses till it seemed 
 
 Receding and confused. Then slumber came 
 
 With dreams that flitted in awakening 
 
 Ere we could hold them as a pleasure known 
 
 Or anguish undergone. For we awoke 
 
BETHESDA. 85 
 
 To hear shrill cries of wonder and of woe. 
 
 For they who sought for him who watched the pool 
 
 Need seek no more, and lamentation made. 
 
 He lay beneath the water, save that fair 
 
 Above its surface shone his forehead high, 
 
 And hand bedight with jewels. From the space 
 
 Of all the arches swarmed the flies and sank 
 
 In clusters on his brow. And still he lay, 
 
 For on that morn no angel touched the pool: 
 
 And none were healed in presence of the dead. 
 
 Then we were filled with sorrow at the thought 
 
 Of all our coldness to him. And we told. 
 
 In low, remorseful converse, of his gifts 
 
 And many kindly words. I safely laid 
 
 The two denarii in my girdle's fold. 
 
 That I might keep them for his memory's sake 
 
 Till need should wrench them from me. Many days 
 
 Were flown ere we forgot to think of him 
 
 When sunshine faded and the night drew near. 
 
86 BETHESDA. 
 
 Once, tempted by the coolness of the air 
 
 When after rain the sunlight fell subdued, 
 
 An hour before the dark, we sought the street; 
 
 The blind man guided by our willing hands; 
 
 Our weakness holpen by his greater strength, 
 
 Till, eastward thrown, the shade of David's tower 
 
 Made welcome resting place. And there were come 
 
 A-many curious list'ners to the voice 
 
 Of one who cried: — 
 
 Ah, mine inheritance 
 Hath gone from me. Within the outland vales 
 A crafty chief made foray where the flocks 
 Of many poor and lowly, scattered grazed; 
 And spoiled the fields of harvests where his hand 
 Had thrown no kernel in the seeding time; 
 And garnered orchards that old women watched 
 From flower to fruitage with dim, anxious eyes, 
 Mocking their tears with many a laughing jest 
 And scoff at all their pleading. Yet, he thrives, 
 
BETHESDA. 87 
 
 This Mahu Jael, while he scorns the law. 
 Yea, while my heritage he harried sore — 
 And drove me forth alone, still was he blest. 
 So my inheritance hath passed away 
 And to my children poverty hath come. 
 
 Then spake a Greek, an epicurean called, 
 
 Clad in soft raiment but with manner cold. 
 
 Why raise thy voice complaining that the stroke 
 
 Of Mahu Jael heavy on thee lies. 
 
 Match thou his craft with guile, his force with 
 
 strength. 
 His plotting with thy patience. Know'st thou not 
 That men, like vipers, struggle, and the strong. 
 The wise, the resolute rear head aloft 
 And hiss, triumphant, while the vanquished lie 
 Broken and crushed. Go seek thy place afar 
 From toil and struggle. Mahu Jael's head 
 Shall fall like thine at last and all be done. 
 What will it matter. Who will bear the tale 
 
88 BE THE SB A. 
 
 Unto our children's children, or will care 
 
 That thou wast spoiled; that Mahu Jael laughed, 
 
 Or that I touched thy sorrow with rebuke. 
 
 With slow, uneasy thought I heard his words 
 As if I — half unmeaning — shared their guilt. 
 
 Then we the blind man guiding with our sight, 
 And he our weakness aiding with his arms, 
 Sought once again our places by the pool 
 Curtained anew with shadows. But that eve 
 We were more sad, as if the stars more far 
 Were drawn within the sky, and hope more faint 
 Would mingle with the coming of the dawn. 
 
 Light fell the snow upon Jerusalem; 
 'Twas years thereafter, and within the porch, 
 From out the falling flakes, the loiterers drew, 
 And with them came the homeless and the weak 
 Who knew no other shelter. Then I heard 
 
BE THE SD A. 89 
 
 Once more of Mahu Jael. For the Greek, 
 
 His face grown older but his eye alert 
 
 And manner affable, came with the rest. 
 
 He to my query answered, yea, I knew 
 
 This Mahu Jael to the day he died. 
 
 And ever as of old he scorned the law. 
 
 Lived long by the strong hand and strangled fell 
 
 By stronger hands than his. A wild wolf's cry 
 
 That rose and sank to silence, that is all 
 
 Of Mahu Jael in his life and death. • 
 
 Nay, 'tis not all. So, clear and shrill, a voice 
 Made answer to the words. He cannot die 
 Save in the flesh that he hath left behind, 
 As the brown beetle on the cedar's side 
 Leaves empty shard when he himself hath passed 
 Into a life renewed. 
 
 I, list'ning turned 
 And saw one clad in raiment torn and old, 
 
90 BE THE SB A. 
 
 Of camel's hair close woven. On his beard 
 Lay lucent drops of hone3\ In his hand 
 Were locusts crisped by fire, whereof he ate 
 The while he said to us. 
 
 The merciless 
 Hath gone to judgment and his doom is wrought 
 In flame unmerciful through endless days. 
 And he who justice mocked doth justice know. 
 For God is just. In all consuming fire 
 That yet consumes not his keen consciousness. 
 Are memories like sting of asps to him 
 Of wrongful purpose and the fruit it bears 
 On, on, and on, until the world shall end. 
 And all the good he scoffed unto his thought 
 Is clear and vivid, and in shadowy forms 
 Reveals to him the good that might have been. 
 Had he but willed it, till the world shall end; 
 And yet was not nor evermore shall be. 
 For God is just. Yea, every deed shall bear 
 
BETHESDA. 91 
 
 According to its kind, as 'mid the hills 
 Each drifting seed hath kindred in its yield ■ 
 Of more than is itself. 
 
 Then who shall bear, 
 The Greek replied, the weight of his own sin, 
 Though he be sorrowful before he dies 
 That no atonement made he in his day. 
 And now the time be gone. Aye, who shall pay 
 Of his own debt of evil at the last. 
 Repent. Repent, and ye shall have of time. 
 Replied the prophet. There is One who comes — 
 
 But, ere his words were finished, from the street 
 
 Came voice of ribaldry and clank of chain, 
 
 And a decurion with his followers came. 
 
 They seized the prophet. With rude hands they 
 
 bound 
 The iron links on unresisting limbs. 
 King Herod wills, they said, thy rebel heart 
 
92 BE THE SB A. 
 
 Shall break in dungeons by the pitchy sea; 
 For thou hast spoken ill of one he loves. 
 Grasping his beard they bore him speedily 
 Forth from our midst, and him I saw no more. 
 
 From seedtime unto harvest steadfastly 
 The lagging seasons rolled, and one by one 
 These my companions left me. Intervals 
 Of years were lain between but I alone 
 At last remained. Nor any joy was mine, 
 Through any of the evanescent days. 
 When they were gone. For alien every face 
 Saving these three to me. Nor any voice 
 Other than theirs attuned to friendliness. 
 Yet in the joyless hours I yet rejoiced 
 For peace was theirs, and gentleness; and care 
 Was gone from them afar. For so it was 
 That all from me went out into the day, 
 The shadows dusk behind them and the light 
 On their glad faces. One by one they went 
 
BE THE SD A. 93 
 
 And all my throbbing heart went out with each. 
 While I was left to watch the shadows play 
 Upon the eddying water, and the leaves 
 Float here and yon as soft winds wafted them. 
 
 For once there came a morning when the stars 
 Shone dull and red through all the filmy haze. 
 As was his wont the blind man on the brink 
 Sat him a-low with unexpectant trust. 
 A ruffian from the Arab wilderness, 
 Swart, strong and lithe as desert tigers are; 
 Drunken with lees from outcast wineskins drawn, 
 And wild with all the terror Ishmael knows 
 Within the walls of cities, frantic sprang 
 Into our midst. With reckless arm outswung 
 He smote the sightless watcher that he fell. 
 And at the instant, lo! the waters swayed 
 Sweeping the blinded face, caressing it 
 With softly flowing touch and lapping low 
 The fallen form with ripples delicate. 
 
94 ' BETHESDA. 
 
 He rose and saw the glory of the sun 
 
 New born beyond the east. He marked the clouds 
 
 Like silver mantles flung upon the sky: 
 
 The dim green of the olives, and the shine 
 
 Of almond leaves, afar: the shade that wove 
 
 A fretwork from the branches where the breeze 
 
 Slow swayed them to and fro: then scanned each 
 
 face 
 In wonder turned toward him; but he knew 
 Not us who shared his solitary years 
 Until we spake with loud rejoicing words, 
 But with a little envy in our hearts 
 That shrank ashamed ere it ourselves we knew, 
 For he was hale as aged men are hale 
 Who all their days have honor'd God's behests. 
 And peace was on his forehead and his lips 
 Were sweet with sympathy for us who lay 
 Still bounden in the bondage of our woe. 
 Behold, He said. As dwell one family 
 Within a peaceful tent in lonely lands. 
 
BE THE SB A. 95 
 
 So underneath the arches have we stayed. 
 
 I go not hence but to return again. 
 
 A little while I wander where the graves 
 
 Of all my people be. A little while 
 
 Shall note the strangeness of the hills and mark 
 
 How the old paths are changed that thread the vale. 
 
 And with awakened sight shall see once more 
 
 The changeless wild flowers bloom, as long ago 
 
 I saw them in the fields. But on each day 
 
 That comes before the sabbath I will come 
 
 And we shall speak again our simple words: 
 
 Again shall know each other, and the hearts 
 
 Of each shall open in all kindliness. 
 
 And if it chance I come not, and no word 
 
 Before the sabbath hear ye, know that I 
 
 Have passed beyond the twilight into day 
 
 Whence never voice returneth. 
 
 Then he went 
 In the new risen sunlight, but each noon 
 
96 BETHESDA. 
 
 When drew the sabbath near he came to us; 
 Sometimes with ripened clusters from the vines 
 Of distant vintage grown, sometimes with dates 
 Gathered beside the narrow path that led 
 From the far fountain down; with pomegranates 
 And figs and carob pods of sweeter taste 
 Than on the wild trees grew. And roses oft, 
 With tender lilies from the wayside dells, 
 And mosses woodland grown. At last a day 
 Before the sabbath passed nor heard his step 
 Upon the stones, or saw his shadow cast 
 Between the pillars. Then we knew that he 
 Was nevermore for us. 
 
 Then after years 
 Crept by more slowly still. One leaden morn 
 When thin clouds veiled the sky and airs were 
 
 cold 
 Though scarce the wet leaf stirred beside the wall; 
 We heard the sound of hautbois floating near 
 
BE THE SB A. 97 
 
 In measured cadence, and the shriller tone 
 Of loud blown dulcimers. The steady tread 
 That warriors keep beneath a chieftain's eye. 
 The rattling of the sword on greaves of steel, 
 And clinking of the mail on jarring shields. 
 
 Anon within our sight the gleam of spears. 
 
 The orderly array of armed men, 
 
 And in their midst a litter high upborne; 
 
 A crimson canopy above, below. 
 
 Fair golden tassels trailing, and around 
 
 Broad curtains broidered with the strange designs 
 
 The women of Euphrates weave and blend. 
 
 For now a satrap, from beyond the hills 
 
 That mark the utmost limit of our land, 
 
 Laid low by poison and anear the grave 
 
 Had come to seek for healing in the pool. 
 
 When stopped they by the brink we fell away. 
 
 Crowded on either hand, and left clear space 
 
 For litter and for bearers, while they paused 
 
98 BE THE SD A. 
 
 To wait the troubled waters. But the youth, 
 A youth no more but with thin scattered threads 
 Of silver in his beard, more bold than all 
 Drew close unto the litter till he touched 
 The drooping tassels, and with smiling face 
 Made friendship with the soldiers. So he placed 
 His hands upon the smooth and burnished shields. 
 And of their inlaid silver traced the course 
 With curious fingers. And with pleased eyes 
 Noted the inwrought armlet of the chief, 
 The golden ornaments each cuirass bore, 
 And the keen spears and crescent cimetars: 
 The while the hautbois spake more low, and less 
 Of strident tone came from the dulcimers, 
 Until they ceased. 
 
 And we were silent all. 
 So silent that I heard, far overhead, 
 A little sound as if a bee had thrown 
 Himself against the ceiling, or a twig 
 
BETHESDA. 99 
 
 Wind borne had rustled on the sloping roof: 
 
 Yet sibilant as if a viper's tongue 
 
 On high had darted and then hid again. 
 
 Then, downward shot from where the highest arch 
 
 Its keystone hid in shadows, fell a stone 
 
 Age-loosened from its place. 
 
 Like gossamer 
 The silken folds that crowned the canopy 
 Were riven as it fell. Above the head 
 That lay upon the pillow swung the hand 
 Unscathed of old by fire. Yea, as it caught 
 The white-faced bee long since in idle play 
 Thus now it seized the stone, then cast it down 
 So that it fell in ripples in the pool. 
 
 The Satrap spake. Beyond the mountains far 
 A hundred thousand people sleep in peace. 
 And rise in peace at morn, and through each day 
 In peacefulness pursue the pleasant round 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 Of life and labor all devoid of fear. 
 
 For I in justice rule them. Long ago, 
 
 Ere age had tempered all my fiery blood, 
 
 I laid up need of all atonement man 
 
 May make unto his fellows. Thou has gained 
 
 For them, of blessed years, and fair for me 
 
 The yet atoning time. 
 
 Behold, He said. 
 On yon dull water bubbles rise and fail 
 And glisten in the glamour of the sun. 
 Then lay me down upon these pavement stones, 
 Aye, at this cripple's feet, and bear him in 
 When highest thrown the troubled waters break. 
 And, as he bade, they laid the litter down, 
 A burning heap of splendor, where the rays 
 Threw their new risen light. Then speedily 
 They placed the cripple where the waters rose. 
 
 He knelt and kissed the graven armlet then, 
 With grateful streaming eyes, then turned aside 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 To us his old companions. Nevermore 
 
 Be sad, quoth he, for ere the Sabbath dawns 
 
 Shall ye be whole. Behold me, I am strong. 
 
 And when the satrap healed has gone away 
 
 Another morrow comes, and one again. 
 
 And on these mornings will I bear ye in 
 
 Ere yet the crowd can pass. For now mine arms 
 
 Can smite the rabble back, and ye shall live 
 
 In healthful strength, lo, yet these many years. 
 
 Into the sunlight passed he. 
 
 Never yet 
 Had sunshine been so bright to us who stayed 
 Counting the hours 'till he should come again. 
 But nevermore his shadow on the stones 
 Did we behold. A Thracian troop went by, 
 'Twas so they told us, as he trod the street 
 In all his new born vigor. With the sound 
 Of the shrill trumpet all his heart was filled. 
 His eyes were dazzled with the shine of spears 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 And glitter of the mail. The heavy tread 
 In measured time allured his footsteps on: 
 A shrewd centurion called him, as he came 
 With mimic martial air, persuading him 
 That he should be a warrior. So, the path 
 That led unto the pool he knew no more. 
 
 We missed his boyish converse and were sad 
 
 That he forsook us in our dreary need; 
 
 And, lonelier still, each nearer drew to each 
 
 In sympathy of sorrow. Each with each 
 
 Had thoughts the same. 'Though we together sought 
 
 To make the burden on our hearts more light, 
 
 The years were longer and the days more dark; 
 
 We heeded not the changes of the hours. 
 
 Nor recked we of the news the gossips brought. 
 
 The alms grew scantier and the looks more cold; 
 
 Full fourscore years the widow now had known, 
 
 And I was old with weariness of time. 
 
BETHESDA. 103 
 
 She spake not of to-day or yesterday. 
 
 But oft repeated she the stories o'er 
 
 Of her own youth and childhood. How she wrought, 
 
 In patient trustfulness, of garlands fair 
 
 That fell in fragments when unto her brow 
 
 She fain would lift them: and how oftentimes 
 
 They Hkened her to the gazelle that springs 
 
 On Sinai's desert borders. How she saw, 
 
 One drowsy eve, the camels winding come 
 
 To where the fountain flowed; and how she met 
 
 The camel driver there as once, she said, 
 
 Beside the well Rebecca found her lord. 
 
 And how she wedded. How, along the path 
 
 That led unto her dwelling, citrons trailed 
 
 Their golden fruit wherewith the children played. 
 
 How, suddenly, there came the deadly plague 
 
 And smote them all, save her. How, desolate. 
 
 With her own hands she digged the graves, and laid 
 
 The sun-parched turf upon their quiet breasts. 
 
 Then would she sit and rock her to and fro, 
 
I04 BETHESDA. 
 
 With low, soft moanings, and with crooning words, 
 And hands upon her knees and arms half bent 
 As if the dead they cradled in their fold. 
 Sometimes in dazed imaginings she said 
 Her children waited for her in the vale 
 Beyond the mountains: that their voices cried 
 Upon the slow winds, asking she should come. 
 
 The months grew longer than the years had been, 
 And fair sweet days of evanescent spring 
 More dull than first had seemed the latter rain, 
 When gloomy vapors filled the narrow street. 
 Our home had grown the arches, and the dark 
 And starlight of the night beheld us there. 
 The widow, on a mat of woven reeds 
 Grown on Abana's edges, hid herself 
 Behind the pillars for her restless sleep. 
 I, in the outer porch on sackcloth couch 
 A water bearer gave me when the pool 
 The bruises of a fray had healed for him. 
 
BE THE SD A. 105 
 
 And oftentimes the nights were cold and we 
 Cared not to see to-morrow. Oftentimes 
 The dogs from out the city lanes stole near, 
 And with damp nostrils touched our sleeping eyes, 
 Then finding us alive gave yell and shrank 
 With crouching haunches into dark again. 
 
 At last a morning came, and I, alone, 
 Gazed on the shimmering water in the ray 
 Of the last starlight. 
 
 For when midnight came 
 I heard a low voice call me and I woke. 
 'She knelt beside me and within her eyes 
 -A glad light shone. Her aged face was fair 
 With smiling calm and peace ineffable. 
 
 Behold! she said, an Angel I have seen. 
 Yea, He who stirs the pool, . I waking lay 
 Watching the thin clouds drift across the sky 
 
io6 BETHESDA. 
 
 To hide the stars and send them forth again; 
 
 When suddenly a Presence near me stood, 
 
 Clad in white raiment and with folded hands, 
 
 And sandals flecked with grains of desert dust. 
 
 Around his head a halo of soft light, 
 
 yet not of sun or star, but like the glow 
 
 A distant beacon launches to the sky 
 
 From some far hillside hidden from our sight. 
 
 And there was kindness in his eyes, and strength 
 
 In all his limbs, and thought was on his brow; 
 
 And a sweet sadness played around his mouth. 
 
 In his low voice was all the melody 
 
 Of holy chanting heard from aisles afar; 
 
 Yet breathing simple words. What wouldst thou have? 
 
 He asked of me; and pleading I replied: 
 
 Oh! Gentle Master, I would have the days 
 Of peaceful rest that knew me long ago, 
 When I a child beside the fountain played 
 And wove me garlands of the early flowers. 
 
BE THE SB A. 107 
 
 Aye, kind, good Master, I would know again 
 
 The joy that in the twihght came to me 
 
 To watch the camels coming one by one 
 
 Along the winding road, the peace I knew 
 
 When I in ashes baked the millet bread 
 
 For him who ruled our home. Yea, give to me 
 
 Oh, Blessed Lord, the voices that I heard 
 
 My little children speak so long ago. 
 
 Yea, Master, if I go beyond the hills 
 
 There shall I find them. I am weak and old 
 
 But if the pool but heal me I shall go. 
 
 I left them there and they are waiting me 
 
 And wondering why I come not unto them. 
 
 But I am broken now and all my frame 
 
 Is weariness and woe. When comes the dawn, 
 
 Into the pool, oh. Master, bear me in 
 
 That I, made strong, may yet return to them. 
 
 The while I prayed the halo round His head 
 With deeper luster shone. In lordlier guise 
 
io8 BETHESDA. 
 
 His snowy raiment flowed. His gaze more deep 
 Sank searching into mine — until, afeard, 
 I dropt mine eyes and listened. Yea, I heard. 
 ■So shall it be, He said, and when the dawn 
 Shall shine upon the ripples thou shalt know 
 All this thou askest. Then a little while 
 I waited in the silence. When I looked, 
 Lo, He was gone. 
 
 Then, thinking she had dreamed, 
 But seeking still to comfort her, I said 
 Yea, sister, it is well, rejoice and hope. 
 And rest until the morning. We shall see — 
 But ere my words were ended, slow her eyes 
 'Closed in a peaceful sleep. Upon her lips 
 A sweet smile played as if a pleasant thought 
 Too tired for utterance had lingered there. 
 And as a child will lay its drowsy head 
 Upon a grassy bank or sloping knoll, 
 So laid she down her forehead on my breast 
 
BETHESDA. 109. 
 
 And answered not my words. Nor evermore 
 Knew she of earth the weariness and woe. 
 
 He is alone who hath no friend anear 
 
 Although earth's hosts were marshalled at his side. 
 
 And I, alone, while other years went by 
 
 Recked not their course, or heeded what they brought 
 
 Of shine or shadow to the outer world. 
 
 And so it happed one morn I brooding lay: 
 
 Whereon One spake, in snowy raiment clad, 
 
 How long, oh, man, art thou abiding here 
 
 And wherefore seek'st thou not the troubled wave 
 
 Thence passing forth rejoicing. Lo, I cried 
 
 In bitterness of heart, can these weak limbs 
 
 Wrestle with all the crowd? How, poor and old, 
 
 Shall I find bearers when the waters rise? 
 
 My trembling limbs are bruised by the stress 
 
 Of many jostling feet. Here, thirty years 
 
 And eight have laid their lash upon my brow 
 
 In groove and wrinkle, and abiding snow 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 Is on my beard. The mockers mock at me 
 With spurning thrust and rudely uttered jest, 
 And bid me seek for healing in the pool. 
 
 And as I, angered, answered, from His eyes 
 A soft clear light outshone. Around His head 
 The morning rays seemed bended to a crown. 
 In majesty He stood. His vesture white 
 With graceful folds descended to His feet 
 Whereon were sandals reddened by the touch 
 Of the dun desert pathways; and His hands 
 As dove's wings waver low above the cote 
 Waver'd above my head as if to bless. 
 The while He spake in accents vibrant, clear, 
 Commanding as the brazen trumpet's blast, 
 Yet kindly as the viols dulcet sound: 
 Arise and take thy bed and hence depart 
 Thy heavy penance done; thy sin atoned: 
 And breathe again the glory of the air 
 That sweeps among the hills, and in the vales 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 Sleeps stilly in the sun. Then He was gone 
 Ere yet the import of His words I knew. 
 
 Through all my veins there came a glow of strength, 
 
 And my dim eyesight cleared, so I could see 
 
 Of distant birds the flight, and at my feet 
 
 The little red ants crawling in the dust. 
 
 And then, as I was bidden, forth I went 
 
 Into the outer day. The narrow street 
 
 To me was golden in the mellow morn, 
 
 And all things fair and sweet and full of peace. 
 
 Above the wall the myrtle's starry blooms. 
 And dark leaves tremulous on slender sprays, 
 Recalled the path to Hebron, and I passed 
 Out through the gate and southward went my way 
 With sturdy steps and firm, with nostrils wide 
 Inhaling with deep breath the cheery air. 
 And when the noon drew nearer and the heat 
 Brought languor to my feet, I loitered slow 
 And sought amid the herbage that I trod 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 For herbs to please my senses. There I found 
 Rare mandrakes that, divided, semblance gave 
 Of bearded faces in their cloven walls: 
 That cried as from the earth I drew them forth, 
 So I might eat them with a cloying tongue. 
 I from the mallow gathered musky seeds 
 Rejoicing in their odor. 
 
 Then mine eyes 
 Recalled once more the beauty of the flowers, 
 Of lilies, and of Sharon's daffodils. 
 And roses of Damascus purple strown. 
 The storax branches bearing blooms of snow 
 Out-thrown from leaves, that swaying in the wind, 
 Showed white and green alternate. And mine ear, 
 Having its share of all the joyous toil 
 Of knowing earth again, took heed and heard 
 The warble of the song thrush and the lark; 
 And from the olive groves the bulbul's note 
 In full-toned melody. 
 
BE THE SB A. 113 
 
 But taking heed 
 That fast the hours were wasting, on I trod 
 With measured step and steady. Soon I saw 
 The sparrows sit alone upon the rocks, 
 And sohtary storks on loftiest trees 
 By low, rude dwellings, at whose open doors 
 The women sat and sang, beside the mills 
 Slow turned to grind the corn, although the sun 
 Was speeding to the west. From this I knew 
 That Hebron lay a little way before; 
 Fair Hebron, with her vineyards and her palms! 
 But, wearied with my journey, loitering, 
 I sought for fallen dates; and 'neath an oak 
 Lay down and slept, and when I startled woke 
 The stars had risen, and the early night 
 Was calm and clear. 
 
 Across the silent air 
 A shawm's loud blast rose strident and anear; 
 In lower tones came tinkling of a harp. 
 
114 BETHESDA. 
 
 So, from this token, by the well, I knew 
 The dancers made them merry in the eve. 
 
 Then I forgot the eight and thirty years 
 
 Since 1 the wine-gourd drained beside the spring, 
 
 And all my outworn raiment, and my beard 
 
 Grown white as citron blossoms in the spring. 
 
 And when I, joyous, joined it, all the crowd 
 
 Had gibe, and laugh, and little wanton jest 
 
 Wherewith to vex me: Will the old man dance? 
 
 Cried one, her hair unsnooded, and her arms. 
 
 Each gentle curve displaying, on my neck. 
 
 Whereat they shouted lustily and sang 
 
 Rude songs to further laughter, till awaked 
 
 To all the change in me, I felt mine eyes 
 
 The unresisted tears drop slowly down, 
 
 So that they ceased, abashed. Oh, youths! I said, 
 
 And joyous maidens! Life and love are sweet 
 
 As sounds of music in the silent night. 
 
 But night and music vanish, and the joy 
 
BE TB BSD A. 115 
 
 Is ended in its time. An hour to dance, 
 
 And yet an hour to sing, was said of old 
 
 When wise men taught our fathers. Let the song 
 
 And cadence of the viol charm the night 
 
 Ere yet the days of evil come, when ye 
 
 May find no pleasure in them! On each head 
 
 The old man leaves his blessing and departs. 
 
 But lonelier than of old, when I beheld 
 
 The idle leaves adrift upon the pool, 
 
 I went my way into the outer fields. 
 
 Nor cared to seek the town. Where melons grew 
 
 I found a hut on sturdy stakes upraised 
 
 Above the vapors of the teeming earth; 
 
 Its ragged thatch gave shelter till the morn. 
 
 And now, I said, Engedi's fount is far, 
 
 But it shall I behold ere sunset falls. 
 
 Then with free feet I trod the winding path 
 In cool of morning, and in noontide glow. 
 
ii6 BE THE SB A. 
 
 I gathered herbs that in the meadows grew. 
 
 And fruits from branches shaken by the breeze. 
 
 By wayside springs I knelt for pleasant draughts, 
 
 And peace was in my heart, such peace as knows 
 
 The bird free flown in air, or lizard lain 
 
 In safe luxuriance in the sultry sun. 
 
 Yea, more than this, before me on my way 
 
 A scorpion lay unfolded, yet the staff 
 
 Within my hand forebore to injure him, 
 
 And stepping quick aside I left him there; 
 
 Rejoicing that with me he knew the warmth 
 
 And shared with me the glory of the day. 
 
 At last I saw a shadow trailing far 
 
 Where a fair palm rose stalwart 'gainst the sky. 
 
 Grown crimson in the west; I sought the well 
 
 But was a stranger as I leaned and gazed 
 
 Into its limpid depths. The clouds, the same 
 
 As in the olden time, inverted there 
 
 Swam gently on in silence, and the moss, 
 
 As long ago, grew on the inner wall. 
 
BE THE SD A. 117 
 
 But rank weeds were on all the earth around, 
 The curb was broken and the hyssop gone. 
 
 Then on my heart came weariness, and fain 
 I was to weep. For all were gone away 
 That once I knew nor could I follow them. 
 Nor was there any one to seek for me. 
 A drowsy bee droned past me and I said 
 He seeks the crevice of the aged tree, 
 Where mid the mould and odors of decay 
 He findeth his own home and knoweth it. 
 So let me see the porches once again. 
 And old familiar sights, and hear the sounds 
 Of all the turmoil of the city streets. 
 So while the stars were shining, steadily 
 I trod the way toward Jerusalem, 
 And reached it at the dawn; but in an hour 
 I tired me of the pool. The temple wall 
 Was close beside and in the neighb'ring street, 
 I sought its shadow in the sultry noon. 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 Beside the southern wall there graceful leaned 
 A woman, one of Cyprus, with her hair 
 In jetty curls on ivory shoulders thrown; 
 With laughing eyes and with her rounded breasts 
 Half shown by drooping of the careless robe, 
 And with crushed camphire sweet and redolent. 
 Beside her feet a wine jar: in her hand 
 A taper cup of beryl. And she sang. 
 Low voiced and clear, a soft alluring song. 
 
 Oh. Drink the wine and it will banish care. 
 
 And he that is alone shall need no friend; 
 
 He that is old shall have his youth again. 
 
 To him that drinks the wine new love shall come, 
 
 And he whose heart is cold shall fervent find 
 
 The red blood running warm within his veins. 
 
 For him the curtains wove of orient weft. 
 
 Their broidered folds shall sway in gentle airs. 
 
 For him the henna's snowy cups of bloom 
 
 Shall give their odor forth. Oh. Drink the wine, 
 
BETHESDA. 119 
 
 And discontent shall vanish as the dew 
 
 On Hermon fades before the breath of morn. 
 
 From loneliness to mirth were precious change. 
 
 With eager hand I reached to grasp the cup, 
 
 The gay song answering with gayer jest, 
 
 And ardent gaze on all the loveliness 
 
 Her loosened robe disclosed. When suddenly, 
 
 Beware, I heard in accents deep and strong 
 
 As bid an arm upraised for evil deed, 
 
 At once be stayed. Then knelt I at the feet 
 
 Of Him who broke my bonds beside the pool. 
 
 And cried, Oh, Abba, pardon, and the hem 
 
 Of his white garment lifted to my lips, 
 
 Fearing to raise mine eyes or see His face, 
 
 Or hearken to his words of righteous wrath. 
 
 Beware, He said. Have I not borne thy woe. 
 
 And all thy sin from which thy woe outsprang: 
 
 Sending thee forth rejoicing as of old 
 
 When earth was fair to thee and youth was thine. 
 
BETHESDA. 
 
 Then carefully take heed lest thou return 
 
 Into thine old abasement and no help 
 
 Unto thy misery come evermore — 
 
 For mark thee, as the olive when its stem 
 
 Is worn and old and bears but withered leaves, 
 
 And falls beneath the burden of the wind, 
 
 Is grown again from never dying root; 
 
 So in the far hereafter shalt thou rise 
 
 From thine old self of good or evil done. 
 
 And verily I tell thee: They who mourn 
 
 Shall comfort find, and all the humble share 
 
 Jehovah's kingdom: and the merciful 
 
 Have mercy for themselves. The earth shall yield 
 
 Its blessings to the debonnair, and they 
 
 Who bear pure hearts with their own eyes behold 
 
 The ever living God. 
 
 Then He was gone. 
 The traffickers passed by me, each intent 
 On his own errand. Low the Cypriote sang 
 
BETHESDA. 121 
 
 Her song persuasive in alluring tones 
 To one from Lebanon, a mountaineer, 
 Nor on me glanced again. iVmid the .throng 
 I found no comforting or thought of calm. 
 
 The burning sun shone on the narrow streets. 
 
 And drowsiness was brooding in the air; 
 
 While sullen sultriness within my veins 
 
 Crept slow and venomed; and my brain was dulled, 
 
 And my faint heart was weary. Dreamily 
 
 I communed with myself: Lo! I was made 
 
 By Him who made the world. He made me thus, 
 
 And wherefore on me lies the heavy load 
 
 Of stern denial to the thoughts He gave, 
 
 And all resistance to temptations sent 
 
 In pleasant guise to make my days more fair, 
 
 And make more sweet the life He gave to me; 
 
 Yea, this, my life, whose wasting autumn comes 
 
 With something of the summer in its fold? 
 
122 BETHESDA. 
 
 While pondering thus I lingered where were sold 
 The spices of the East, and strange perfumes 
 Won from the herbs of many distant lands; 
 And while I loitered, timid drew anear, 
 From out the alien crowd, a form I knew; 
 For sure none other had so graceful mien, 
 Or bore such wealth of beauty in her hair — 
 Sable as are the wings of birds that slay 
 The swarming locusts on far Shinar's plains — 
 Massive upon her shoulders, and, adown. 
 Its fringes clinging to the flexile knee. 
 Aye! She it was, and yet I scarcely kenned 
 That it could be, so strangely was she changed; 
 For high unto her throat there clung her robe, 
 Wrapped careful on the rounded breast, and all 
 Its loveliness concealed. Her step no more 
 Was careless in its grace; the longing eyes 
 Were mild as with the fire the starlight gives 
 To the calm skies of harvest, and her mouth 
 Was innocent as lips of childhood are, 
 
BETHESDA. 123. 
 
 That know nor scorn, nor anger or of guile, 
 Or any thought of wrong; and sweeter, far, 
 Than when she sang of roses was her voice. 
 Low-toned and tremulous, the while she asked: 
 Hast thou rich spikenard— that which traders bring 
 From the far plains beyond the purple sea. 
 Sealed in the lucent kists of shining stone? 
 And here is gold to pay its price withal. 
 
 At this the merchant laughed: Who hast thou snared^. 
 
 That he should scatter gold as leaves are blown, 
 
 Or olives shaken from the autumn branch? 
 
 And so from out thy curtains must the breath 
 
 Of costliest perfumes waver on the night; 
 
 Thy couch more odorous than all the fields 
 
 On Sharon's slopes, where amorous roses grow! 
 
 I would, he said, that I were but a girl, 
 
 And not a trader in these costly wares, 
 
 So I might gather gold with luring looks 
 
 And dulcet singing of soft songs to men. 
 
124 BETHESDA. 
 
 Then over the broad forehead and the cheek 
 
 And on the gentle neck, like flush of dawn 
 
 That deepens into scarlet, came a glow. 
 
 And then, like snow upon a crimson bloom, 
 
 Came deathly pallor, and from tremulous lips 
 
 Half failing into sobbing came repl)^: 
 
 Thy jest is evil and thy words are naught. 
 
 These coins I earned by toiling in the fields 
 
 Where crisping wheat and sturdy barle}^ drew 
 
 Their rasping beards across these tender hands. 
 
 The sickle wielded and the gavels bound 
 
 From early morn when on ni}" arms there rained 
 
 From the tall grain the cold night gathered dews. 
 
 When the sun smote me until faintness came 
 
 As from a burden heavy to be borne. 
 
 Through the hot noontides when the wheat was dry 
 
 And scattered kernels at each careless touch. 
 
 Into the twilight when, new born, the dew 
 
 Lay on the stubble; and the twisted straw 
 
 Was pliant knotted on the yielding sheaf. 
 
BETHESDA. 12$ 
 
 Yet every day was sweet with solace wrought 
 In this, that all unblemished came the dole 
 That guerdoned my long toil. For I had will'd 
 To make a stainless offering to one 
 Unstained by earthly guile. This gold is clean 
 As holy is its purpose, void of wrong, 
 Like to the sacrifice on altars laid 
 By pure hands for pure hearts in olden time. 
 As if her tears were dropping with her words 
 Her low voice seemed, the while the precious kist 
 She laid within the raiment on her breast. 
 Then went upon her way with steadfast step 
 And calm, untroubled eyes, and cheek that paled 
 To dusky softness in the ardent day. 
 
 Then, curious to know, I followed her 
 And said. Oh, daughter, dost of roses sing 
 As in old days, or art thou silent now 
 With silence born of sorrow, for no joy 
 Is on thy lip, though loving peace hath laid 
 
126 BE THE SB a: 
 
 Her touch upon thy forehead. Wherefore this? 
 I seek for rest and no rest comes to me. 
 
 There is no rest, she answered, patience comes 
 -And is to rest as is the Rabbi's prayer 
 After the chanting of the rhythmic psahn: 
 As cool of twiUght after quiet noons, 
 Or stiUness of fair waters when their flow 
 Has ceased in limpid lakes. 
 
 A5^e, Aye, Quoth I, 
 But wherefore patience when our wasted 3^ears 
 Haunt us like shadows stalking by our side, 
 And, mocking, point us to the void beyond. 
 
 Not so, she said. The Nazarine doth say, 
 And him we trust in humbleness and faith. 
 That a sin offering for us shall be, 
 And all atonement made for evil done, 
 -For those who in His name do ask for it. 
 
BETHESDA. 127 
 
 And we, relieved from soilare of our days, 
 
 Shall purity of childhood know again: 
 
 •So when the change that we call death hath come, 
 
 We pass into a realm where peace doth reign. 
 
 Whose gates are barred to sorrow, and where fear 
 
 Is ever alien, and where innocence 
 
 Disports itself in gladness in the light 
 
 That like unchanging sunrise, gilds the throne 
 
 Of God, our Father. So in faith we wait 
 
 In penitence and patience for our rest. 
 
 The while she spake a sudden uproar grew 
 
 As of a crowd pursuing, and she fled 
 
 Ere it should come to us. And as she ran 
 
 I saw her little feet like swallows skim 
 
 The stony way; her graceful limbs that swayed 
 
 Within her loosened raiment as the branch 
 
 Of some fair vine swings pendant with its leaves 
 
 Outblown by passing breezes, and her arm 
 
 Like tawny ivory bended to her breast 
 
128 BE THE SB A. 
 
 To hold the casket mid a gathered fold 
 Of drooping raven hair. 
 
 Now all my thoughts 
 Were grown confused and dim. As in a dream 
 I saw my mother's face and heard her say 
 That we should rest when all of life was done, 
 As she had spoken ere the harvest moon 
 On her closed eyelids shone. Anon, I thought 
 Of the high mountain whence the trav'ler saw 
 The crimson sun at midnight rise again 
 To a new day withouten dark between. 
 And then it seemed, from patience into rest, 
 Was whispered in mine ear. Then rude the tale 
 Of the wild robber chief returned to me. 
 And how his woe endureth evermore; 
 How all of evil, more than sevenfold 
 After its kind doth bear of bitter fruit. 
 I thought of guilt and the enduring scourge 
 Of memory when all the joy is gone 
 
BETHESDA. 129 
 
 That made its apples sweet. The Prophet's words 
 
 Came hollow sounding back; so, on and on, 
 
 Till time shall end, our deeds shall follow us, . 
 
 Yet there is One who cometh. To and fro. 
 
 Like the swift shuttle in a weaver's hands, 
 
 The riddle sounded in my weary brain 
 
 Of whom it was so promised! Then to me 
 
 Came recollection of the legend old 
 
 The youth had told concerning Solomon 
 
 In his last day, when all of vanity 
 
 Was the wide past to him: when high were drawn 
 
 The curtains from the ages yet to be. 
 
 Where he beheld afar' a Stronger rise, 
 
 Yea, One more wise and purer, from whose hands 
 
 Upon the poor should benediction come. 
 
 Dazed and distraught I rose and ere I knew, 
 I was beyond the city gates, the fields 
 Were green beside me. 
 
I30 BETHESDA. 
 
 All my heart was dust 
 As was the ashen way beneath my feet. 
 Behold, I said, there is no place for me, 
 And all is doubt within me and without. 
 An hundred days will I in deserts bide 
 With prayer and fasting: and in solitude 
 Mayhap will wisdom find a voice for me 
 And guidance give. 
 
 I sought the wilderness 
 And ate of bitter herbs; from brackish springs 
 I slaked my thirst, and many vigils kept. 
 Yet all was vain, though visions came to me, 
 Bloodless and cold in watches of the night, 
 And fiends tormenting in my loneliness. 
 Until the hundreth morn was come and gone, 
 Aye. All is vain I said, there is no light 
 Save of these senses, like a glowworm's spark, 
 Whose evil odor mingles with its ray 
 And marks it of the earth. Then through my brain 
 
BE THE SD A. 
 
 131 
 
 There shot the sensuous pleasure of the thought 
 Of the fleet feet whose graceful steps I saw 
 Flee from the crowd, a hundred days before, 
 And the round arm and buoyant, springing limbs. 
 Then, like rebuke, the memory of her face, 
 Chastened with sorrow, yet alight with trust. 
 Came o'er me as I walked, and all her words — 
 Forgotten until now — returned to me: 
 The Nazarine hath spoken. Who is he? 
 For out of Nazareth no good may come. 
 They said, when I was young. Now I am old. 
 And still they say the same. 
 
 In querulous thought 
 And motiveless, I wended t'ward the gates; 
 But ere I reached them came a traveler — 
 Cheery of face — and met me on the way. 
 The Nazarine? quoth I. And who is He? 
 And what His work, and where shall Him I find? 
 Ah! He is dead! he answered; and the crowd 
 
132 BE THE SD A. 
 
 Is laughing at the jest. Between two thieves 
 They slew Him on the cross! Jerusalem 
 No more is troubled with the Nazarine. 
 
 Then stunned as one, from out a dreamy sleep, 
 Wakes to the glare of noonday — Lo, I said, 
 This, too, is vain, and hope but mocks at me! 
 
 Sad sought I, then, the ford of Kedron, where 
 The road leads to the fields, and sat me down; 
 And from mid afternoon till sunset came 
 I pondered on my days: 
 
 And one by one 
 Each old experience came back to me 
 Like pictures 'broidered on dark silken folds 
 Of curtains passed before me. At my side 
 There chirped a robin, borne on weary wing, 
 And with unwonted crimson on its breast. 
 
BETH BSD A. 133 
 
 'The Nazarine hath spoken!' seemed to me 
 As words far floating in a tender voice, 
 Remote and tremulous, from out the air. 
 Then from my arid eyehds sprang the tears, 
 And in meek tones I murmured: Father, Hear! 
 Though now it be the Nazarine is dead, 
 And Him I knew not with mine earthly sight. 
 As He hath done for Thy most favored ones, 
 So let Him do for me; and in His Name 
 And for His sake let light henceforth be mine 
 For guidance into rest! 
 
 The deepened shade 
 Crept down from Olivet, I shook the dust 
 From my worn sandals t'ward the city gates, 
 In purpose to depart, but loitered, still. 
 Uncertain whither should my footsteps go. 
 Softly I thought of Hebron's quiet graves. 
 Wherein, of old, the two I loved were laid. 
 And were they sunken so that alien feet 
 
134 BE THE SD A. 
 
 Athwart them trod, unknowing? Did the rose 
 Bloom by them as long since? And were the palms, 
 Sprung from the seeds of Egypt, stately there, 
 With growth unkenned by me? 
 
 Then thought more harsh 
 Of who had known me in the distant days 
 Would hail me now in Hebron, save with gibes; 
 How they whose grandsires knew me in my youth 
 Would mock my ragged garb. No more, I said. 
 Need I that pathway travel. Thence afar 
 To Emmaus or Gadara I will go; 
 There no man's memory may my name recall. 
 
 With purpose steadfast and unswerving feet 
 
 I hied me on my way. But scarce an hour 
 
 Was gone before I paused. A woman, bent 
 
 With weight of beggary and famished toil. 
 
 Stood by the wayside with extended hands. 
 
 No word she spake; but her dark eyes were dulled 
 
BE THE SD A. I35 
 
 As if by prayers unanswered, and her lips 
 
 Trembled as if with asking long denied; 
 
 Her snowy hair from wrinkled temples hung 
 
 To shrunken shoulders, and her fingers brown. 
 
 Were like the talons of the birds that come 
 
 In times of famine from the distant hills 
 
 To tear the scattered flocks. Unknown to me 
 
 Her face and figure; but familiar still. 
 
 As is a dream remembered in a dream. 
 
 Faint and elusive to our clearer thought; 
 
 And like a vision in a dream recalled 
 
 Rose mine own sorrow through the faded years. 
 
 When, from Engedi's vale, I sought the pool, 
 
 And then — in strange inconsequence — the mound 
 
 Whereon I planted seeds so long ago. 
 
 And then a consciousness within my brain 
 
 Seemed speaking silently, but heard withal: 
 
 Even as from the mellowed earth does rise 
 
 Bright palms from dusky seeds, so in thine heart 
 
 Should mercy rise from sorrow. So, I sought 
 
136 BE THE SB A. 
 
 Within my folded girdle. Thence I drew 
 The two Denarii that the noble gave, 
 And laid them in her hand. 
 
 In quaver shrill 
 Quoth she: The Lord will bless thee, for thy hand 
 Is open to the poor and they are His. 
 And, Shobab, look on me, knowst not the child 
 That to her mother's garment clung the while 
 She gave thee sombre seeds of Egypt's palm; 
 Or yet the maiden who with timbrel's sound 
 Hailed thee, beside the path, the afternoon 
 Ye went returning from Jerusalem 
 Toward the ripened vineyards long ago; 
 Aye, in the distant years when we were young. 
 Now, we are old and time for rest is near. 
 So heed my words. For well my mother knew 
 The runes that lay within the hidden kist, 
 Beneath the throne of Solomon, the king 
 Of Judah and of Genii; and whom God 
 
BE THE SD A. 137 
 
 Gave wisdom greater than to Sons of men. 
 
 For God, our Father, speaks in many ways 
 
 And guides us with the shadow of His hand. 
 
 Which we deem darkness while it leads to light. 
 
 As in far Thebes the tufted pinnacles 
 
 Rear their green heads aloft, where holy ones 
 
 Shall come to dwell in solitude and calm. 
 
 So by fair Hebron's fountains rise the shafts 
 
 Of palms thy hands have planted, and their leaves 
 
 Sway gently o'er the graves of those ye loved. 
 
 There go and rest shall find thee, and content, 
 
 And placidness of thought, and peacefulness 
 
 Free from all turmoil of the stormy world; 
 
 Void of regret for all the years agone, 
 
 And fear of those that yet may come to thee. 
 
 Farewell, I answered, Sister, may His hand 
 Deal gently with thy age, and peace be thine 
 As thou hast willed for me. And as I spake 
 
138 BE THESDA. 
 
 We turned and went upon our several way. 
 She speaketh truth I said. 
 
 The haunts of men 
 Are nevermore for me; nor yet the fields 
 Where solitude is brooding and my heart 
 Aches in the void of silence. I recall 
 Where close by Hebron lies the narrow road, 
 The fountain yields its waters, and the dates 
 By winds that sweep o'er autumn threshing floors 
 Are scattered to the ground. There caravans 
 Of traders come and go. There some are ill, 
 With fevers of the desert; stricken some 
 With wounds from battles foughten in the plains 
 And fain would have of succor. I will go. 
 Beside the spring a dwelling rude will raise 
 And drive away the weeds with thrift of figs; 
 With opulence of melons and of corn. 
 There every morn of gentle toil shall bring 
 Its due allotted portion, and each eve 
 
BE THE SD A. 139 
 
 The promise of sweet sleep. Each noontide hour 
 Shall bear the benison of pleasant rest 
 Beneath the trees I planted long ago. 
 So, germinal of all fair thoughts shall life 
 Pass softly to its end, when I shall know 
 The unread mystery that lies beyond: 
 And from this flow'ring of my spirit here 
 Shall gather distant fruitage. 
 
 Thence I came; 
 The Theban palms were buoyant in the breeze, 
 Their stems like pillars rose against the sky, 
 And, at their feet, the wild thorn-roses blew 
 As in my youth I knew them. Though the graves 
 Were leveled with the ground I kenned their place, 
 And close beside them seemed a space for me. 
 The twilight came, and darkness, yet I stayed 
 For whither elsew^here should I seek my home? 
 
 I sat beside the curb, a fallen stone 
 
 Rounded and smooth made pillow for my head 
 
I40 
 
 BETHESDA. 
 
 Bowed low on bended arms. My drowsy eyes 
 
 Closed wearily: no rest was in my heart. 
 
 The thin voice of the creeping wind came faint 
 
 Through the low herbs. It faded into tones, 
 
 For now I slept, of softly breathing flutes 
 
 Borne near and nearer. Then, through silver veils 
 
 That changed to gold and crimson in the sky, 
 
 Then cleft apart while azure shone beyond, 
 
 1 saw the cherubim rise from the ark — 
 
 The carven ark, that 'neath the temple roof, 
 
 I saw lang syne — and from their lips there came 
 
 Joining the slender music, joyous song. 
 
 It is no dream, they sang; for God hath raised 
 Beyond earth's darkened realm His palaces 
 Wherein earth's sons and daughters strive no more 
 With sorrow or with wrong. There love is fond 
 Yet hath no passion; and there, gentleness 
 Hath fear of no beguiling. Innocence, 
 That knows no craft, is shining in each face; 
 
BETHESDA. 141 
 
 And unto each his childhood comes again, 
 Blent with the wisdom that his pilgrimage, 
 Or brief or long, hath taught him. 
 
 So they sang. 
 And then, as if receding, sang again. 
 It is no dream, they sang; it is no dream. 
 Then as in silence their sweet voices died 
 The azure cloud was lifted, and below 
 I saw broad gardens. Mid the leafy shade 
 Arose the domes of temples; and the air 
 Was sweet and hazy with an incense smoke 
 That rose unceasing to a hidden throne, 
 Known by its soft effulgence thrown afar 
 On the high skies. And in those fields beheld 
 A little maid adorned with daffodils 
 And coiling roses on her shoulders thrown. 
 A dark face, sable bearded, on whose brow 
 The helmet's mark seemed graven. More than all, 
 Crowned Kvith ripe wheat that white as lilies shone. 
 
142 BETHESDA. 
 
 My fair young mother, for from her was gone 
 
 All that which was of sorrow or of toil. 
 
 Yea, those I knew beside the distant pool 
 
 Were there with them, and peace w^as with them all. 
 
 I woke. The chill wind through the herbage crept: 
 Coldly the starlight shone. The branched palms 
 Threw far and clear a tracery of shade 
 That wavered on the ground. But, at its edge, 
 The sky bore silver promise of the dawn. 
 
 Where reached the shadows when the sunrise came. 
 I builded these stone walls beside the path. 
 Upon them laid this roof of verdant turf; 
 This garden digged where wanton weeds were grown. 
 With mine own feet through yonder herbage wore 
 The gray line of the path that meets the track 
 That, through the vale, the traders traverse slow. 
 Here have I borne the weary to my home, • 
 And here have carried to wayfaring ones 
 
BE THE SB A. 143 
 
 Of cooling water and of welcome food — 
 
 Have knelt beside the dying; of the dead 
 
 The wearied eyes have closed: and they who mourned, 
 
 With words of comforting have lulled to sleep. 
 
 So, in the change of never changing days, 
 Long since came perfect peace. 
 
 But yester-eve 
 A new-found glory kindled all my heart 
 With an exultant joy. A Canaanite 
 Asked of me shelter, and beside my hearth 
 Gazed keen into my face. Ah! Thou art he. 
 He said, who long ago beside the pool 
 Beneath the porches, at the Master's word 
 Arose and walked, and bore thy bed away. 
 Though not for thee the troubled waters rose. 
 And knowst thou not the Master? He who lay 
 Within the manger when the fleecy light 
 Made aureole on the Virgin Mother's head; 
 
144 BETHESDA. 
 
 He who to Egypt fled from Herod's wrath, 
 
 And slept beneath a palm whose branch shall wave 
 
 When dawns the Last Day on the earth redeemed. 
 
 He whom they crucified on Calvary 
 
 That even I, a Gibeonite, should live 
 
 Free from the sin atoned for by His Blood. 
 
 Yea; Shiloh, prophesied from olden time, 
 
 Whose Kingdom is of Heaven, and whose sway 
 
 Is in men's hearts, and over all the earth 
 
 Shall spread in beams of holy blessedness. 
 
 Then knew I who had healed me, and I knelt 
 And invocation made. Oh, Father, hear: 
 Although like barren fig trees are my days, 
 As wirble of dead leaves on Autumn winds, 
 Or stubble shorn by fire, yet I am Thine; 
 My wrong atoned for and my burden cast 
 Through Him whose agony hath purchased peace 
 To all Thy children. Therefore bid me come 
 To mine inheritance beside Thy throne. 
 
BE THE SB A. 145 
 
 And if, Oh, Father, it may be Thy will, 
 Then grant a sign that I perchance may ken 
 When Thy call cometh and mine hour is near. 
 
 Then, from an ashen cloud that rode the sky, 
 A lambent light descended as a torch. 
 Inverted, flares a moment and is gone. 
 And by this symbol given, well I know 
 That ere yon sun is hidden in the West 
 My task is finished and my journey done. 
 
DIES IR^, 
 
 Day of anger lurid breaking 
 On the earth in ashes quaking, 
 To its doom at last awaking. 
 
 II. 
 
 Through the cloud by lightning rifted 
 See afar the Throne uplifted, 
 Now shall every thought be sifted. 
 
 III. • 
 
 Clear and far the trumpet calling 
 Stirs the dead from sleep enthralling 
 Into consciousness appalling. 
 146 
 
DIES IR^. 
 
 147 
 
 IV. 
 
 Coming fearful, sadly, slowly, 
 There the proud and there the lowly 
 Gather in the Presence holy. 
 
 V. 
 
 Where the open volume's story 
 Shows, of all the ages hoary. 
 All of shame and all of glory; 
 
 VI. 
 
 None his record there denying; 
 None unto the Judge replying; 
 There, through justice, hope is dying. 
 
 VII. 
 
 How shall I, to sin assenting. 
 
 Guilty, evil, unrepenting. 
 
 Meet the Vengeance unrelenting. 
 
148 DIES JRyE. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 When the righteous, timid, fearing. 
 Scarce are saved Thy presence nearing, 
 And Thy words of judgment hearing? 
 
 IX. 
 
 Pardon, Father, my offending: 
 For my weakness, vigor lending; 
 To my doubting, faith extending. 
 
 Hearken, Christ, Thy promise olden 
 Clasp I now as anchor golden. 
 That I from the wrath be holden. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Yea, for me Thy anguish bearing 
 Long ago, the thorn crown wearing, 
 Wilt Thou leave me now despairing ? 
 
DIES IR.E. 149 
 
 XII. 
 
 While my scroll of life is reading 
 Aid me with Thy interceding 
 While there yet is time for pleading. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Humbled, bent, and bowed, and broken, 
 Of Thy love I ask the token 
 That Thy word for me be spoken. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 While I trust Thy mercy blending 
 With the justice that, unending, 
 But for Thee would be unbending,- 
 
 XV. 
 
 So that while the wicked, flying 
 From the wrath, intense, undying, 
 Fill the gloom with bitter crying,— 
 
I50 DIES IR^. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Let me, as the sheep are riven 
 From the goats to darkness driven, 
 Place at Thy right hand be given, 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Safe from terror, dark, assailing; 
 From the doomed ones' woe and wailing; 
 At Thy fiery Throne's unveiling. 
 
THE REVERIE OF ZATHAN THE SADDUCEE. 
 
 Far on from the fountains of morning to the deep 
 flowing rivers of night, 
 I pause for a moment and ask me: O wherefore the 
 warmth and the Hght ? 
 For the heat of the noontide but wearied, and the 
 glow of its splendor denied 
 To mine eyes the fair view of its glory in the blue 
 of the heavens descried. 
 
 And wherefore the cool of the twilight, for the herbage 
 is drooping and dank, 
 While the lizards creep out from the covert by the 
 spring where the camels have drank; 
 And I learn not the riddle eternal, why follows the 
 night on the day, 
 So^that all that the sunlight hath gilded by the even 
 is hidden away. 
 
152 Z A THAN THE SADDUCEE. 
 
 Thus blinded I toil in the noontide, and wearied I 
 wait in the dusk: 
 Shall I seek some oasis of silence sweet scented 
 with roses and musk ? 
 Shall I listen to voices persuading, that ask me to 
 cease in the quest ? 
 The low soft songs of Dalilah, slow lulling to treach- 
 erous rest ! 
 
 Shall I trust in the joy of the cymbal ? sounds blythe 
 as of birds in the air: 
 The calm of the fast and the vigil, the passionate 
 peace of the prayer; 
 They linger awhile and elude me, they cheer and then 
 vanish away, 
 As the cloud that one moment is crimson, at another 
 drifts sodden and gray. 
 
ZATHAN THE SADDUCEE. 15: 
 
 So the journey is vain and the labor, and the yearn- 
 ing is vain and the trust, 
 As the flower that springs up by the wayside and 
 withers again to the dust. 
 As the harvest that waves to the zephyr, with vigor 
 and beauty aUve, 
 Sinks into the ground with the earth-worm, and 
 dies that another may thrive. 
 
 And naught is the task I accomplish, and naught is 
 the journey I go; 
 For even as was the beginning, thus even the end- 
 ing, I know. 
 But a vanishing dream and a troubled, from the foun- 
 tains that dance in the dawn 
 To the sad, sullen waters that ripple where the glint 
 of the sunshine is gone. 
 
CYMBALS. 
 
 The distant voice of clanging cymbals broke 
 
 Upon the air; a gypsy's wanton feat 
 Of rattling music. Yet its echo woke, 
 
 To the day-dreamer idling in the heat 
 Of fervent noon, the sounds of far off lands 
 
 And days remote. Of Magyar warrior's tread,- 
 Of Moorish maiden's mirth, of voice of bands 
 
 Rejoicing where Hebraic altars shed 
 Of frankincense and myrrh their odors rare. 
 
 Aye, of the elder time, when Egypt's hosts 
 Went forth against the Assyrian land and there 
 
 Made captive kings; returning with the boasts 
 Of high wrought conquerors. And clamor high 
 
 Of Bacchic dances where no longer fills 
 The cup from Libyan vines: the frenzied cry 
 
 Of Corybantes on the Phrygian hills. 
 And joy of Jepthah's daughter ere her moan 
 The cymbals silenced in far ages flown. 
 
THE BANSHEE. 
 
 Where shone the firehght dying, I, a wee boy was 
 lying 
 Long ago, the while the grandames told in whispers 
 low and wise. 
 How on mountain and in valley, in broad mead and 
 forest alley, 
 The Banshee calls in sorrow before each mortal 
 dies; 
 And how a man wayfaring with full heart joyaunce 
 bearing, 
 May sudden hear the wailing voice and chill with 
 horror grow: 
 For he knows his home forsaken by one whose flight 
 is taken 
 When calls the mournful spirit from the meadow or 
 the snow. 
 
156 THE BANSHEE. 
 
 And I said, with childish valor, neither fear, nor faint, 
 nor pallor 
 Would come to me should e'er I hear the sad wraith 
 crying lone: 
 I would search until I found it, I would hold until I 
 bound it. 
 And wrenched from out its shadowy lips the secret 
 of its moan. 
 But not in summer's glory, nor yet in winter hoary, 
 Though many a year of change and chance to me 
 did come and go, 
 Heard I the Banshee calling, till once, mid snowflakes 
 falling, 
 A voice came wailing, crying, from ayont the drifted 
 snow. 
 
THE BANSHEE. i57 
 
 I had ridden far, yet royal strode my bonny horse so 
 loyal 
 That with slackened rein I rode him across the 
 broken ground, 
 Till he sprang aside, affrighted, and his eye, with ter- 
 ror lighted. 
 Gleamed on me as I turned him when he started at 
 the sound. 
 For, with me, he heard the wailing, us both with fear 
 assailing, 
 And I scored him with the rowels and I gave him 
 stroke and blow 
 Till, while the snowflakes glistened, he trembUng 
 stood and listened. 
 Listened with me to the crying that came from o'er 
 the snow. 
 
153 THE BANSHEE. 
 
 I thought — I am belated, but for thirty years I've 
 waited 
 Since they told to me the legend of the death 
 wraith's warning cry; 
 And the marvel I'll be sounding if this horse of mine, 
 rebounding. 
 In the gully does not throw me where the broken 
 branches lie. 
 So, from the roadway drifted, through the field where 
 deeper sifted 
 The flakes like feathers floating on the night wind 
 blowing slow. 
 On through the wintry weather, the horse and I to- 
 gether 
 Plunged on to meet the Banshee far wailing in the 
 snow. 
 
THE BANSHEE. 159 
 
 So, the horse and I, his master, went onward fast and 
 faster, 
 While the snow spun light behind us as from the 
 storm the spray. 
 And the sound seemed far, and nearer, now duller 
 and now clearer. 
 Till he reared upon his haunches with sudden snort 
 and neigh, 
 Tor standing right before us where the rapid gallop 
 bore us, 
 A slender form was swaying, a wee bit form and 
 low, 
 With the snow wreaths heaped around her, my baby 
 girl, I found her: 
 My little girl, I found her, sadly crying in the 
 snow. 
 
i6o THE BANSHEE. 
 
 I knew not she had wandered and the dying daylight 
 squandered, 
 Chasing for the feathers that were falling from the 
 sky, 
 I her to the saddle lifted and through the snowbank^ 
 rifted 
 By the heavy horse's gallop, we bore her, he and I. 
 Half an hour — the journey ended — light and shadow 
 interblended 
 Where the fire upon my hearthstone shone clear 
 with steady glow. 
 While the mother watch was keeping; in her low crib 
 softly sleeping, 
 Lay the weary little maiden, the Banshee of the 
 snow. 
 
HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 I. 
 
 STIRLING. 
 
 They told me how, in angry winter time 
 
 From out the hills swept storms that marr'd the face 
 Of the broad plain with sombre frost and rime. 
 
 And locked the waters in their cold embrace. 
 But now from battlements I saw the turn 
 
 And glimmer of still rivers. All the strath 
 Wore garniture of blossoms, Bannockburn 
 
 Flowed peaceful from the hills devoid of wrath. 
 
 So from the storm of shiver'd axe and spear, 
 And clanging claymore straken on the shields, 
 
 So long ago, the half a thousand year, 
 On these far lying, low and level fields 
 
 Came forth thy freedom, Scotia. For thy sword, 
 In thine own hand, hath made thyself thy lord. 
 
1 62 HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 II. 
 
 CENOTAPH OF THE VIRGIN MARTYRS. 
 
 Here, on the gentle air the white flower's scent 
 
 Is sweet and heavy, from the low slope blown: 
 And shadows of light branches careless blent 
 
 Fall restlessly on pillar and on stone. 
 But not for these my thought. Yon marble shows 
 
 In sculptured grace, the tribute of our day 
 To the fair maidens who, where Solway flows. 
 
 With hearts untroubled trod the martyr's way. 
 
 These were thy heroes, Scotland. And more great 
 Were they than were the chieftains who, elate. 
 
 Flung wide their banners on yon castled ridge. 
 And I, — for that within these veins of mine 
 
 Flows blood of Bunker Hill and Bothwell Bridge, 
 Do stand with head uncovered by their shrine. 
 
HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 163 
 
 III. 
 
 HOLYROOD. 
 
 Gray walls unroofed, and with the open sky 
 
 Serene and clear above the grass within. 
 And o'er the tombs, wherein no longer lie 
 
 The ashes of dead kings, grow mosses thin. 
 Through the unwindowed arches, soft and sweet 
 
 Blow summer winds; and lowly, golden crowned 
 And rayed with silver petals, at my feet 
 
 The wild weed-blossoms dot the hallow'd ground. 
 
 Like to an old refrain, the moral kenn'd 
 
 When wild flowers bloom where walls of stone decay 
 
 And roofs are fallen so the high clouds send 
 Far sailing shadows, soft and silver gray, 
 
 Along the floor of ruined nave and aisle 
 
 Where on the stones the mosses sleep the while. 
 
1 64 HO UR S IN SCO TLA ND. 
 
 VENNACHAR. 
 
 I rode along the edge of Vennachar, 
 
 The wild rock-roses nodded by the lake. 
 Slow swept the evening breezes. Thrown afar 
 
 The shadows waver'd on the branching brake: 
 And on the rock-rose shone the setting sun, 
 
 Unshaded by the light clouds drifting by. 
 The wild rose sprang above the herbage dun, 
 
 So, thus it blooms, I said, 'neath ev'ry sky. 
 
 And then I thought of many a story told 
 To my far childhood, how ayont the sea, 
 
 Lang syne my people dwelt. And cote and fold, 
 And lake and rugged hillside, seemed to me 
 
 Like pictures from old songs. So, far and nigh 
 
 Hath Scotland kindred under ev'ry sky. 
 
HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 165 
 
 V. 
 
 ACHRAY. 
 
 Upon the lake the dusk fell dreamily, 
 
 The coppice at its edge was damp and chill. 
 Careless I flung a wild rose, wide and free 
 
 The scattered petals floated where the hill 
 Cast its broad shadow on the waters, dark 
 
 And darker growing while the shadow waned 
 Into the deeper darkness: and the mark 
 
 White lined along the shore, alone remained. 
 
 Then Una's legend, to my wayward thought, 
 Took newer form as by the marge I stroll'd. 
 
 And of the myth my fervid fancy wrought 
 A picture fonder than was that of old. 
 
 For Benvenue a couchant lion lay. 
 
 And like a maid asleep was fair Achray. 
 
1 66 HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 VI. 
 KATRINE. 
 
 The sunlight on bright waters, then the shade 
 
 Of sudden gathered clouds. Anon, the burst 
 In wayward impulse of the rain that made 
 
 A dotted level of the waves that first 
 Were joyous in bright motion. Then again 
 
 Lay light on lake and on the mountain brown. 
 While purpler still from cooling touch of rain 
 
 The tufted heather from the cliff looked down. 
 
 Then, as we passed by Ellen's bosky isle, 
 Thou hast beheld, I said, of all thy days 
 
 The pictured reflex. Sun that shone the while 
 Thine heart was careless, and whose mellow rays 
 
 Died in the shadows, and the kindly sway 
 
 Of light that came when storm was passed away. 
 
HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 167 
 
 VII. 
 
 ARKLET. 
 
 Loch Arklet hath of fame but little share 
 
 Its narrow banks are broidered with the sedge 
 Amid whose slender stalks the silt doth bear 
 
 No harvest of sweet blossoms. At its edge 
 No bourgeons of green branches droop and sway. 
 
 Nor maze or vista opens at its side: 
 The bracken cover'd braes are dusk and gray 
 
 And no bright ripples on its breast abide. 
 
 But yet beside its banks, a little space, 
 The traveler lingers, for the tale is told 
 
 That this dull water mirrow'd back the face 
 Of the fair Helen whom Macgregor bold 
 
 In yonder shealing wooed; that Rob Roy's bride 
 
 Had humble birthplace by yon mountain side. 
 
i68 HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 VIII. 
 OBAN. 
 
 A resting place was Oban for a night. 
 
 The dark ridge rose behind. The sea before 
 Swept rippling westward to the rosy light 
 
 That heralded the eve. The clouds remote 
 Were level lines of silver; and thereby, 
 
 And interwove, the crimson lay afloat 
 
 Upon the deep'ning azure of the sky. 
 
 Aye, red and white and blue. In mine own land. 
 These hues are of the sunrise and the dawn. 
 
 Yea. From my dwelling on its eastern strand. 
 Where now my children play upon the lawn, 
 
 To fair Pacific coasts where soft and slow 
 Upon my feet the wave lapped long ago. 
 
HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 169 
 
 IX. 
 
 Yea. Red and white and blue. The wand'rer calls, 
 
 Back to his thought thy colors, where the skies 
 Are alien o'er his head; though round him falls 
 
 The voice of kindred speech, nor yet denies 
 He fondness for the vales his people knew 
 
 In the old days, ere thou, my native land 
 Had raised thy starry banner, white and blue 
 
 And sunrise-crimson on the distant strand. 
 
 In the old days. Aye. That the seeding time, 
 And these the realms wherein was freedom sown. 
 
 Its harvest whitens in the happier clime 
 
 Of mine own land beyond the western foam. 
 
 Twas thus I ponder'd when the sunset burned: 
 
 And in the morn my face was homeward turned. 
 
TO A PORTRAIT OF NELL GWYNN. 
 
 I. 
 
 With winsome smile, as if alive: 
 
 She looks from Lely's canvas fair. 
 Upon her cheeks the roses strive 
 
 With lilies on the bosom bare. 
 'Tis but a dream. Ten score of years 
 
 Agone, she passed beyond the vale 
 Of shadows, whence no form appears 
 
 To tell the burden or the tale. 
 
 Yet. As I joy to see the sun 
 Shine placidly on field and lea; 
 
 Or sparkle of bright waters run 
 
 From forest fount to brimming sea; 
 
 So, gladsome, to mine eyes appear 
 
 These beauties, dust two hundred year. 
 170 
 
FOR TRAIT OF NELL G W YNN. 1 7 1 
 
 II. 
 
 Aye. Gladsome smiles she on the wall. 
 
 The student lingers as he looks, 
 So he, forgetful, may recall 
 
 His memories of the history books. 
 For these the lips that, near the throne. 
 
 And these the eyes, to prince and peer, 
 Spake words of power in dulcet tone, 
 
 Gave glance that boded woe or cheer. 
 
 For thus since Eden's apples fell 
 
 Hath of the world been will and way. 
 
 Nor evermore shall stories tell 
 
 Of hearts controlled by gentler sway, 
 
 In evil days, when truth was fled. 
 And courage faint, and honor dead. 
 
172 FOR TRA IT OF NELL G W YNN. 
 
 HI. 
 
 Full frail this lady was, and fond 
 
 Of all that hermits feared and spurned. 
 Not her's the pages saints have conn'd! 
 
 Nor her's the lessons martyrs learned. 
 Not her's the peace that mothers know 
 
 Who call their children to the knee, 
 And tell in whispers soft and low 
 
 The legend sweet of Calvary. 
 
 'Though rose and lily contrast yet 
 
 On cheek and bosom languid shown- — 
 
 'Twas thus the rose and lily met 
 
 Ere yet two hundred years were flown- 
 
 They show unto the thoughts of men 
 The beauty of the magdalen. 
 
PORTRAIT OF NELL GWYNN. 173 
 
 IV. 
 
 Severe the thought. A shifting cloud 
 
 Gave changing light on face and hair. 
 On swelling bust and forehead proud 
 
 And liquid eye, as thought was there. 
 Then in the look there seemed a touch 
 
 Of soft reproach, as who would say: 
 Ah. Life was sad, and overmuch 
 
 Of warfare mingled with the play. 
 
 The little play of laugh and smile 
 Atoned by sorrow's secret hour; 
 
 The strife with evil, need, and guile 
 Where love doth yield and duty cower. 
 
 So seemed to say, with meaning clear, 
 
 The soft eyes, closed two hundred year. 
 
ASPHODELS, 
 
 In summer time, in sunny France 
 Eight hundred years ago 
 
 The sunset shot with dart and lance 
 Through branches dense and low, 
 
 On courtly knight and lady fair: 
 
 In garden all ablown; 
 Its odors sweet upon the air, 
 
 And colors gayly strown. 
 
 He gather'd gently from the ground 
 Three flowers of varied hue, 
 
 Lo, Here, he said, a sign be found 
 Of that which thou shal't do. 
 
ASPHODELS. 175 
 
 Here, purple to its heart, the rose; 
 
 The lily's snowy breast. 
 And here the asphodel that grows 
 
 Where holy saints have rest. 
 
 So hold them, while in yonder cloud 
 The crimson fades to gray; 
 
 And tell me ere the vesper loud 
 Hath closed the pleasant day, 
 
 Is not the rose more fair, more sweet, 
 
 Than is the lily's bloom, 
 Or golden asphodels that meet 
 
 The sunshine on the tomb? 
 
 Her soft eyes drooped; afar the sky 
 
 To silver ashes grew; 
 While still the twilight wind crept by 
 
 And slowly fell the dew. 
 
176 ASPHODELS. 
 
 No words were hers, to cheer or chide. 
 
 She gave the asphodel, 
 And low and broken words replied 
 
 In brief and sad farewell. 
 
 The roses drooped, the lilies died 
 And snows lay on the plain. 
 
 Anon, There brought the summer tide 
 Its garden blooms again. 
 
 Of asphodels upon her pall 
 With careful hands they laid. 
 
 Gather'd beside the convent wall 
 In cold and ashen shade. 
 
 In mail he lay, in alien land, 
 
 On field of battle won; 
 With asphodels in glaived hand 
 
 That grew on Ascalon. 
 
THE MONK OF CAPRI. 
 
 The boats that rocked by Capri's shore 
 
 Were blest by priest the summer morn; 
 But I, a reckless youth, forebore 
 
 To bow my head, and laughed to scorn 
 The prayer low-toned, and benison: 
 
 Despite the grieving words I heard 
 From one I loved and wooed and won 
 
 Where Capri's almond branches stirred 
 Beside the sea. I cried, The voice 
 
 From sable cowl is not for me, 
 The brave and strong; await, rejoice, 
 
 I yet return to wed with thee. 
 
 The fishers of the coral deeps 
 
 By buoyant winds were borne away 
 
178 ■ THE MONK OF CAPIU. 
 
 Far to the South, where Afric sleeps 
 
 Beneath the glow of tropic day. 
 Our dredges from the deck we cast 
 
 Through many a week of weary toil 
 Amid the reefs; until at last 
 
 Our boat was weighted with the spoil. 
 Then day by day the joyous sun 
 
 Our shadows threw upon the foam, 
 Until, the northward journey done, 
 
 We saw the towering cliffs of home; 
 And signalled gayly, while a song 
 
 Broke from my lips in cadence free; 
 Oh, maiden, list, the time was long, 
 
 Yet I return to wed with thee. 
 
 Ay, arms as brown as almond husk 
 Shall clasp me as I come, I said, 
 
 And soft eyes glancing in the dusk 
 Are mine to o^reet ere eve be fled. 
 
THE MONK OF CAPRI. 179 
 
 They hailed us as we touched the pier 
 
 With shout and laugh from one and all, 
 
 But not for me were hail and cheer, 
 I of it only this recall:^ — 
 
 The cowl thrown back from steadfast eyes, 
 
 The low voice toned in sympathy, 
 That said, My son, awake, arise, 
 
 Though death its woe hath sent to thee, 
 Our Father's peace be on thy brow; 
 
 The light that yet on sea or land 
 Hath never shone illumes her now: 
 
 Hearken and pray and understand. 
 
 Now, sable cowled, as he before, 
 
 I bless the boats that sail to sea. 
 
 And send to them from Capri's shore 
 The benison not meant for me. 
 
ON THE HACKENSACK MEADOWS, 
 
 Clear, wild, and free upon the twilight plain 
 
 The prairie fire swept on with lightsome dance. 
 Now stooping to the earth, then high again 
 
 Darting toward the sky with tongue and lance: 
 With wreaths of serpents coiled in smoky gold,. 
 
 And transient stars that blazed and fell away: 
 While to the stream its fervid volume rolled 
 
 Where quench'd its flame in scatter'd ashes gray. 
 
 Lo. Fitter symbol than an arrow's flight. 
 
 Or grass that grows to fall beneath the scythe — 
 
 Of transitory life is this weird light 
 
 Entwined with cloud so both together writhe. 
 
 And drift and waver, till their glamour dies 
 
 In the low sedge where yon dark river lies. 
 
ESCAMBIA. 
 
 Were I a dreamer, seeking only rest 
 
 Or sweet cessation from unwelcome toil. 
 Within these gentle forests, it were blest 
 
 To lie at ease upon this sun-kissed soil. 
 Sharing with nature all her idleness 
 
 And all her bounty of bright summer flowers: 
 Her warm airs gently wafted with the stress 
 
 Such as loved lips may breathe in loving hours. 
 
 For not in Arcady was softer calm, 
 
 And not on Hermon were light winds more free. 
 Nor yet more slender is far Egypt's palm, 
 
 Than are these pines. Nor yet o'er land or sea 
 Lies sky more azure. Here from morn to night 
 
 Might dreamer dream with drowsy, slow delight. 
 
SANTA ROSA, 
 
 Eroad oaks and trailing moss and barren sand 
 Level and deep and drifted as the snow 
 In the far north where yet the spring tide glow 
 
 Had yet no promise. On the sultry strand 
 The little ebb and flow of sleepy waves, 
 And, from the way apart, a field of graves 
 
 Whereon was sun and silence, and the tomb 
 
 Knew grace of roses budding and in bloom. 
 
 And oft, when cold upon the Tappan Zee 
 
 The north wind blows, comes memory to me 
 Of deep white sands beneath the sultry flood 
 
 Of noontide sunshine; and gray-bearded trees 
 With silence undisturbed by breath of breeze: 
 
 And dream of scentless roses, bloom and bud. 
 182 
 
LILY AND VIOLET. 
 
 I saw a Calla lily's stately growth 
 
 Swerve in the passing breeze, in garden soil 
 Nurtured with gentle care. And nothing loth 
 
 To wear its beauty, I wnth eager toil 
 Strode far to grasp it, till its pallid grace 
 
 Lay .captive in my warm enfolding hand. 
 But soon I murmured — I did foolish chase 
 
 A phantom charm. For not in all the land 
 Blooms there a flower so scentless: drooping lies 
 
 The veined, involute leaf. The golden core 
 Scatters dead dust: nor evermore shall rise 
 
 The waxen stateliness I knew before. 
 Vain is my trust, and all my hope is vain — 
 
 I flung it by, nor sought for it again. 
 183 
 
i84 LILY AND VIOLET. 
 
 II. 
 Calm and sedate, as one who, dangers past. 
 
 Forever hence takes heed upon his way, 
 I sought a forest's shade where sunshine cast 
 
 Through slow stirred branches many a soft ray 
 In wav'ring fretwork. There in mellow light. 
 
 Amid the shadowing ferns, a violet grew 
 In waxen beauty. And my envious sight 
 
 Noted its slender grace that charmed anew 
 With each new glance. So, Fain was I to wear 
 
 This w^hite, sweet bourgeon of the dreamy day. 
 With petals trembling as I reached it, fair 
 
 Within my folding hand it cherished lay. 
 It still I hold while eve with day is blent; 
 The treasured guerdon of a heart content. 
 
TWO ROSES. 
 
 There grew twin roses, each on swaying stalk, 
 
 In the pale splendor of an Asian morn, 
 When passed the angel Azrael by the walk 
 
 That led from Eden, where of hope forlorn 
 Earth's first transgressor went. And one was red, 
 
 Full blown, luxuriant, and the gleaming dew 
 Nestled in fragrance in its petals spread. 
 
 And one was budding yet, and white, where through 
 The dark green foliage slow the sunbeams crept 
 
 To kiss it coldly. Softly there the twain — 
 Passion and pureness — in the morning slept. 
 
 And which will wither when I come again! 
 Low whispered Azrael in the dawning day: 
 
 For love may die; and love may live alway! 
 185 
 
1 86 TIVO ROSES. 
 
 There clung two roses, when the Asian sun 
 
 Touched the horizon at its western rim, 
 And twilight fell. In glowing purple, one 
 
 Dropped withered petals to the shadows dim, 
 On the dark earth beneath. And one, like snow, 
 
 With heart unfolded to the azure sky, 
 Lay fair and bright while darkness gathered slow. 
 
 And Azrael, whispering softly, drew anigh. 
 Which of the twain has withered? Stainless lies 
 
 The calm, white bloom, from dawn to dusk and on 
 To farther morn ? And then in sober wise. 
 
 He gathered the red petals and was gone. 
 The white flower bloomed when shone the farther 
 
 day — 
 For love may die; and love may live alway. 
 
MAGNOLIA GRANDIFLORA, 
 
 It bore the blossom of a southern land, 
 
 The leaf that sways where summer ever glows. 
 Beside it grew the oak, on either hand 
 
 The buoyant foliage of the maple rose, 
 And purple beeches drooped. From wooded hills 
 
 Came winds that had the coolness of the shade 
 And freshness of the growing grass that fills 
 
 The dusk recesses of each mountain glade. 
 
 A tropic bud on adverse air had thrown 
 The odor of its heart, its snowy bloom 
 That withered ere to northern foliage known 
 
 Was touch of frost or autumn's softened gloom- 
 So One I knew died 'neath earth's alien skies, 
 Child of the sunnier land of old called*Paradise.