The poetical works of James A. Whitney
KT^J" -^K '■<A ¥ai zns LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Shelf WisPf^* \%%ky~ UNITED STATES OF A3IERI€A. 18 r'>7 THE POETICAL WORKS OF / JAMES A. WHITNEY, LL.D. IN TIVO VOLUMES. VOL. I. NEW YORK : N. TIBBALS & SONS. 124 NASSAU ST. 1886. Copyright, 18S4, Copyright, 1886, BY JAMES A. WHITNEY. All rights reserved. TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER, AMAZIAH 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, i Bar Enon, 146 The Knight op^ Thessalone, iSo Cherry Valley, 211 SHOBAB:. A TALK OK BKTHKSDA. I, Shobab, son of Shimei who wed The day the tidings unto Hebron came, That in tlie 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. 3 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 m^id 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 BE THE SB 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 BE THE SD 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 BE THE SD 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 dull'd, and with duU'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 BE THE SD A. 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. BE THE SD A, That they no more may know the Winter's cold Or weariness of Summer's wanton heat, The toiHng 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, BE THE SB A. 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 BETHESDA. 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 fingers 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. BETHESDA. 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 BE Til BSD A. For her and me a life new born and fair, To reach out through the years in peacefuhiess. 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 liehind 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 BETH.ESDA. ij 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 i8 li/rn/r.snA. Said liasto \o llcbi\>n, l\>r she waits thcc there \\ith wclronio on \\cv t.nw The sunshine loll Aiul LuU\l in the j^Kxiinin^', ami the nu"n"»n The transient twilight lolUnved with no break Or interhule o\ dark. In silver li^lu Was silenee as iff sadness everywhere. Twixt niidnii^ht and the dawn, uyion my emieh, 1 siHi^ht lor sleep in vain. l-'or sorrow seenunl To lie upon the air, a ha/y wi^e That hail no objeet yet was ever near. \\ hen weary 1 arose, 1, nnsnrpriseil. In !.i roups saw all the neighbors speak in o low Anioui^ themselves, as it" in wrath and fear. And when 1 asked, they answered, knows't thou not The widow's daughter, yea, the little maid That met thee in the ludds, is slain and all Her blood is minified with the ashen earth. A Roman eharioteer drove idly by BETIIESDA. 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 A 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; 'I'he 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 BE THE SB A. 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 BE THE SD A. 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. BETHESDA. 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 BE THE SD A 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, BE THE SD A. 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 wme 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 SD 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 wrathfuPthought 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 BETH BSD 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 blind man sat, with wavering hands out-thrust To feel when first the waters should be stirred; And afhis 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 BE THE SD A. 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 BE THE SD A. 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. BETHESDA. 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 BETHESDA. 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 w^ith 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 SB 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 The 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 tlie 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 BE THE SD A. 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 SB 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 BE THE SD A. To the sweet voice of women, on the air Breathed ga}^ 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. BE THE SD A. 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 Received 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 SB 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 BETHESDA. 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 BE THE SD A. 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 staved 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 was 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 wailing in his w^oe. '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 BE THE SD A. And who were fairest of the varied lands Were wilHng 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. 