Potiphar's Wife and Other Poems

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POTIPHAR'S WIFE

AND OTHER POEMS

POTIPHAR'S WIFE

Potiphar's Wife

EGYPTIAN POEMS

POTIPHAR'S WIFE

(After the versions of the Koran, and the Persian poet Jâmi.)

<>I. In Memphis, underneath the palms of Nile, The Lady Asenath a house did build For love of Hebrew Yûsuf; who, erewhile With flame unquenchable her breast had filled: The treasures of Prince Itfîr 'stablished it A summer-palace for her fancies fit.

<>II. White, in the blue Egyptian sky, it soared With mighty graven stones reared outwardly; This side the gate—enthroned—sate Horus, Lord, Finger to lip; and, on that other, Thmei, Mother of Truth, holding her asp and wand, Glared with great granite face across the land.

<>III. Inwardly, by an alley of black shade, The footstep passed on checkered slabs set square, Into a walled court; where a colonnade Framed a glad garden full of odors rare From heavy blooms and fruits. Without was seen Golden Noon flaming, here 'twas Evening green!

<>IV. And all the wall was painted movingly With high-wrought lore, and solemn-storied things: Anubis, herding souls, was there to see, And Thoth the Judge: and proud-apparelled kings Driving to wars, and bringing spoil again, Their chariot-wheels rose-red with blood of slain.

<>V. And elsewhere Heaven was shown, with bliss unbroken, Whereto those mild immortal sisters lend,

Isis and Nepthys; and, for certain token, Scarabs in holy rows. The limner's reed Had drawn their foreclaws holding emblems three Of Life, and Changelessness, and Sanctity.

<>VI. And, elsewhere, frowned Amenti—Hell:—but over The silver plumes swayed, teaching how the Dead Should pass beyond dire Typhon, and discover Paths to the happy Light, where Ra's bright head Rebukes all darkness, Regent of the Sun; And Phtah, Kneph, Athor—every Sacred One.

<>VII. Also, that cloistered walk was compassed in With pillars wonderful for work and hue: This one a palm-stem; that papyrus thin; Yonder, in stone, lotuses pink and blue.

And from the garden and the colonnade A roofed way to the inner rooms was laid.

<>VIII. For inner chambers were there seven:—each fashioned With matchless wit to make each goodlier Than that last seen. So, heart and eye, impassioned Unto the inmost passed, devised by her, High Asenath, for love's deep hiding-place, Beautiful, marvelous, all peace and grace.

<>IX. Through latticed loops Nile's cooling ripple came— Musical, lulling,—to that dim retreat Which had for light one silver lamp's faint flame Burning with fragrant oils before the feet Of Pasht, in speckled stone, Pasht with cat's head, And long arms on her levelled knees outspread.

<>X. The forty carven columns round about Showed each some master-piece of subtle craft: A musk-deer here, in river-reeds, breathes out The very musk-scent from him: there, a waft Of bulrush-heads to the quick current bend, And the slow crocodiles to dry land wend

<>XI. Sunning wet scales. And, next, a gray fox watched— In syenite—doves on a tamarisk-tree Done out of a green rock. Wings and necks were matched In lazulite and moonstone—fair to see! Midway a dais mounted to a bed Of pearl and ebony, with soft cloths spread.

<>XII. Upon the alcove there, and all around Love tales were pictured: some swart lady wooed

A lover still unwilling; he was bound In dark warm arms, refusing: then 'twas viewed How to her spells he melted: then, again, How what he scorned he sued for—fond and fain.

<>XIII. And those who thus Love's luxuries had won Asenath seemed, and Yûsuf. Limb for limb, Lips, eyes, and brows, the Hebrew boy was done Lifelike. The gemmed Egyptian dame with him Shone Asenath herself, Asenath fair, With robes ungirt, no fillet in her hair!

<>XIV. Into this palace 'twas her mind to bring Yûsuf the slave, and lead him, room by room, Through all their passages of pleasuring Till eyes' delight should heart's cold doubts consume. But first herself she 'tired, and lovelier made That loveliness, too rich before arrayed!

<>XV. Her eyebrows' arch with pencilled lines she builded, And touched each underlid with jetty dye, Drew the long lashes separate, and gilded Her flesh with palm-flow'r dust, to beautify The ambered satin of her nape and neck; And deftly with red henna did she deck

<>XVI. Her slender finger-tips; and washed with myrrh Her long black tresses, braiding them in strings Which, from the queenly gleaming crown of her Swung to her knees, banded with beads and rings: And, 'thwart her breasts—like lotus-blossoms blown— A purple, spangled, sindon hath she thrown.

<>XVII. Then she bade summon that fair Hebrew boy: Who came, with palms across his faint heart folded,

And kissed her feet, and prayed: "What swift employ May thy true servant find?" Of manhood moulded In every part was Yûsuf; and her eye O'er-roamed him with a tender tyranny.

<>XVIII. Yet more he shunned th' imperious look of love Than if her glance had blaze of wrath displayed: "But," quoth the Princess, "this night will I prove If thou be servant true!" Therewith she bade Follow:—and, entering that first chamber-door, Shot the bronze bolt; and from his brown throat tore—

<>XIX. With swift impatient hand—the leathern thong Marking him thrall; and cried: "My soul's desire!

I, thy hid handmaid, do thee daily wrong Playing the mistress. By Ra's morning fire Freed art thou! Make my gift of freedom sweet Lifting this love-sick giver from thy feet!"

<>XX. With that she poured her black imperial hair In waves upon his sandals. But, he said: "Thou, to whom Egypt's noblest kneel in fear, Mock me not thus, on whom the charge is laid To guard thee for my Lord; or, if set free, Great lady! Grant my soul his liberty!"

<>XXI. Silent she rose:—drew him on inwardly Behind the second door, locking it hard: Took from a chest,—cut of the almond-tree— A cirque, with gods and scarabs set in hard: "See now!" she cried: "I crown thee Prince and Lord, Will not those lips, made royal like mine, afford

<>XXII. "The word I pine for, which shall pay for greatness? Now may'st thou lift thy face, and answer sweet; "We are as one! Quit shame, forsake sedateness! Asenath wooes Lord Yûsuf:—that is meet!" "Oh, Itfîr's wife!" he said, "meet would it be I were made vulture's food, hearkening to thee!"

<>XXIII. Then, through those chambers third and fourth she passed, And to the fifth and sixth she led him on, Bolting each door behind: 'till at the last,— Laden with gifts of jade, and turkis-stone, And robes, and torques—she brought Him to her bower, Where 'twas her thought to put forth Love's last power.

<>XXIV. For all four walls with those light pictures burned, Painted to life—lovers at play—and these

Asenath seemed, and Yûsuf. If he turned, Unyielding, from the Princess at his knees, On the same Princess gazed he, imaged sweet; And himself yielded, conquered, at her feet.

<>XXV. And more than steadfast soul might well withstand It was, to bring his troubled gaze again To that great suppliant, wasting on his hand Woeful caressings: and to mark what pain Filled with clear tears the bright beseeching eyes; Heaved the soft breasts, as sea-tides sink and rise.

<>XXVI. For, when she linked the last door's chain, and seized His hands, and, desperate, her last prayer said, He had been stone or snow to view, unpleased, The lustrous glory of that low-bowed head, The meekness of such majesty forgot, The queenly pleading orbs, whose light was shot

<>XXVII. Star-wise, through sparkling rain; which more o'erpowered By grace, than greatness, to the sweet surrender. Like a charmed snake Conscience its cold hood lowered, While, soft as muted lute, in accents tender Her rich lips murmured, "Oh, how long, how long Wilt thou do thee and me this loveless wrong?"

<>XXVIII. "How long? When I, who may command, implore, Being named Mistress of the Mouths of Nile? Yet, if into the Ocean those did pour Silver and gold all day, for one kind smile From those close-curtained eyes, for one light kiss I would let sea-born Kneph take all of this!

<>XXIX. "Give, then, mine heart its will, mine eyelids sleep; My head the pillow that can lull its woe. Shall Asenath of Memphis vainly weep? I cry to thee by Him thou honourest so, Thy Hebrew Jah—if He hath any ruth— Show mercy! Put to fruit thy blossomed youth!"

<>XXX. "Yea! By the marks thy God hath set on thee To make thee most desirable,—thy hair Glossed like an ibis' wing,—thy brows which be Black rainbows to thy sunlike eyes,—the fair Wonderful rounding of thy temples twain, And that flower mouth,—which, when it opes again

<>XXXI. "Cannot, and shall not say me 'nay'—by these, And all thy goodly strength, for Love's use given,

By my salt tears, and by my soul's disease, Shut me no longer from the wished-for Heaven; Its gate is there! There—in those arms tight-locked— Open them—open! for my heart hath knocked!"

<>XXXII. "What gives thee fear, when I am none afeard? Where is thy shame, if I am naught ashamed? What whisper of our comforts shall be heard From these still walls? How should thy blood be blamed Mingling with mine, who come of Pharaoh's race? With mine, that have these brows, this breast, this face?"

<>XXXIII. "Ah, thou most high and most beguiling one!" Trembling he answered: "Tempt me not to this! Easy it were to do, but ill, being done,

If I should sell white virtue for a kiss, And break the bright glass of unstained faith To burn for shame when our Lord Itfîr saith

<>XXXIV. Yûsuf, my Trusted!' By the living Lord, Whose lamp the sun is, seeing everywhere, Too sore I pity thee! Too soon the word Of 'yea' would leap, if it were only fear Which locks it in my lips: oh, let me go And on some other day this might be so!"

<>XXXV. "Nay, nay!" she cries: "For me is no to-morrow! Who, dying in a desert, puts aside The water-skin? Who, holding cure of sorrow, Bears on with agony? When could betide A better time than now, a surer spot? What's wrought the Gods themselves will witness not!"

<>XXXVI. "My God will witness!" quoth he, "and make know My Master." "Oh, thy Master!" brake in she, "I have a herb of Nile, and, when cups flow, Crowned at the banquet, there shall some night be A strange new savour in his wine:—and, then Sleep on his eyes, and ceasing from 'midst men."

<>XXXVII. Backward thereat he drew, as when a snake From coralled jaws bares sudden fatal fangs; But she, distempered, from her belt did take A knife: and, while with one fond hand she hangs Hot on his neck, the other the blade kept So pressed to the skin the scarlet blood outleapt.

<>XXXVIII. And with wild eyes she spake: "My soul hath clung Too close to thine, Unkind! to cling in vain;

Mine ears have drank the music of thy tongue Too long for life, except Love heals life's pain! See! The fond dagger for my scorned blood yearns, And drinks its first drop, where the bright point burns!

<>XXXIX. "Deny me, and I drive this shining death Straight to the heart which thou contemnest so; And when last love-sigh comes with latest breath, And o'er thy cruel hands the red streams flow, My murdered body shall Lord Itfîr see, And the dread charge of this will light on thee!"

<>XL. With eager grasp he clutched her wrist, and cried: "Great Asenath! have pity on us both! From such mad frenzy turn thy steel aside. Too fair—too dear—to die! too—" She, not loath,

Deeming the boy relenting, sheathed her blade, And with close-winding arms a warm chain made

<>XLI. About his beating breast, and drew him down Against her mouth, and dragged "nay! nay!" away In such a cleaving kiss his sense did swoon, His tongue, shut in with honey, naught could say; His eyes, meeting her eyes, such fierce flame took They dropped their lids not to be lightning-strook.

<>XLII. Then, while he sank back, will-less, on the silk, She rose, of triumph sure, and deftly drew Prom her smooth shoulders,—brown and smooth as milk With palm-wine mixed—that scarf of purple hue Veiling her bosom's splendours; this she bore, Quick-tripping, to the niche beside the door,

<>XLIII. Where, on tall pedestal, in pride of place, Sate Pasht the Cat, with orbs of green and gold; And, over those green eyes, and o'er the face That garment hath she draped, so that its fold Hid the House-Goddess to her porphyry chin. "Why doest thou this?" asks Yûsuf. "If I sin—"

<>XLIV. Answers glad Asenath—"It must not be That Pasht, whom every morn I straitly serve With musk, and flowers, and prayers—great Pasht, should see; That Pasht, with those sharp eyes, should know I swerve From law:—for she would blab to Lords of Hell, But what she doth not spy she will not tell."

<>XLV. Turning, she made to clip him; but he broke, Like the sun bursting through a shattered cloud,

Fierce from her arms: and, all alight, he spoke Angrily thus: "Take, too, thy skirt, and shroud Yon stars that gaze upon us from God's sky! Cover, with fine-wove webs, the angry eye

<>XLVI. "Of dread Jehovah, watching everywhere! Bind His free winds, and bid them whisper naught! Lay hand upon His lightnings, flashing clear, And bribe them not to strike! Let there be brought His thunders, muzzled, to thy bower; and win Their awful voices to forgive our sin!"

<>XLVII. "Fear'st thou those stony eyes thou didst enfold, And shall not I my fathers' Lord fear more, Whose glance none may shut out, Whose eyes behold All things in every place? Tempted full sore, Lady of Egypt! Was thy witless slave: Now breaks he from thee, better faith to save!"

<>XLVIII. With that he darted forth. And Asenath Reached at his waist-cloth, rending it atwain; One portion in her wrathful hand she hath, One the fast-flying Yûsuf doth retain; While, in his speed, he flings back bolts and bars Till, 'scaped, he stands under the mindful stars.

To a Pair of Egyptian Slippers

TO A PAIR OF EGYPTIAN SLIPPERS

Tiny slippers of gold and green, Tied with a mouldering golden cord! What pretty feet they must have been When Cæsar Augustus was Egypt's lord! Somebody graceful and fair you were! Not many girls could dance in these! When did your shoemaker make you, dear, Such a nice pair of Egyptian "threes?"

Where were you measured? In Saïs, or On, Memphis, or Thebes, or Pelusium? Fitting them featly your brown toes upon, Lacing them deftly with finger and thumb I seem to see you!—so long ago, Twenty-one centuries, less or more! And here are your sandals: yet none of us know What name, or fortune, or face you bore.

Your lips would have laughed, with a rosy scorn, If the merchant, or slave-girl, had mockingly said, "The feet will pass, but the shoes they have worn Two thousand years onward Time's road shall tread, And still be footgear as good as new!" To think that calf-skin, gilded and stitched, Should Home and the Pharaohs outlive—and you Be gone, like a dream, from the world you bewitched!

Not that we mourn you! 'Twere too absurd! You have been such a very long while away! Your dry spiced dust would not value one word Of the soft regrets that my verse could say. Sorrow and Pleasure, and Love and Hate, If you ever felt them, have vaporzed hence To this odor—so subtle and delicate— Of myrrh, and cassia, and frankincense.

Of course they embalmed you! Yet not so sweet Were aloes and nard, as the youthful glow Which Amenti stole when the small dark feet Wearied of treading our world below. Look! it was flood-time in valley of Nile, Or a very wet day in the Delta, dear! When your slippers tripped lightly their latest mile— The mud on the soles renders that fact clear.

You knew Cleopatra, no doubt! You saw Antony's galleys from Actium come. But there! if questions could answers draw From lips so many a long age dumb, I would not tease you with history, Nor vex your heart for the men which were; The one point to learn that would fascinate me Is, where and what are you to-day, my dear!

You died, believing in Horus and Pasht, Isis, Osiris, and priestly lore; And found, of course, such theories smashed By actual fact on the heavenly shore. What next did you do? Did you transmigrate? Have we seen you since, all modern and fresh? Your charming soul—so I calculate— Mislaid its mummy, and sought new flesh.

Were you she whom I met at dinner last week, With eyes and hair of the Ptolemy black, Who still of this find in the Fayoum would speak, And to Pharaohs and scarabs still carry us back? A scent of lotus about her hung, And she had such a far-away wistful air As of somebody born when the Earth was young; And she wore of gilt slippers a lovely pair.

Perchance you were married? These might have been Part of your trousseau—the wedding-shoes; And you laid them aside with the garments green, And painted clay Gods which a bride would use: And, maybe, to-day, by Nile's bright waters Damsels of Egypt in gowns of blue— Great- great- great-—very- great-—grand-daughters Owe their shapely insteps to you!

But vainly I beat at the bars of the Past, Little green slippers with golden strings! For all you can tell is that leather will last When loves, and delightings, and beautiful things Have vanished, forgotten—No! not quite that! I catch some gleam of the grace you wore When you finished with Life's daily pit-a-pat, And left your shoes at Death's bedroom door.

You were born in the Egypt which did not doubt; You were never sad with our new-fashioned sorrows: You were sure, when your play-days on Earth ran out, Of play-times to come, as we of our morrows! Oh, wise little Maid of the Delta! I lay Your shoes in your mummy-chest back again, And wish that one game we might merrily play At "Hunt the Slipper"—to see it all plain!

The Egyptian Princess

THE EGYPTIAN PRINCESS.

There was fear and desolation over Egypt's swarthy land From the holy city of the Sun to hot Syëne's sand: The sistrum and the cymbal slept, the dancing women beat No measure to the pipe and drum, with silver-slippered feet: For the Daughter of the King must die, the dark magicians said Before once more the Moon-God Khuns should lift his hornèd head.

And, all those days, the temple-smoke loaded the heavy air With prayers to Set the Terrible, who heareth not, to hear; Those days the painted flags were down, the festal lamps untrimmed, Mute at their stones the millers ground, silent the Nile boats skimmed: And, through the land, lip passed to lip sad word of what would be, From Nubia's golden mountains to the gateways of the Sea.

There, in the Palace Hall, where once her laugh had loudest been, Where, but last Feast Day she had worn the wreath of Beauty's Queen, She lay a lost but lovely thing, the wreath was on her brow: Alas! the lotus could not match its chilly pallor now! And ever as the orb of Day sank lower in the sky, Her breath came fainter, and the life seemed fading from her eye.

Mute o'er the dying maiden's form King Mycerinus bends;— Not Pharaoh's might from this dread foe proud Egypt's hope defends! Piteously moans he: "In this world, so dark without thy smile! Hast thou one care thy Father's love, thy King's pledge may beguile? Hast thou a last light wish?—'Tis thine, by all the Gods on high! If Egypt's blood can win it thee, or Egypt's treasure buy!"

How eagerly they wait her words! Upon the pictured wall In long gold lines the dying lights between the columns fall; Was it strange that tears were glistening where tears should never be, When Death had touched with fatal kiss the lips of such as she? Was it strange that warriors should raise a very woman's cry For help and hope to Athor's ears when such as she must die?

Small boot of bearded leeches here! not all Arabia's store Of precious balms can purchase her one noon of sunshine more! Hush! hush! she speaks!—the pale, drawn lips murmur a parting speech! Ah, silence! let no syllable be lost! so whispers each. That gray crow on the Palace wall which croaks and will not rest, An archer fits his arrow and splits the evil breast!

"Father! Great Father!—it is hard,—to die so very young! Summer was coming, and I looked to see the palm-buds sprung! Must it be always dark like this?—I cannot see thy face! I am dying! Hold me, Pharaoh! in thy kind and strong embrace! List! let them sometimes bear me where the golden sunbeams lie, Farewell! Farewell! I know thou wilt! 'Tis easy now to die!"

And ever when the Star of Kneph has brought the summer round, And the Nile rises fast and full along the thirsty ground, They bear her from her rock-hewn tomb to where the Sun's broad light May linger on the close-bound eyes were once so glad and bright; And strew palm-clusters on her breast while gray-haired singers tell Of the high Egyptian Lady, who loved the Sun so well.

The Grateful Foxes

JAPANESE POEMS

THE GRATEFUL FOXES

(A Japanese Story, in the Japanese Manner.)

PART I.

In the month when cherry-trees Paint the spring-time pink, Lady Haru, with her maids, Sate at Kodzu's brink: Good it is to live on days like these!

Rosy as a Musmee's lips, Red as blood on snow, Bloomed the jewelled branches forth: Rice-birds chirped below: Over silver seas went white-sailed ships.

All about the blossoming rape,— Glad to own its gold— Butterflies and dragon-flies Flitted;—snakes were bold To draw slow coils to sunlight. Every cape—

From its sleeping shadow rose: Fuji-San was seen Piercing Heaven's blue above, Glassed in Ocean's green;— Doubled forests, doubled gleaming snows!

Beautiful O Haru San, With her maids, at play, Pulled the lilies; in the stream Bathed, heart-whole and gay: Spring-time ripples in her sweet veins ran!

By and by, along the river, Comes a troop of boys: 'Tis a fox-cub they have captured! Laughter loud, and noise Who shall have its skin, and who its liver.

In the bamboo-thicket's gloom— At safe distance—sit Father fox and mother fox Gazing after it: "O, Kawwaiso! Caught when Spring was come!"

"Cruel, noisy boys!" she said, "Loose the little fox! See his honorable parents Weeping, by the rocks!"— "Iye! iye!" Each one shook his head.

"Foxes' skins fetch half a bu In Komadzu town! Foxes' livers—sliced and dried, And well powdered down— Sovereign physic for a fever brew!"

"Ah! but when all things rejoice In this flower-time feast:"— Spake the Princess—"will you kill Such a small, soft beast?" "Hime Sama!" cried the village boys:

"Your august excuse we crave— Yet—three hundred cash! When would such a prize befall If, with pity rash, We this cub unto the old ones gave?"

Thereupon O Haru San From her girdle drew Copper money, silver money Till it made a bu. "See! take twice the price!" she said. They ran

Merry thence, to be so rich, Leaving frightened, free, In that lovely lady's lap Poor Ko-Kitsune, No more frightened, feeling her soft touch.

For she loosed, with tender hand, Knot, and noose, and string: Stroked the red fur smooth again On the ruffled thing; Rolled cool nakasè to make a band

Round the little bleeding leg: Offered fish and rice. Plain as speech the black eyes said: "Oh, that's very nice! Yet, go men nasaimashi, I beg

"Leave, kind Princess! now to go Where my parents wait Close by yonder bean-straw stacks: Sad must be their state: That is my Okkâsan, whining so!"

Therefore, while the old ones gaze, Gently on the ground Sets she down the wistful cub: At one happy bound Leaps it through the lilies, clears the belt of maize.

Wounded foot forgetting To its kind it sped; Licked its loving dam all over, Licked its father's head: Gravely those old foxes, left and right,

Looked it over, neck and breast, Scanned it up and down, Smelled it from the feathery brush To the smooth brown crown. Then, upon their haunches humbly dressed,

Two sharp barks of gratitude Honorably paid: "Farewell! We, your servants three, Send you thanks, sweet maid! Sayonara!" So they sought the wood.

She, with glad steps, homeward went By the river banks, Watching purple shadows climb Fuji's wooded flanks, Musing how fair Mercy brings Content.

PART II.

In the tenth Moon—none wist why— Sick that Lady lay: As from cherry boughs the bloom Falls, so fell away Cheeks' fresh tint, and ripe lips' rosy dye.

More and more the gentle face Weary grew and wan: Those that saw her in the Spring-tide— Sweet O Haru San— Cried: "Oh, where is gone such youth and grace?"

Grave physicians gathered nigh Famed for healing lore; Sovereign herbs they culled and boiled: Not one whit the more Gained she glow of cheek or light of eye.

"Ever," so she sadly said, "In the dead of night, Something wicked, dreamy, dim Seemed to rise in sight, Hovered—horrible—about her bed."

Therefore, on each side her pillow Watched a gray-haired nurse. In the morning, nothing witnessed! Princess Haru worse! Drooping like a root-cut river-willow.

Six new nurses sate about All with lamps alight. "Setsunai!" the Princess cries At the dead of night. All the nurses sleeping, all the lamps gone out!

Thereupon, her maids fourscore Kept full watch and ward. At the "hour of the Rat" Each maid sleeping hard! The torches quenched! the Princess weeping sore!

Next, five councillors of fame, Wearing swords and frocks, Watched, by royal ordinance; Yet—at "hour of Ox" All a-slumber! Haru plagued the same!

Isahaya Buzen spake: "Maho-tsukai is here! 'Tis some hellish witchcraft works, Else, with one so dear, All our eyelids heavy what could make?"

"Is there none to break the spell? Must our Princess die? With my fingers and my thumbs Held I wide each eye; Suddenly, like one a-drunk, I fell!"

Spake the Chief Priest, Raitan: "Nightly, while I pray, Burning incense-sticks, and beating Buddha's drum,—till day, Standing near the shrine I see a man,

"Handsome, youthful, fixed of face, He doth supplicate "Set my Lady Haru free From her evil state! Hear the prayer of Itô, Lord of Grace!"

"'Tak'st,' I asked him, 'no repose?' 'Holy Sir!' he said, 'Prayer is all that I may offer. Might I guard her bed All Hell's fiends these eyes should never close!'

"Being but your foot-soldier Itô dares not speak!" Quoth the Shogun, "Let him be Taicho—Captain! Seek Only how to save our daughter here!"

Therefore, with those maids fourscore, And those statesmen five, Soldier Itô kept the watch. Hardly half-alive Lay the gentle Lady, moaning sore.

On the snow-white mats a cloth Heedfully he spreads; Stealthily his dirk he drew; Then—when all their heads Nodded, at the "hour of the Moth

Deep he drives it in his thigh. From the smarting wound Spirts the blood: when slumber tempts Twists he that blade round. Others doze, but Itô shuts no eye!

Soon he sees the Witch appear— Oh, a dream of death! Wolf-shaped! Wickedly its mouth Sucks O Haru's breath. Itô leaps upon it, free of fear,

Grasps it: flings it: goes to kill! Struggling shrieks that Shape: "If you slay me she must die, Grant me hence escape And I tell what thing might make her well."

"Tell it, Hag!" he cries, "and swear Never more to prowl!" Pants the Witch, "I swear! If you Grate, in her rice-bowl, Fox's liver, woes will disappear."

Itô from the Night-Wolf tore One huge bristling ear. In the morning all awakened, Ah, the joy, the fear! Haru smiling! Blood upon the floor!

Statesmen five, and waitresses, Sore ashamed to drowse! Gladness in the royal heart, Joyaunce in the house! Itô's hurt O Haru's own hand dresses!

Then he showed the ear, and told them How the Witch's breath Spread a spell of slumber round Deep as sleep of death. "I myself had nodded, but, behold them!

"With these humble wounds to aid I remained awake, Twisting still the dagger slowly: Princess! for thy sake In my heart I would have turned that blade!"

Near and far the King's word sped Messengers to bring Fox's liver. "If," quoth he, "'Tis this healing thing Faithful Itô shall O Haru wed."

PART III.

Near and far the hunters sought, Roaming every wood: The court would pay the weight in gold 'Twas well understood: Yet no fox's liver to be bought!

To their mountain huts again Sad those hunters came. "All the foxes know!" said they: "Far and wide the fame Passeth of this Princess and her pain."

Wrathful waxed the Lord—spake he: "Loth I were to slay One fox even, yet my child Pines: if not to-day Comes this thing, then disembowelled be

"Our physicians! Tell them so! Shall a Princess sink For this matter of one fox?" Sadly sate, to think, All the great court doctors, in a row.

Then they humbly sent to say: "One man might succeed! Itô—please your Majesty— Is the best at need: Deign to grant for Itô one more day!"

Itô reached his arrows down, Strung his hunting-bow, Took his knife, and rope, and nets, In the woods to go: Suddenly—at entrance of the town—

Comes a woman, with a jar; Very low she bows: "Go men nasai! I was bringing This to my Lord's house: 'Tis what you would seek, fetched from afar."

Joyously he prays the price: "Nay!" says she,—and drew Closer down upon her face The country hood of blue,— "Afterwards will very well suffice!"

Joyously he brings it home: Glad those doctors grew! In a bowl of beaten gold The precious broth they brew: The Princess drinks! the charm is overcome!