Dedication

Dedication

TO G.W.G.

With favoring winds, o'er sunlit seas, We sailed for the Hesperides, The land where golden apples grow; But that, ah! that was long ago.

How far, since then, the ocean streams Have swept us from that land of dreams, That land of fiction and of truth, The lost Atlantis of our youth!

Whither, oh, whither? Are not these The tempest-haunted Hebrides, Where sea gulls scream, and breakers roar, And wreck and sea-weed line the shore?

Ultima Thule! Utmost Isle! Here in thy harbors for a while We lower our sails; a while we rest From the unending, endless quest.

POEMS

BAYARD TAYLOR

Dead he lay among his books! The peace of God was in his looks.

As the statues in the gloom Watch o'er Maximilian's tomb,

So those volumes from their shelves Watched him, silent as themselves.

Ah! his hand will nevermore Turn their storied pages o'er;

Nevermore his lips repeat Songs of theirs, however sweet.

Let the lifeless body rest! He is gone, who was its guest;

Gone, as travellers haste to leave An inn, nor tarry until eve.

Traveller! in what realms afar, In what planet, in what star,

In what vast, aerial space, Shines the light upon thy face?

In what gardens of delight Rest thy weary feet to-night?

Poet! thou, whose latest verse Was a garland on thy hearse;

Thou hast sung, with organ tone, In Deukalion's life, thine own;

On the ruins of the Past Blooms the perfect flower at last.

Friend! but yesterday the bells Rang for thee their loud farewells;

And to-day they toll for thee, Lying dead beyond the sea;

Lying dead among thy books, The peace of God in all thy looks!

THE CHAMBER OVER THE GATE

Is it so far from thee Thou canst no longer see, In the Chamber over the Gate, That old man desolate, Weeping and wailing sore For his son, who is no more? O Absalom, my son!

Is it so long ago That cry of human woe From the walled city came, Calling on his dear name, That it has died away In the distance of to-day? O Absalom, my son!

There is no far or near, There is neither there nor here, There is neither soon nor late, In that Chamber over the Gate, Nor any long ago To that cry of human woe, O Absalom, my son!

From the ages that are past The voice sounds like a blast, Over seas that wreck and drown, Over tumult of traffic and town; And from ages yet to be Come the echoes back to me, O Absalom, my son!

Somewhere at every hour The watchman on the tower Looks forth, and sees the fleet Approach of the hurrying feet Of messengers, that bear The tidings of despair. O Absalom, my son!

He goes forth from the door Who shall return no more. With him our joy departs; The light goes out in our hearts; In the Chamber over the Gate We sit disconsolate. O Absalom, my son!

That 't is a common grief Bringeth but slight relief; Ours is the bitterest loss, Ours is the heaviest cross; And forever the cry will be "Would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son!"

FROM MY ARM-CHAIR

TO THE CHILDREN OF CAMBRIDGE

Who presented to me on my Seventy-second Birth-day, February 27, 1879, this Chair, made from the Wood of the Village Blacksmith's Chestnut Tree.

Am I a king, that I should call my own This splendid ebon throne? Or by what reason, or what right divine, Can I proclaim it mine?

Only, perhaps, by right divine of song It may to me belong; Only because the spreading chestnut tree Of old was sung by me.

Well I remember it in all its prime, When in the summer-time The affluent foliage of its branches made A cavern of cool shade.

There, by the blacksmith's forge, beside the street, Its blossoms white and sweet Enticed the bees, until it seemed alive, And murmured like a hive.

And when the winds of autumn, with a shout, Tossed its great arms about, The shining chestnuts, bursting from the sheath, Dropped to the ground beneath.

And now some fragments of its branches bare, Shaped as a stately chair, Have by my hearthstone found a home at last, And whisper of the past.

The Danish king could not in all his pride Repel the ocean tide, But, seated in this chair, I can in rhyme Roll back the tide of Time.

I see again, as one in vision sees, The blossoms and the bees, And hear the children's voices shout and call, And the brown chestnuts fall.

I see the smithy with its fires aglow, I hear the bellows blow, And the shrill hammers on the anvil beat The iron white with heat!

And thus, dear children, have ye made for me This day a jubilee, And to my more than three-score years and ten Brought back my youth again.

The heart hath its own memory, like the mind, And in it are enshrined The precious keepsakes, into which is wrought The giver's loving thought.

Only your love and your remembrance could Give life to this dead wood, And make these branches, leafless now so long, Blossom again in song.

JUGURTHA

How cold are thy baths, Apollo! Cried the African monarch, the splendid, As down to his death in the hollow Dark dungeons of Rome he descended, Uncrowned, unthroned, unattended; How cold are thy baths, Apollo!

How cold are thy baths, Apollo! Cried the Poet, unknown, unbefriended, As the vision, that lured him to follow, With the mist and the darkness blended, And the dream of his life was ended; How cold are thy baths, Apollo!

THE IRON PEN

Made from a fetter of Bonnivard, the Prisoner of Chillon; the handle of wood from the Frigate Constitution, and bound with a circlet of gold, inset with three precious stones from Siberia, Ceylon, and Maine.

I thought this Pen would arise From the casket where it lies-- Of itself would arise and write My thanks and my surprise.

When you gave it me under the pines, I dreamed these gems from the mines Of Siberia, Ceylon, and Maine Would glimmer as thoughts in the lines;

That this iron link from the chain Of Bonnivard might retain Some verse of the Poet who sang Of the prisoner and his pain;

That this wood from the frigate's mast Might write me a rhyme at last, As it used to write on the sky The song of the sea and the blast.

But motionless as I wait, Like a Bishop lying in state Lies the Pen, with its mitre of gold, And its jewels inviolate.

Then must I speak, and say That the light of that summer day In the garden under the pines Shall not fade and pass away.

I shall see you standing there, Caressed by the fragrant air, With the shadow on your face, And the sunshine on your hair.

I shall hear the sweet low tone Of a voice before unknown, Saying, "This is from me to you-- From me, and to you alone."

And in words not idle and vain I shall answer and thank you again For the gift, and the grace of the gift, O beautiful Helen of Maine!

And forever this gift will be As a blessing from you to me, As a drop of the dew of your youth On the leaves of an aged tree.

ROBERT BURNS

I see amid the fields of Ayr A ploughman, who, in foul and fair, Sings at his task So clear, we know not if it is The laverock's song we hear, or his, Nor care to ask.

For him the ploughing of those fields A more ethereal harvest yields Than sheaves of grain; Songs flush with Purple bloom the rye, The plover's call, the curlew's cry, Sing in his brain.

Touched by his hand, the wayside weed Becomes a flower; the lowliest reed Beside the stream Is clothed with beauty; gorse and grass And heather, where his footsteps pass, The brighter seem.

He sings of love, whose flame illumes The darkness of lone cottage rooms; He feels the force, The treacherous undertow and stress Of wayward passions, and no less The keen remorse.

At moments, wrestling with his fate, His voice is harsh, but not with hate; The brushwood, hung Above the tavern door, lets fall Its bitter leaf, its drop of gall Upon his tongue.

But still the music of his song Rises o'er all elate and strong; Its master-chords Are Manhood, Freedom, Brotherhood, Its discords but an interlude Between the words.

And then to die so young and leave Unfinished what he might achieve! Yet better sure Is this, than wandering up and down An old man in a country town, Infirm and poor.

For now he haunts his native land As an immortal youth; his hand Guides every plough; He sits beside each ingle-nook, His voice is in each rushing brook, Each rustling bough.

His presence haunts this room to-night, A form of mingled mist and light From that far coast. Welcome beneath this roof of mine! Welcome! this vacant chair is thine, Dear guest and ghost!

HELEN OF TYRE

What phantom is this that appears Through the purple mist of the years, Itself but a mist like these? A woman of cloud and of fire; It is she; it is Helen of Tyre, The town in the midst of the seas.

O Tyre! in thy crowded streets The phantom appears and retreats, And the Israelites that sell Thy lilies and lions of brass, Look up as they see her pass, And murmur "Jezebel!"

Then another phantom is seen At her side, in a gray gabardine, With beard that floats to his waist; It is Simon Magus, the Seer; He speaks, and she pauses to hear The words he utters in haste.

He says: "From this evil fame, From this life of sorrow and shame, I will lift thee and make thee mine; Thou hast been Queen Candace, And Helen of Troy, and shalt be The Intelligence Divine!"

Oh, sweet as the breath of morn, To the fallen and forlorn Are whispered words of praise; For the famished heart believes The falsehood that tempts and deceives, And the promise that betrays.

So she follows from land to land The wizard's beckoning hand, As a leaf is blown by the gust, Till she vanishes into night. O reader, stoop down and write With thy finger in the dust.

O town in the midst of the seas, With thy rafts of cedar trees, Thy merchandise and thy ships, Thou, too, art become as naught, A phantom, a shadow, a thought, A name upon men's lips.

ELEGIAC

Dark is the morning with mist; in the narrow mouth of the harbor Motionless lies the sea, under its curtain of cloud; Dreamily glimmer the sails of ships on the distant horizon, Like to the towers of a town, built on the verge of the sea.

Slowly and stately and still, they sail forth into the ocean; With them sail my thoughts over the limitless deep, Farther and farther away, borne on by unsatisfied longings, Unto Hesperian isles, unto Ausonian shores.

Now they have vanished away, have disappeared in the ocean; Sunk are the towers of the town into the depths of the sea! AU have vanished but those that, moored in the neighboring roadstead, Sailless at anchor ride, looming so large in the mist.

Vanished, too, are the thoughts, the dim, unsatisfied longings; Sunk are the turrets of cloud into the ocean of dreams; While in a haven of rest my heart is riding at anchor, Held by the chains of love, held by the anchors of trust!

OLD ST. DAVID'S AT RADNOR

What an image of peace and rest Is this little church among its graves! All is so quiet; the troubled breast, The wounded spirit, the heart oppressed, Here may find the repose it craves.

See, how the ivy climbs and expands Over this humble hermitage, And seems to caress with its little hands The rough, gray stones, as a child that stands Caressing the wrinkled cheeks of age!

You cross the threshold; and dim and small Is the space that serves for the Shepherd's Fold; The narrow aisle, the bare, white wall, The pews, and the pulpit quaint and tall, Whisper and say: "Alas! we are old."

Herbert's chapel at Bemerton Hardly more spacious is than this; But Poet and Pastor, blent in one, Clothed with a splendor, as of the sun, That lowly and holy edifice.

It is not the wall of stone without That makes the building small or great But the soul's light shining round about, And the faith that overcometh doubt, And the love that stronger is than hate.

Were I a pilgrim in search of peace, Were I a pastor of Holy Church, More than a Bishop's diocese Should I prize this place of rest, and release From farther longing and farther search.

Here would I stay, and let the world With its distant thunder roar and roll; Storms do not rend the sail that is furled; Nor like a dead leaf, tossed and whirled In an eddy of wind, is the anchored soul.

FOLK SONGS

THE SIFTING OF PETER

In St. Luke's Gospel we are told How Peter in the days of old Was sifted; And now, though ages intervene, Sin is the same, while time and scene Are shifted.

Satan desires us, great and small, As wheat to sift us, and we all Are tempted; Not one, however rich or great, Is by his station or estate Exempted.

No house so safely guarded is But he, by some device of his, Can enter; No heart hath armor so complete But he can pierce with arrows fleet Its centre.

For all at last the cock will crow, Who hear the warning voice, but go Unheeding, Till thrice and more they have denied The Man of Sorrows, crucified And bleeding.

One look of that pale suffering face Will make us feel the deep disgrace Of weakness; We shall be sifted till the strength Of self-conceit be changed at length To meekness.

Wounds of the soul, though healed will ache; The reddening scars remain, and make Confession; Lost innocence returns no more; We are not what we were before Transgression.

But noble souls, through dust and heat, Rise from disaster and defeat The stronger, And conscious still of the divine Within them, lie on earth supine No longer.

MAIDEN AND WEATHERCOCK

MAIDEN O weathercock on the village spire, With your golden feathers all on fire, Tell me, what can you see from your perch Above there over the tower of the church?

WEATHERCOCK. I can see the roofs and the streets below, And the people moving to and fro, And beyond, without either roof or street, The great salt sea, and the fisherman's fleet.

I can see a ship come sailing in Beyond the headlands and harbor of Lynn, And a young man standing on the deck, With a silken kerchief round his neck.

Now he is pressing it to his lips, And now he is kissing his finger-tips, And now he is lifting and waving his hand And blowing the kisses toward the land.

MAIDEN. Ah, that is the ship from over the sea, That is bringing my lover back to me, Bringing my lover so fond and true, Who does not change with the wind like you.

WEATHERCOCK. If I change with all the winds that blow, It is only because they made me so, And people would think it wondrous strange, If I, a Weathercock, should not change.

O pretty Maiden, so fine and fair, With your dreamy eyes and your golden hair, When you and your lover meet to-day You will thank me for looking some other way.

THE WINDMILL

Behold! a giant am I! Aloft here in my tower, With my granite jaws I devour The maize, and the wheat, and the rye, And grind them into flour.

I look down over the farms; In the fields of grain I see The harvest that is to be, And I fling to the air my arms, For I know it is all for me.

I hear the sound of flails Far off, from the threshing-floors In barns, with their open doors, And the wind, the wind in my sails, Louder and louder roars.

I stand here in my place, With my foot on the rock below, And whichever way it may blow I meet it face to face, As a brave man meets his foe.

And while we wrestle and strive My master, the miller, stands And feeds me with his hands; For he knows who makes him thrive, Who makes him lord of lands.

On Sundays I take my rest; Church-going bells begin Their low, melodious din; I cross my arms on my breast, And all is peace within.

THE TIDE RISES, THE TIDE FALLS

The tide rises, the tide falls, The twilight darkens, the curlew calls; Along the sea-sands damp and brown The traveller hastens toward the town, And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls, But the sea in the darkness calls and calls; The little waves, with their soft, white hands, Efface the footprints in the sands, And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls; The day returns, but nevermore Returns the traveller to the shore, And the tide rises, the tide falls.

SONNETS

MY CATHEDRAL

Like two cathedral towers these stately pines Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones; The arch beneath them is not built with stones, Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines, And carved this graceful arabesque of vines; No organ but the wind here sighs and moans, No sepulchre conceals a martyr's bones. No marble bishop on his tomb reclines. Enter! the pavement, carpeted with leaves, Gives back a softened echo to thy tread! Listen! the choir is singing; all the birds, In leafy galleries beneath the eaves, Are singing! listen, ere the sound be fled, And learn there may be worship with out words.

THE BURIAL OF THE POET

RICHARD HENRY DANA

In the old churchyard of his native town, And in the ancestral tomb beside the wall, We laid him in the sleep that comes to all, And left him to his rest and his renown. The snow was falling, as if Heaven dropped down White flowers of Paradise to strew his pall;-- The dead around him seemed to wake, and call His name, as worthy of so white a crown. And now the moon is shining on the scene, And the broad sheet of snow is written o'er With shadows cruciform of leafless trees, As once the winding-sheet of Saladin With chapters of the Koran; but, ah! more Mysterious and triumphant signs are these.

NIGHT

Into the darkness and the hush of night Slowly the landscape sinks, and fades away, And with it fade the phantoms of the day, The ghosts of men and things, that haunt the light, The crowd, the clamor, the pursuit, the flight, The unprofitable splendor and display, The agitations, and the cares that prey Upon our hearts, all vanish out of sight. The better life begins; the world no more Molests us; all its records we erase From the dull common-place book of our lives, That like a palimpsest is written o'er With trivial incidents of time and place, And lo! the ideal, hidden beneath, revives.

L'ENVOI

THE POET AND HIS SONGS

As the birds come in the Spring, We know not from where; As the stars come at evening From depths of the air;

As the rain comes from the cloud, And the brook from the ground; As suddenly, low or loud, Out of silence a sound;

As the grape comes to the vine, The fruit to the tree; As the wind comes to the pine, And the tide to the sea;

As come the white sails of ships O'er the ocean's verge; As comes the smile to the lips, The foam to the surge;

So come to the Poet his songs, All hitherward blown From the misty realm, that belongs To the vast unknown.

His, and not his, are the lays He sings; and their fame Is his, and not his; and the praise And the pride of a name.

For voices pursue him by day, And haunt him by night, And he listens, and needs must obey, When the Angel says: "Write!"

***********

IN THE HARBOR

BECALMED

Becalmed upon the sea of Thought, Still unattained the land it sought, My mind, with loosely-hanging sails, Lies waiting the auspicious gales.

On either side, behind, before, The ocean stretches like a floor,-- A level floor of amethyst, Crowned by a golden dome of mist.

Blow, breath of inspiration, blow! Shake and uplift this golden glow! And fill the canvas of the mind With wafts of thy celestial wind.

Blow, breath of song! until I feel The straining sail, the lifting keel, The life of the awakening sea, Its motion and its mystery!

THE POET'S CALENDAR

JANUARY

Janus am I; oldest of potentates; Forward I look, and backward, and below I count, as god of avenues and gates, The years that through my portals come and go. I block the roads, and drift the fields with snow; I chase the wild-fowl from the frozen fen; My frosts congeal the rivers in their flow, My fires light up the hearths and hearts of men.

FEBRUARY

I am lustration, and the sea is mine. I wash the sands and headlands with my tide; My brow is crowned with branches of the pine; Before my chariot-wheels the fishes glide. By me all things unclean are purified, By me the souls of men washed white again; E'en the unlovely tombs of those who died Without a dirge, I cleanse from every stain.

MARCH

I Martius am! Once first, and now the third! To lead the Year was my appointed place; A mortal dispossessed me by a word, And set there Janus with the double face. Hence I make war on all the human race; I shake the cities with my hurricanes; I flood the rivers and their banks efface, And drown the farms and hamlets with my rains.

APRIL

I open wide the portals of the Spring To welcome the procession of the flowers, With their gay banners, and the birds that sing Their song of songs from their aerial towers. I soften with my sunshine and my showers The heart of earth; with thoughts of love I glide Into the hearts of men; and with the Hours Upon the Bull with wreathed horns I ride.

MAY

Hark! The sea-faring wild-fowl loud proclaim My coming, and the swarming of the bees. These are my heralds, and behold! my name Is written in blossoms on the hawthorn-trees. I tell the mariner when to sail the seas; I waft o'er all the land from far away The breath and bloom of the Hesperides, My birthplace. I am Maia. I am May.

JUNE

Mine is the Month of Roses; yes, and mine The Month of Marriages! All pleasant sights And scents, the fragrance of the blossoming vine, The foliage of the valleys and the heights. Mine are the longest days, the loveliest nights; The mower's scythe makes music to my ear; I am the mother of all dear delights; I am the fairest daughter of the year.

JULY

My emblem is the Lion, and I breathe The breath of Libyan deserts o'er the land; My sickle as a sabre I unsheathe, And bent before me the pale harvests stand. The lakes and rivers shrink at my command, And there is thirst and fever in the air; The sky is changed to brass, the earth to sand; I am the Emperor whose name I bear.

AUGUST

The Emperor Octavian, called the August, I being his favorite, bestowed his name Upon me, and I hold it still in trust, In memory of him and of his fame. I am the Virgin, and my vestal flame Burns less intensely than the Lion's rage; Sheaves are my only garlands, and I claim The golden Harvests as my heritage.

SEPTEMBER

I bear the Scales, where hang in equipoise The night and day; and when unto my lips I put my trumpet, with its stress and noise Fly the white clouds like tattered sails of ships; The tree-tops lash the air with sounding whips; Southward the clamorous sea-fowl wing their flight; The hedges are all red with haws and hips, The Hunter's Moon reigns empress of the night.

OCTOBER

My ornaments are fruits; my garments leaves, Woven like cloth of gold, and crimson dyed; I do not boast the harvesting of sheaves, O'er orchards and o'er vineyards I preside. Though on the frigid Scorpion I ride, The dreamy air is full, and overflows With tender memories of the summer-tide, And mingled voices of the doves and crows.

NOVEMBER

The Centaur, Sagittarius, am I, Born of Ixion's and the cloud's embrace; With sounding hoofs across the earth I fly, A steed Thessalian with a human face. Sharp winds the arrows are with which I chase The leaves, half dead already with affright; I shroud myself in gloom; and to the race Of mortals bring nor comfort nor delight.

DECEMBER

Riding upon the Goat, with snow-white hair, I come, the last of all. This crown of mine Is of the holly; in my hand I bear The thyrsus, tipped with fragrant cones of pine. I celebrate the birth of the Divine, And the return of the Saturnian reign;-- My songs are carols sung at every shrine, Proclaiming "Peace on earth, good will to men."

AUTUMN WITHIN

It is autumn; not without, But within me is the cold. Youth and spring are all about; It is I that have grown old.

Birds are darting through the air, Singing, building without rest; Life is stirring everywhere, Save within my lonely breast.

There is silence: the dead leaves Fall and rustle and are still; Beats no flail upon the sheaves Comes no murmur from the mill.

THE FOUR LAKES OF MADISON

Four limpid lakes,--four Naiades Or sylvan deities are these, In flowing robes of azure dressed; Four lovely handmaids, that uphold Their shining mirrors, rimmed with gold, To the fair city in the West.

By day the coursers of the sun Drink of these waters as they run Their swift diurnal round on high; By night the constellations glow Far down the hollow deeps below, And glimmer in another sky.

Fair lakes, serene and full of light, Fair town, arrayed in robes of white, How visionary ye appear! All like a floating landscape seems In cloud-land or the land of dreams, Bathed in a golden atmosphere!

VICTOR AND VANQUISHED

As one who long hath fled with panting breath Before his foe, bleeding and near to fall, I turn and set my back against the wall, And look thee in the face, triumphant Death, I call for aid, and no one answereth; I am alone with thee, who conquerest all; Yet me thy threatening form doth not appall, For thou art but a phantom and a wraith. Wounded and weak, sword broken at the hilt, With armor shattered, and without a shield, I stand unmoved; do with me what thou wilt; I can resist no more, but will not yield. This is no tournament where cowards tilt; The vanquished here is victor of the field.

MOONLIGHT

As a pale phantom with a lamp Ascends some ruin's haunted stair, So glides the moon along the damp Mysterious chambers of the air.

Now hidden in cloud, and now revealed, As if this phantom, full of pain, Were by the crumbling walls concealed, And at the windows seen again.

Until at last, serene and proud In all the splendor of her light, She walks the terraces of cloud, Supreme as Empress of the Night.

I look, but recognize no more Objects familiar to my view; The very pathway to my door Is an enchanted avenue.

All things are changed. One mass of shade, The elm-trees drop their curtains down; By palace, park, and colonnade I walk as in a foreign town.

The very ground beneath my feet Is clothed with a diviner air; White marble paves the silent street And glimmers in the empty square.

Illusion! Underneath there lies The common life of every day; Only the spirit glorifies With its own tints the sober gray.

In vain we look, in vain uplift Our eyes to heaven, if we are blind, We see but what we have the gift Of seeing; what we bring we find.

THE CHILDREN'S CRUSADE

[A FRAGMENT.]

I

What is this I read in history, Full of marvel, full of mystery, Difficult to understand? Is it fiction, is it truth? Children in the flower of youth, Heart in heart, and hand in hand, Ignorant of what helps or harms, Without armor, without arms, Journeying to the Holy Land!

Who shall answer or divine? Never since the world was made Such a wonderful crusade Started forth for Palestine. Never while the world shall last Will it reproduce the past; Never will it see again Such an army, such a band, Over mountain, over main, Journeying to the Holy Land.

Like a shower of blossoms blown From the parent trees were they; Like a flock of birds that fly Through the unfrequented sky, Holding nothing as their own, Passed they into lands unknown, Passed to suffer and to die.

O the simple, child-like trust! O the faith that could believe What the harnessed, iron-mailed Knights of Christendom had failed, By their prowess, to achieve, They the children, could and must?

Little thought the Hermit, preaching Holy Wars to knight and baron, That the words dropped in his teaching, His entreaty, his beseeching, Would by children's hands be gleaned, And the staff on which he leaned Blossom like the rod of Aaron.

As a summer wind upheaves The innumerable leaves In the bosom of a wood,-- Not as separate leaves, but massed All together by the blast,-- So for evil or for good His resistless breath upheaved All at once the many-leaved, Many-thoughted multitude.

In the tumult of the air Rock the boughs with all the nests Cradled on their tossing crests; By the fervor of his prayer Troubled hearts were everywhere Rocked and tossed in human breasts.

For a century, at least, His prophetic voice had ceased; But the air was heated still By his lurid words and will, As from fires in far-off woods, In the autumn of the year, An unwonted fever broods In the sultry atmosphere.

II

In Cologne the bells were ringing, In Cologne the nuns were singing Hymns and canticles divine; Loud the monks sang in their stalls, And the thronging streets were loud With the voices of the crowd;-- Underneath the city walls Silent flowed the river Rhine.

From the gates, that summer day, Clad in robes of hodden gray, With the red cross on the breast, Azure-eyed and golden-haired, Forth the young crusaders fared; While above the band devoted Consecrated banners floated, Fluttered many a flag and streamer, And the cross o'er all the rest! Singing lowly, meekly, slowly, "Give us, give us back the holy Sepulchre of the Redeemer!" On the vast procession pressed, Youths and maidens. . . .

III

Ah! what master hand shall paint How they journeyed on their way, How the days grew long and dreary, How their little feet grew weary, How their little hearts grew faint!

Ever swifter day by day Flowed the homeward river; ever More and more its whitening current Broke and scattered into spray, Till the calmly-flowing river Changed into a mountain torrent, Rushing from its glacier green Down through chasm and black ravine. Like a phoenix in its nest, Burned the red sun in the West, Sinking in an ashen cloud; In the East, above the crest Of the sea-like mountain chain, Like a phoenix from its shroud, Came the red sun back again.

Now around them, white with snow, Closed the mountain peaks. Below, Headlong from the precipice Down into the dark abyss, Plunged the cataract, white with foam; And it said, or seemed to say: "Oh return, while yet you may, Foolish children, to your home, There the Holy City is!"

But the dauntless leader said: "Faint not, though your bleeding feet O'er these slippery paths of sleet Move but painfully and slowly; Other feet than yours have bled; Other tears than yours been shed Courage! lose not heart or hope; On the mountains' southern slope Lies Jerusalem the Holy!"

As a white rose in its pride, By the wind in summer-tide Tossed and loosened from the branch, Showers its petals o'er the ground, From the distant mountain's side, Scattering all its snows around, With mysterious, muffled sound, Loosened, fell the avalanche. Voices, echoes far and near, Roar of winds and waters blending, Mists uprising, clouds impending, Filled them with a sense of fear, Formless, nameless, never ending.

. . . . . . . . . .

SUNDOWN

The summer sun is sinking low; Only the tree-tops redden and glow: Only the weathercock on the spire Of the neighboring church is a flame of fire; All is in shadow below.

O beautiful, awful summer day, What hast thou given, what taken away? Life and death, and love and hate, Homes made happy or desolate, Hearts made sad or gay!

On the road of life one mile-stone more! In the book of life one leaf turned o'er! Like a red seal is the setting sun On the good and the evil men have done,-- Naught can to-day restore!

CHIMES

Sweet chimes! that in the loneliness of night Salute the passing hour, and in the dark And silent chambers of the household mark The movements of the myriad orbs of light! Through my closed eyelids, by the inner sight, I see the constellations in the arc Of their great circles moving on, and hark! I almost hear them singing in their flight. Better than sleep it is to lie awake O'er-canopied by the vast starry dome Of the immeasurable sky; to feel The slumbering world sink under us, and make Hardly an eddy,--a mere rush of foam On the great sea beneath a sinking keel.

FOUR BY THE CLOCK.

"NAHANT, September 8, 1880, Four o'clock in the morning."

Four by the clock! and yet not day; But the great world rolls and wheels away, With its cities on land, and its ships at sea, Into the dawn that is to be!

Only the lamp in the anchored bark Sends its glimmer across the dark, And the heavy breathing of the sea Is the only sound that comes to me.

AUF WIEDERSEHEN.

IN MEMORY OF J.T.F.

Until we meet again! That is the meaning Of the familiar words, that men repeat At parting in the street. Ah yes, till then! but when death intervening Rends us asunder, with what ceaseless pain We wait for the Again!

The friends who leave us do not feel the sorrow Of parting, as we feel it, who must stay Lamenting day by day, And knowing, when we wake upon the morrow, We shall not find in its accustomed place The one beloved face.

It were a double grief, if the departed, Being released from earth, should still retain A sense of earthly pain; It were a double grief, if the true-hearted, Who loved us here, should on the farther shore Remember us no more.

Believing, in the midst of our afflictions, That death is a beginning, not an end, We cry to them, and send Farewells, that better might be called predictions, Being fore-shadowings of the future, thrown Into the vast Unknown.

Faith overleaps the confines of our reason, And if by faith, as in old times was said, Women received their dead Raised up to life, then only for a season Our partings are, nor shall we wait in vain Until we meet again!

ELEGIAC VERSE

I

Peradventure of old, some bard in Ionian Islands, Walking alone by the sea, hearing the wash of the waves, Learned the secret from them of the beautiful verse elegiac, Breathing into his song motion and sound of the sea.

For as the wave of the sea, upheaving in long undulations, Plunges loud on the sands, pauses, and turns, and retreats, So the Hexameter, rising and singing, with cadence sonorous, Falls; and in refluent rhythm back the Pentameter flows?

II

Not in his youth alone, but in age, may the heart of the poet Bloom into song, as the gorse blossoms in autumn and spring.

III

Not in tenderness wanting, yet rough are the rhymes of our poet; Though it be Jacob's voice, Esau's, alas! are the hands.

IV

Let us be grateful to writers for what is left in the inkstand; When to leave off is an art only attained by the few.

V

How can the Three be One? you ask me; I answer by asking, Hail and snow and rain, are they not three, and yet one?

VI

By the mirage uplifted the land floats vague in the ether, Ships and the shadows of ships hang in the motionless air; So by the art of the poet our common life is uplifted, So, transfigured, the world floats in a luminous haze.

VII

Like a French poem is Life; being only perfect in structure When with the masculine rhymes mingled the feminine are.

VIII

Down from the mountain descends the brooklet, rejoicing in freedom; Little it dreams of the mill hid in the valley below; Glad with the joy of existence, the child goes singing and laughing, Little dreaming what toils lie in the future concealed.

IX

As the ink from our pen, so flow our thoughts and our feelings When we begin to write, however sluggish before.

X

Like the Kingdom of Heaven, the Fountain of Youth is within us; If we seek it elsewhere, old shall we grow in the search.

XI

If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it; Every arrow that flies feels the attraction of earth.

XII

Wisely the Hebrews admit no Present tense in their language; While we are speaking the word, it is is already the Past.

XIII

In the twilight of age all things seem strange and phantasmal, As between daylight and dark ghost-like the landscape appears.

XIV

Great is the art of beginning, but greater the art is of ending; Many a poem is marred by a superfluous verse.

THE CITY AND THE SEA

The panting City cried to the Sea, "I am faint with heat,--O breathe on me!"

And the Sea said, "Lo, I breathe! but my breath To some will be life, to others death!"

As to Prometheus, bringing ease In pain, come the Oceanides,

So to the City, hot with the flame Of the pitiless sun, the east wind came.

It came from the heaving breast of the deep, Silent as dreams are, and sudden as sleep.

Life-giving, death-giving, which will it be; O breath of the merciful, merciless Sea?

MEMORIES

Oft I remember those whom I have known In other days, to whom my heart was led As by a magnet, and who are not dead, But absent, and their memories overgrown With other thoughts and troubles of my own, As graves with grasses are, and at their head The stone with moss and lichens so o'erspread, Nothing is legible but the name alone. And is it so with them? After long years, Do they remember me in the same way, And is the memory pleasant as to me? I fear to ask; yet wherefore are my fears? Pleasures, like flowers, may wither and decay, And yet the root perennial may be.

HERMES TRISMEGISTUS

As Seleucus narrates, Hermes describes the principles that rank as wholes in two myriads of books; or, as we are informed by Manetho, he perfectly unfolded these principles in three myriads six thousand five hundred and twenty-five volumes. . . . . . . Our ancestors dedicated the inventions of their wisdom to this deity, inscribing all their own writings with the name of Hermes.--IAMBLICUS.

Still through Egypt's desert places Flows the lordly Nile, From its banks the great stone faces Gaze with patient smile. Still the pyramids imperious Pierce the cloudless skies, And the Sphinx stares with mysterious, Solemn, stony eyes.

But where are the old Egyptian Demi-gods and kings? Nothing left but an inscription Graven on stones and rings. Where are Helios and Hephæstus, Gods of eldest eld? Where is Hermes Trismegistus, Who their secrets held?

Where are now the many hundred Thousand books he wrote? By the Thaumaturgists plundered, Lost in lands remote; In oblivion sunk forever, As when o'er the land Blows a storm-wind, in the river Sinks the scattered sand.

Something unsubstantial, ghostly, Seems this Theurgist, In deep meditation mostly Wrapped, as in a mist. Vague, phantasmal, and unreal To our thought he seems, Walking in a world ideal, In a land of dreams.

Was he one, or many, merging Name and fame in one, Like a stream, to which, converging Many streamlets run? Till, with gathered power proceeding, Ampler sweep it takes, Downward the sweet waters leading From unnumbered lakes.

By the Nile I see him wandering, Pausing now and then, On the mystic union pondering Between gods and men; Half believing, wholly feeling, With supreme delight, How the gods, themselves concealing, Lift men to their height.

Or in Thebes, the hundred-gated, In the thoroughfare Breathing, as if consecrated, A diviner air; And amid discordant noises, In the jostling throng, Hearing far, celestial voices Of Olympian song.

Who shall call his dreams fallacious? Who has searched or sought All the unexplored and spacious Universe of thought? Who, in his own skill confiding, Shall with rule and line Mark the border-land dividing Human and divine?

Trismegistus! three times greatest! How thy name sublime Has descended to this latest Progeny of time! Happy they whose written pages Perish with their lives, If amid the crumbling ages Still their name survives!

Thine, O priest of Egypt, lately Found I in the vast, Weed-encumbered sombre, stately, Grave-yard of the Past; And a presence moved before me On that gloomy shore, As a waft of wind, that o'er me Breathed, and was no more.

TO THE AVON

Flow on, sweet river! like his verse Who lies beneath this sculptured hearse Nor wait beside the churchyard wall For him who cannot hear thy call.

Thy playmate once; I see him now A boy with sunshine on his brow, And hear in Stratford's quiet street The patter of his little feet.

I see him by thy shallow edge Wading knee-deep amid the sedge; And lost in thought, as if thy stream Were the swift river of a dream.

He wonders whitherward it flows; And fain would follow where it goes, To the wide world, that shall erelong Be filled with his melodious song.

Flow on, fair stream! That dream is o'er; He stands upon another shore; A vaster river near him flows, And still he follows where it goes.

PRESIDENT GARFIELD

"E venni dal martirio a questa pace."

These words the poet heard in Paradise, Uttered by one who, bravely dying here, In the true faith was living in that sphere Where the celestial cross of sacrifice Spread its protecting arms athwart the skies; And set thereon, like jewels crystal clear, The souls magnanimous, that knew not fear, Flashed their effulgence on his dazzled eyes. Ah me! how dark the discipline of pain, Were not the suffering followed by the sense Of infinite rest and infinite release! This is our consolation; and again A great soul cries to us in our suspense, "I came from martyrdom unto this peace!"

MY BOOKS

Sadly as some old mediaeval knight Gazed at the arms he could no longer wield, The sword two-handed and the shining shield Suspended in the hall, and full in sight, While secret longings for the lost delight Of tourney or adventure in the field Came over him, and tears but half concealed Trembled and fell upon his beard of white, So I behold these books upon their shelf, My ornaments and arms of other days; Not wholly useless, though no longer used, For they remind me of my other self, Younger and stronger, and the pleasant ways In which I walked, now clouded and confused.

MAD RIVER

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS

TRAVELLER Why dost thou wildly rush and roar, Mad River, O Mad River? Wilt thou not pause and cease to pour Thy hurrying, headlong waters o'er This rocky shelf forever?

What secret trouble stirs thy breast? Why all this fret and flurry? Dost thou not know that what is best In this too restless world is rest From over-work and worry?

THE RIVER What wouldst thou in these mountains seek, O stranger from the city? Is it perhaps some foolish freak Of thine, to put the words I speak Into a plaintive ditty?

TRAVELLER Yes; I would learn of thee thy song, With all its flowing number; And in a voice as fresh and strong As thine is, sing it all day long, And hear it in my slumbers.

THE RIVER A brooklet nameless and unknown Was I at first, resembling A little child, that all alone Comes venturing down the stairs of stone, Irresolute and trembling.

Later, by wayward fancies led, For the wide world I panted; Out of the forest dark and dread Across the open fields I fled, Like one pursued and haunted.

I tossed my arms, I sang aloud, My voice exultant blending With thunder from the passing cloud, The wind, the forest bent and bowed, The rush of rain descending.

I heard the distant ocean call, Imploring and entreating; Drawn onward, o'er this rocky wall I plunged, and the loud waterfall Made answer to the greeting.

And now, beset with many ills, A toilsome life I follow; Compelled to carry from the hills These logs to the impatient mills Below there in the hollow.

Yet something ever cheers and charms The rudeness of my labors; Daily I water with these arms The cattle of a hundred farms, And have the birds for neighbors.

Men call me Mad, and well they may, When, full of rage and trouble, I burst my banks of sand and clay, And sweep their wooden bridge away, Like withered reeds or stubble.

Now go and write thy little rhyme, As of thine own creating. Thou seest the day is past its prime; I can no longer waste my time; The mills are tired of waiting.

POSSIBILITIES

Where are the Poets, unto whom belong The Olympian heights; whose singing shafts were sent Straight to the mark, and not from bows half bent, But with the utmost tension of the thong? Where are the stately argosies of song, Whose rushing keels made music as they went Sailing in search of some new continent, With all sail set, and steady winds and strong? Perhaps there lives some dreamy boy, untaught In schools, some graduate of the field or street, Who shall become a master of the art, An admiral sailing the high seas of thought, Fearless and first and steering with his fleet For lands not yet laid down in any chart.

DECORATION DAY

Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest On this Field of the Grounded Arms, Where foes no more molest, Nor sentry's shot alarms!

Ye have slept on the ground before, And started to your feet At the cannon's sudden roar, Or the drum's redoubling beat.

But in this camp of Death No sound your slumber breaks; Here is no fevered breath, No wound that bleeds and aches.

All is repose and peace, Untrampled lies the sod; The shouts of battle cease, It is the Truce of God!

Rest, comrades, rest and sleep! The thoughts of men shall be As sentinels to keep Your rest from danger free.

Your silent tents of green We deck with fragrant flowers; Yours has the suffering been, The memory shall be ours.

A FRAGMENT

Awake! arise! the hour is late! Angels are knocking at thy door! They are in haste and cannot wait, And once departed come no more.

Awake! arise! the athlete's arm Loses its strength by too much rest; The fallow land, the untilled farm Produces only weeds at best.

LOSS AND GAIN When I compare What I have lost with what I have gained, What I have missed with what attained, Little room do I find for pride.

I am aware How many days have been idly spent; How like an arrow the good intent Has fallen short or been turned aside.

But who shall dare To measure loss and gain in this wise? Defeat may be victory in disguise; The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.

INSCRIPTION ON THE SHANKLIN FOUNTAIN

O traveller, stay thy weary feet; Drink of this fountain, pure and sweet; It flows for rich and poor the same. Then go thy way, remembering still The wayside well beneath the hill, The cup of water in His name.

THE BELLS OF SAN BLAS

What say the Bells of San Blas To the ships that southward pass From the harbor of Mazatlan? To them it is nothing more Than the sound of surf on the shore,-- Nothing more to master or man.

But to me, a dreamer of dreams, To whom what is and what seems Are often one and the same,-- The Bells of San Blas to me Have a strange, wild melody, And are something more than a name.

For bells are the voice of the church; They have tones that touch and search The hearts of young and old; One sound to all, yet each Lends a meaning to their speech, And the meaning is manifold.

They are a voice of the Past, Of an age that is fading fast, Of a power austere and grand, When the flag of Spain unfurled Its folds o'er this western world, And the Priest was lord of the land.

The chapel that once looked down On the little seaport town Has crumbled into the dust; And on oaken beams below The bells swing to and fro, And are green with mould and rust.

"Is, then, the old faith dead," They say, "and in its stead Is some new faith proclaimed, That we are forced to remain Naked to sun and rain, Unsheltered and ashamed?

"Once, in our tower aloof, We rang over wall and roof Our warnings and our complaints; And round about us there The white doves filled the air, Like the white souls of the saints.

"The saints! Ah, have they grown Forgetful of their own? Are they asleep, or dead, That open to the sky Their ruined Missions lie, No longer tenanted?

"Oh, bring us back once more The vanished days of yore, When the world with faith was filled; Bring back the fervid zeal, The hearts of fire and steel, The hands that believe and build.

"Then from our tower again We will send over land and main Our voices of command, Like exiled kings who return To their thrones, and the people learn That the Priest is lord of the land!"

O Bells of San Blas in vain Ye call back the Past again; The Past is deaf to your prayer! Out of the shadows of night The world rolls into light; It is daybreak everywhere.

*************

FRAGMENTS

October 22, 1838.

Neglected record of a mind neglected, Unto what "lets and stops" art thou subjected! The day with all its toils and occupations, The night with its reflections and sensations, The future, and the present, and the past,-- All I remember, feel, and hope at last, All shapes of joy and sorrow, as they pass,-- Find but a dusty image in this glass.

August 18, 1847.

O faithful, indefatigable tides, That evermore upon God's errands go,-- Now seaward bearing tidings of the land,-- Now landward bearing tidings of the sea,-- And filling every frith and estuary, Each arm of the great sea, each little creek, Each thread and filament of water-courses, Full with your ministration of delight! Under the rafters of this wooden bridge I see you come and go; sometimes in haste To reach your journey's end, which being done With feet unrested ye return again And recommence the never-ending task; Patient, whatever burdens ye may bear, And fretted only by the impeding rocks.

December 18, 1847.

Soft through the silent air descend the feathery snow-flakes; White are the distant hills, white are the neighboring fields; Only the marshes are brown, and the river rolling among them Weareth the leaden hue seen in the eyes of the blind.

August 4, 1856.

A lovely morning, without the glare of the sun, the sea in great commotion, chafing and foaming.

So from the bosom of darkness our days come roaring and gleaming, Chafe and break into foam, sink into darkness again. But on the shores of Time each leaves some trace of its passage, Though the succeeding wave washes it out from the sand.

********

CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY

INTROITUS

The ANGEL bearing the PROPHET HABAKKUK through the air.

PROPHET. Why dost thou bear me aloft, O Angel of God, on thy pinions O'er realms and dominions? Softly I float as a cloud In air, for thy right hand upholds me, Thy garment enfolds me!

ANGEL. Lo! as I passed on my way In the harvest-field I beheld thee, When no man compelled thee, Bearing with thine own hands This food to the famishing reapers, A flock without keepers!

The fragrant sheaves of the wheat Made the air above them sweet; Sweeter and more divine Was the scent of the scattered grain, That the reaper's hand let fall To be gathered again By the hand of the gleaner! Sweetest, divinest of all, Was the humble deed of thine, And the meekness of thy demeanor!

PROPHET. Angel of Light, I cannot gainsay thee, I can but obey thee!

ANGEL. Beautiful was it in the lord's sight, To behold his Prophet Feeding those that toil, The tillers of the soil. But why should the reapers eat of it And not the Prophet of Zion In the den of the lion? The Prophet should feed the Prophet! Therefore I thee have uplifted, And bear thee aloft by the hair Of thy head, like a cloud that is drifted Through the vast unknown of the air! Five days hath the Prophet been lying In Babylon, in the den Of the lions, death-defying, Defying hunger and thirst; But the worst Is the mockery of men! Alas! how full of fear Is the fate of Prophet and Seer! Forevermore, forevermore, It shall be as it hath been heretofore; The age in which they live Will not forgive The splendor of the everlasting light, That makes their foreheads bright, Nor the sublime Fore-running of their time!

PROPHET. Oh tell me, for thou knowest, Wherefore and by what grace, Have I, who am least and lowest, Been chosen to this place, To this exalted part?

ANGEL. Because thou art The Struggler; and from thy youth Thy humble and patient life Hath been a strife And battle for the Truth; Nor hast thou paused nor halted, Nor ever in thy pride Turned from the poor aside, But with deed and word and pen Hast served thy fellow-men; Therefore art thou exalted!

PROPHET. By thine arrow's light Thou goest onward through the night, And by the clear Sheen of thy glittering spear! When will our journey end?

ANGEL. Lo, it is ended! Yon silver gleam Is the Euphrates' stream. Let us descend Into the city splendid, Into the City of Gold!

PROPHET. Behold! As if the stars had fallen from their places Into the firmament below, The streets, the gardens, and the vacant spaces With light are all aglow; And hark! As we draw near, What sound is it I hear Ascending through the dark?

ANGEL. The tumultuous noise of the nations, Their rejoicings and lamentations, The pleadings of their prayer, The groans of their despair, The cry of their imprecations, Their wrath, their love, their hate!

PROPHET. Surely the world doth wait The coming of its Redeemer!

ANGEL. Awake from thy sleep, O dreamer? The hour is near, though late; Awake! write the vision sublime, The vision, that is for a time, Though it tarry, wait; it is nigh; In the end it will speak and not lie.

PART ONE

THE DIVINE TRAGEDY

THE FIRST PASSOVER

I

VOX CLAMANTIS

JOHN THE BAPTIST. Repent! repent! repent! For the kingdom of God is at hand, And all the land Full of the knowledge of the Lord shall be As the waters cover the sea, And encircle the continent!

Repent! repent! repent! For lo, the hour appointed, The hour so long foretold By the Prophets of old, Of the coming of the Anointed, The Messiah, the Paraclete, The Desire of the Nations, is nigh! He shall not strive nor cry, Nor his voice be heard in the street; Nor the bruised reed shall He break, Nor quench the smoking flax; And many of them that sleep In the dust of earth shall awake, On that great and terrible day, And the wicked shall wail and weep, And be blown like a smoke away, And be melted away like wax. Repent! repent! repent!

O Priest, and Pharisee, Who hath warned you to flee From the wrath that is to be? From the coming anguish and ire? The axe is laid at the root Of the trees, and every tree That bringeth not forth good fruit Is hewn down and cast into the fire!

Ye Scribes, why come ye hither? In the hour that is uncertain, In the day of anguish and trouble, He that stretcheth the heavens as a curtain And spreadeth them out as a tent, Shall blow upon you, and ye shall wither, And the whirlwind shall take you away as stubble! Repent! repent! repent!

PRIEST. Who art thou, O man of prayer! In raiment of camel's hair, Begirt with leathern thong, That here in the wilderness, With a cry as of one in distress, Preachest unto this throng? Art thou the Christ?

JOHN. Priest of Jerusalem, In meekness and humbleness, I deny not, I confess I am not the Christ!

PRIEST. What shall we say unto them That sent us here? Reveal Thy name, and naught conceal! Art thou Elias?

JOHN. No!

PRIEST. Art thou that Prophet, then, Of lamentation and woe, Who, as a symbol and sign Of impending wrath divine Upon unbelieving men, Shattered the vessel of clay In the Valley of Slaughter?

JOHN. Nay. I am not he thou namest!

PRIEST. Who art thou, and what is the word That here thou proclaimest?

JOHN. I am the voice of one Crying in the wilderness alone: Prepare ye the way of the Lord; Make his paths straight In the land that is desolate!

PRIEST. If thou be not the Christ, Nor yet Elias, nor he That, in sign of the things to be, Shattered the vessel of clay In the Valley of Slaughter, Then declare unto us, and say By what authority now Baptizest thou?

JOHN. I indeed baptize you with water Unto repentance; but He, That cometh after me, Is mightier than I and higher; The latchet of whose shoes I an not worthy to unloose; He shall baptize you with fire, And with the Holy Ghost! Whose fan is in his hand; He will purge to the uttermost His floor, and garner his wheat, But will burn the chaff in the brand And fire of unquenchable heat! Repent! repent! repent!

II

MOUNT QUARANTANIA

I

LUCIFER. Not in the lightning's flash, nor in the thunder, Not in the tempest, nor the cloudy storm, Will I array my form; But part invisible these boughs asunder, And move and murmur as the wind upheaves And whispers in the leaves.

Not as a terror and a desolation, Not in my natural shape, inspiring fear And dread, will I appear; But in soft tones of sweetness and persuasion, A sound as of the fall of mountain streams, Or voices heard in dreams.

He sitteth there in silence, worn and wasted With famine, and uplifts his hollow eyes To the unpitying skies; For forty days and nights he hath not tasted Of food or drink, his parted lips are pale, Surely his strength must fail.

Wherefore dost thou in penitential fasting Waste and consume the beauty of thy youth. Ah, if thou be in truth The Son of the Unnamed, the Everlasting, Command these stones beneath thy feet to be Changed into bread for thee!

CHRISTUS. 'T is written! Man shall not live by bread alone, But by each word that from God's mouth proceedeth!

II

LUCIFER. Too weak, alas! too weak is the temptation For one whose soul to nobler things aspires Than sensual desires! Ah, could I, by some sudden aberration, Lend and delude to suicidal death This Christ of Nazareth!

Unto the holy Temple on Moriah, With its resplendent domes, and manifold Bright pinnacles of gold, Where they await thy coming, O Messiah! Lo, I have brought thee! Let thy glory here Be manifest and clear.

Reveal thyself by royal act and gesture Descending with the bright triumphant host Of all the hithermost Archangels, and about thee as a vesture The shining clouds, and all thy splendors show Unto the world below!

Cast thyself down, it is the hour appointed; And God hath given his angels charge and care To keep thee and upbear Upon their hands his only Son, the Anointed, Lest he should dash his foot against a stone And die, and be unknown.

CHRISTUS. 'T is written: Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God!

III

LUCIFER. I cannot thus delude him to perdition! But one temptation still remains untried, The trial of his pride, The thirst of power, the fever of ambition! Surely by these a humble peasant's son At last may be undone!

Above the yawning chasms and deep abysses, Across the headlong torrents, I have brought Thy footsteps, swift as thought; And from the highest of these precipices, The Kingdoms of the world thine eyes behold. Like a great map unrolled.

From far-off Lebanon, with cedars crested, To where the waters of the Asphalt Lake On its white pebbles break, And the vast desert, silent, sand-invested, These kingdoms all are mine, and thine shall be, If thou wilt worship me!

CHRISTUS. Get thee behind me, Satan! thou shalt worship The Lord thy God; Him only shalt thou serve!

ANGELS MINISTRANT. The sun goes down; the evening shadows lengthen, The fever and the struggle of the day Abate and pass away; Thine Angels Miniatrant, we come to strengthen And comfort thee, and crown thee with the palm, The silence and the calm.

III

THE MARRIAGE IN CANA

THE MUSICIANS. Rise up, my love, my fair one, Rise up, and come away, For lo! the winter is past, The rain is over and gone, The flowers appear on the earth, The time of the singing of birds is come, And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.

THE BRIDEGROOM. Sweetly the minstrels sing the Song of Songs! My heart runs forward with it, and I say: Oh set me as a seal upon thine heart, And set me as a seal upon thine arm; For love is strong as life, and strong as death, And cruel as the grave is jealousy!

THE MUSICIANS. I sleep, but my heart awaketh; 'T is the voice of my beloved Who knocketh, saying: Open to me, My sister, my love, my dove, For my head is filled with dew, My locks with the drops of the night!

THE BRIDE. Ah yes, I sleep, and yet my heart awaketh. It is the voice of my beloved who knocks.

THE BRIDEGROOM. O beautiful as Rebecca at the fountain, O beautiful as Ruth among the sheaves! O fairest among women! O undefiled! Thou art all fair, my love, there's no spot in thee!

THE MUSICIANS. My beloved is white and ruddy, The chiefest among ten thousand His locks are black as a raven, His eyes are the eyes of doves, Of doves by the rivers of water, His lips are like unto lilies, Dropping sweet-smelling myrrh.

ARCHITRICLINUS. Who is that youth with the dark azure eyes, And hair, in color like unto the wine, Parted upon his forehead, and behind Falling in flowing locks?

PARANYMPHUS. The Nazarene Who preacheth to the poor in field and village The coming of God's Kingdom.

ARCHITRICLINUS. How serene His aspect is! manly yet womanly.

PARANYMPHUS. Most beautiful among the sons of men! Oft known to weep, but never known to laugh.

ARCHITRICLINUS. And tell me, she with eyes of olive tint, And skin as fair as wheat, and pale brown hair, The woman at his side?

PARANYMPHUS. His mother, Mary.

ARCHITRICLINUS. And the tall figure standing close behind them, Clad all in white, with lace and beard like ashes, As if he were Elias, the White Witness, Come from his cave on Carmel to foretell The end of all things?

PARANYMPHUS. That is Manahem The Essenian, he who dwells among the palms Near the Dead Sea.

ARCHITRICLINUS. He who foretold to Herod He should one day be King?

PARANYMPHUS. The same.

ARCHITRICLINUS. Then why Doth he come here to sadden with his presence Our marriage feast, belonging to a sect Haters of women, and that taste not wine?

THE MUSICIANS. My undefiled is but one, The only one of her mother, The choice of her that bare her; The daughters saw her and blessed her; The queens and the concubines praised her; Saying, Lo! who is this That looketh forth as the morning?

MANAHEM aside. The Ruler of the Feast is gazing at me, As if he asked, why is that old man here Among the revellers? And thou, the Anointed! Why art thou here? I see as in a vision A figure clothed in purple, crowned with thorns; I see a cross uplifted in the darkness, And hear a cry of agony, that shall echo Forever and forever through the world!

ARCHITRICLINUS. Give us more wine. These goblets are all empty.

MARY to CHRISTUS. They have no wine!

CHRISTUS. O woman, what have I To do with thee? Mine hour is not yet come.

MARY to the servants. Whatever he shall say to you, that do.

CHRISTUS. Fill up these pots with water.

THE MUSICIANS. Come, my beloved, Let us go forth into the field, Let us lodge in the villages; Let us get up early to the vineyards, Let us see if the vine flourish, Whether the tender grape appear, And the pomegranates bud forth.

CHRISTUS. Draw out now And bear unto the Ruler of the Feast.

MANAHEM aside. O thou, brought up among the Essenians, Nurtured in abstinence, taste not the wine! It is the poison of dragons from the vineyards Of Sodom, and the taste of death is in it!

ARCHITRICLINUS to the BRIDEGROOM. All men set forth good wine at the beginning, And when men have well drunk, that which is worse; But thou hast kept the good wine until now.

MANAHEM aside.

The things that have been and shall be no more, The things that are, and that hereafter shall he, The things that might have been, and yet were not, The fading twilight of great joys departed, The daybreak of great truths as yet unrisen, The intuition and the expectation Of something, which, when come, is not the same, But only like its forecast in men's dreams, The longing, the delay, and the delight, Sweeter for the delay; youth, hope, love, death, And disappointment which is also death, All these make up the sum of human life; A dream within a dream, a wind at night Howling across the desert in despair, Seeking for something lost it cannot find. Fate or foreseeing, or whatever name Men call it, matters not; what is to be Hath been fore-written in the thought divine From the beginning. None can hide from it, But it will find him out; nor run from it, But it o'ertaketh him! The Lord hath said it.

THE BRIDEGROOM to the BRIDE, on the balcony. When Abraham went with Sarah into Egypt, The land was all illumined with her beauty; But thou dost make the very night itself Brighter than day! Behold, in glad procession, Crowding the threshold of the sky above us, The stars come forth to meet thee with their lamps; And the soft winds, the ambassadors of flowers, From neighboring gardens and from fields unseen, Come laden with odors unto thee, my Queen!

THE MUSICIANS. Awake, O north-wind, And come, thou wind of the South. Blow, blow upon my garden, That the spices thereof may flow out.

IV

IN THE CORNFIELDS

PHILIP. Onward through leagues of sun-illumined corn, As if through parted seas, the pathway runs, And crowned with sunshine as the Prince of Peace Walks the beloved Master, leading us, As Moses led our fathers in old times Out of the land of bondage! We have found Him of whom Moses and the Prophets wrote, Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of Joseph.

NATHANAEL. Can any good come out of Nazareth? Can this be the Messiah?

PHILIP. Come and see.

NATHANAEL. The summer sun grows hot: I am anhungered. How cheerily the Sabbath-breaking quail Pipes in the corn, and bids us to his Feast Of Wheat Sheaves! How the bearded, ripening ears Toss in the roofless temple of the air; As if the unseen hand of some High-Priest Waved them before Mount Tabor as an altar! It were no harm, if we should pluck and eat.

PHILIP. How wonderful it is to walk abroad With the Good Master! Since the miracle He wrought at Cana, at the marriage feast, His fame hath gone abroad through all the land, And when we come to Nazareth, thou shalt see How his own people will receive their Prophet, And hail him as Messiah! See, he turns And looks at thee.

CHRISTUS. Behold an Israelite In whom there is no guile.

NATHANAEL. Whence knowest thou me?

CHRISTUS. Before that Philip called thee, when thou wast Under the fig-tree, I beheld thee.

NATHANAEL. Rabbi! Thou art the Son of God, thou art the King Of Israel!

CHRISTUS. Because I said I saw thee Under the fig-tree, before Philip called thee, Believest thou? Thou shalt see greater things. Hereafter thou shalt see the heavens unclosed, The angels of God ascending and descending Upon the Son of Man!

PHAIRISEES, passing. Hail, Rabbi!

CHRISTUS. Hail!

PHARISEES. Behold how thy disciples do a thing Which is not lawful on the Sabbath-day, And thou forbiddest them not!

CHRISTUS. Have ye not read What David did when he anhungered was, And all they that were with him? How he entered Into the house of God, and ate the shew-bread, Which was not lawful, saving for the priests? Have ye not read, how on the Sabbath-days The priests profane the Sabbath in the Temple, And yet are blameless? But I say to you, One in this place is greater than the Temple! And had ye known the meaning of the words, I will have mercy and not sacrifice, The guiltless ye would not condemn. The Sabbath Was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath.

Passes on with the disciples.

PHARISEES. This is, alas! some poor demoniac Wandering about the fields, and uttering His unintelligible blasphemies Among the common people, who receive As prophecies the words they comprehend not! Deluded folk! The incomprehensible Alone excites their wonder. There is none So visionary, or so void of sense, But he will find a crowd to follow him!

V

NAZARETH

CHRISTUS, reading in the Synagogue. The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me. He hath anointed me to preach good tidings Unto the poor; to heal the broken-hearted; To comfort those that mourn, and to throw open The prison doors of captives, and proclaim The Year Acceptable of the Lord, our God!

He closes the book and sits down.

A PHARISEE. Who is this youth? He hath taken the Teacher's seat! Will he instruct the Elders?

A PRIEST. Fifty years Have I been Priest here in the Synagogue, And never have I seen so young a man Sit in the Teacher's seat!

CHRISTUS. Behold, to-day This scripture is fulfilled. One is appointed And hath been sent to them that mourn in Zion, To give them beauty for ashes, and the oil Of joy for mourning! They shall build again The old waste-places; and again raise up The former desolations, and repair The cities that are wasted! As a bridegroom Decketh himself with ornaments; as a bride Adorneth herself with jewels, so the Lord Hath clothed me with the robe of righteousness!

A PRIEST. He speaks the Prophet's words; but with an air As if himself had been foreshadowed in them!

CHRISTUS. For Zion's sake I will not hold my peace, And for Jerusalem's sake I will not rest Until its righteousness be as a brightness, And its salvation as a lamp that burneth! Thou shalt be called no longer the Forsaken, Nor any more thy land the Desolate. The Lord hath sworn, by his right hand hath sworn, And by his arm of strength: I will no more Give to thine enemies thy corn as meat; The sons of strangers shall not drink thy wine. Go through, go through the gates! Prepare a way Unto the people! Gather out the stones! Lift up a standard for the people!

A PRIEST. Ah! These are seditious words!

CHRISTUS. And they shall call them The holy people; the redeemed of God! And thou, Jerusalem, shalt be called Sought out, A city not forsaken!

A PHARISEE. Is not this The carpenter Joseph's son? Is not his mother Called Mary? and his brethren and his sisters Are they not with us? Doth he make himself To be a Prophet?

CHRISTUS. No man is a Prophet In his own country, and among his kin. In his own house no Prophet is accepted. I say to you, in the land of Israel Were many widows in Elijah's day, When for three years and more the heavens were shut, And a great famine was throughout the land; But unto no one was Elijah sent Save to Sarepta, to a city of Sidon, And to a woman there that was a widow. And many lepers were then in the land Of Israel, in the time of Eliseus The Prophet, and yet none of them was cleansed, Save Naaman the Syrian!

A PRIEST. Say no more! Thou comest here into our Synagogue And speakest to the Elders and the Priests, As if the very mantle of Elijah Had fallen upon thee! Are thou not ashamed?

A PHARISEE. We want no Prophets here! Let him be driven From Synagogue and city! Let him go And prophesy to the Samaritans!

AN ELDER. The world is changed. We Elders are as nothing! We are but yesterdays, that have no part Or portion in to-day! Dry leaves that rustle, That make a little sound, and then are dust!

A PHARISEE. A carpenter's apprentice! a mechanic, Whom we have seen at work here in the town Day after day; a stripling without learning, Shall he pretend to unfold the Word of God To men grown old in study of the Law?

CHRISTUS is thrust out.

VI

THE SEA OF GALILEE.

PETER and ANDREW mending their nets.

PETER. Never was such a marvellous draught of fishes Heard of in Galilee! The market-places Both of Bethsaida and Capernaum Are full of them! Yet we had toiled all night And taken nothing, when the Master said: Launch out into the deep, and cast your nets; And doing this, we caught such multitudes, Our nets like spiders' webs were snapped asunder, And with the draught we filled two ships so full That they began to sink. Then I knelt down Amazed, and said: O Lord, depart from me, I am a sinful man. And he made answer: Simon, fear not; henceforth thou shalt catch men! What was the meaning of those words?

ANDREW. I know not. But here is Philip, come from Nazareth. He hath been with the Master. Tell us, Philip, What tidings dost thou bring?

PHILIP. Most wonderful! As we drew near to Nain, out of the gate Upon a bier was carried the dead body Of a young man, his mother's only son, And she a widow, who with lamentation Bewailed her loss, and the much people with her; And when the Master saw her he was filled With pity; and he said to her: Weep not And came and touched the bier, and they that bare it Stood still; and then he said: Young man, arise! And he that had been dead sat up, and soon Began to speak; and he delivered him Unto his mother. And there came a fear On all the people, and they glorified The Lord, and said, rejoicing: A great Prophet Is risen up among us! and the Lord Hath visited his people!

PETER. A great Prophet? Ay, greater than a Prophet: greater even Than John the Baptist!

PHILIP. Yet the Nazarenes Rejected him.

PETER. The Nazarenes are dogs! As natural brute beasts, they growl at things They do not understand; and they shall perish, Utterly perish in their own corruption. The Nazarenes are dogs!

PHILIP. They drave him forth Out of their Synagogue, out of their city, And would have cast him down a precipice, But, passing through the midst of them, he vanished Out of their hands.

PETER. Wells are they without water, Clouds carried with a tempest, unto whom The mist of darkness is reserved forever.

PHILIP. Behold, he cometh. There is one man with him I am amazed to see!

ANDREW. What man is that?

PHILIP. Judas Iscariot; he that cometh last, Girt with a leathern apron. No one knoweth His history; but the rumor of him is He had an unclean spirit in his youth. It hath not left him yet.

CHRISTUS, passing. Come unto me, All ye that labor and are heavy laden, And I will give you rest! Come unto me, And take my yoke upon you and learn of me, For I am meek, and I am lowly in heart, And ye shall all find rest unto your souls!

PHILIP. Oh, there is something in that voice that reaches The innermost recesses of my spirit! I feel that it might say unto the blind: Receive your sight! and straightway they would see! I feel that it might say unto the dead, Arise! and they would hear it and obey! Behold, he beckons to us!

CHRISTUS to PETER and ANDREW. Follow me!

PETER. Master, I will leave all and follow thee.

VII

THE DEMONIAC OF GADARA

A GADARENE. He hath escaped, hath plucked his chains asunder, And broken his fetters; always night and day Is in the mountains here, and in the tombs, Crying aloud, and cutting himself with stones, Exceeding fierce, so that no man can tame him!

THE DEMONIAC from above, unseen. O Aschmedai! O Aschmedai, have pity!

A GADARENE. Listen! It is his voice! Go warn the people Just landing from the lake!

THE DEMONIAC. O Aschmedai! Thou angel of the bottomless pit, have pity! It was enough to hurl King Solomon, On whom be peace! two hundred leagues away Into the country, and to make him scullion In the kitchen of the King of Maschkemen! Why dost thou hurl me here among these rocks, And cut me with these stones?

A GADARENE. He raves and mutters He knows not what.

THE DEMONIAC, appearing from a tomb among the rocks. The wild cock Tarnegal Singeth to me, and bids me to the banquet, Where all the Jews shall come; for they have slain Behemoth the great ox, who daily cropped A thousand hills for food, and at a draught Drank up the river Jordan, and have slain The huge Leviathan, and stretched his skin Upon the high walls of Jerusalem, And made them shine from one end of the world Unto the other; and the fowl Barjuchne, Whose outspread wings eclipse the sun, and make Midnight at noon o'er all the continents! And we shall drink the wine of Paradise From Adam's cellars.

A GADARENE. O thou unclean spirit!

THE DEMONIAC, hurling down a stone. This is the wonderful Barjuchne's egg, That fell out of her nest, and broke to pieces And swept away three hundred cedar-trees, And threescore villages!--Rabbi Eliezer, How thou didst sin there in that seaport town When thou hadst carried safe thy chest of silver Over the seven rivers for her sake! I too have sinned beyond the reach of pardon. Ye hills and mountains, pray for mercy on me! Ye stars and planets, pray for mercy on me! Ye sun and moon, oh pray for mercy on me!

CHRISTUS and his disciples pass.

A GADARENE. There is a man here of Decapolis, Who hath an unclean spirit; so that none Can pass this way. He lives among the tombs Up there upon the cliffs, and hurls down stones On those who pass beneath.

CHRISTUS. Come out of him, Thou unclean spirit!

THE DEMONIAC. What have I to do With thee, thou Son of God? Do not torment us.

CHRISTUS. What is thy name?

THE DEMONIAC. Legion; for we are many. Cain, the first murderer; and the King Belshazzar, And Evil Merodach of Babylon, And Admatha, the death-cloud, prince of Persia And Aschmedai the angel of the pit, And many other devils. We are Legion. Send us not forth beyond Decapolis; Command us not to go into the deep! There is a herd of swine here in the pastures, Let us go into them.

CHRISTUS. Come out of him, Thou unclean spirit!

A GADARENE. See how stupefied, How motionless he stands! He cries no more; He seems bewildered and in silence stares As one who, walking in his sleep, awakes And knows not where he is, and looks about him, And at his nakedness, and is ashamed.

THE DEMONIAC. Why am I here alone among the tombs? What have they done to me, that I am naked? Ah, woe is me!

CHRISTUS. Go home unto thy friends And tell them how great things the Lord hath done For thee, and how He had compassion on thee!

A SWINEHERD, running. The herds! the herd! O most unlucky day! They were all feeding quiet in the sun, When suddenly they started, and grew savage As the wild boars of Tabor, and together Rushed down a precipice into the sea! They are all drowned!

PETER. Thus righteously are punished The apostate Jews, that eat the flesh of swine, And broth of such abominable things!

GREEKS OF GADARA. We sacrifice a sow unto Demeter At the beginning of harvest and another To Dionysus at the vintage-time. Therefore we prize our herds of swine, and count them Not as unclean, but as things consecrate To the immortal gods. O great magician, Depart out of our coasts; let us alone, We are afraid of thee.

PETER. Let us depart; For they that sanctify and purify Themselves in gardens, eating flesh of swine. And the abomination, and the mouse, Shall be consumed together, saith the Lord!

VIII

TALITHA CUMI

JAIRUS at the feet of CHRISTUS. O Master! I entreat thee! I implore thee! My daughter lieth at the point of death; I pray thee come and lay thy hands upon her, And she shall live!

CHRISTUS. Who was it touched my garments?

SIMON PETER. Thou seest the multitude that throng and press thee, And sayest thou: Who touched me? 'T was not I.

CHRISTUS. Some one hath touched my garments; I perceive That virtue is gone out of me.

A WOMAN. O Master! Forgive me! For I said within myself, If I so much as touch his garment's hem, I shall be whole.

CHRISTUS. Be of good comfort, daughter! Thy faith hath made thee whole. Depart in peace.

A MESSENGER from the house. Why troublest thou the Master? Hearest thou not The flute players, and the voices of the women Singing their lamentation? She is dead!

THE MINSTRELS AND MOURNERS. We have girded ourselves with sackcloth! We have covered our heads with ashes! For our young men die, and our maidens Swoon in the streets of the city; And into their mother's bosom They pour out their souls like water!

CHRISTUS, going in. Give place. Why make ye this ado, and weep? She is not dead, but sleepeth.

THE MOTHER, from within. Cruel Death! To take away front me this tender blossom! To take away my dove, my lamb, my darling!

THE MINSTRELS AND MOURNERS. He hath led me and brought into darkness, Like the dead of old in dark places! He hath bent his bow, and hath set me Apart as a mark for his arrow! He hath covered himself with a cloud, That our prayer should not pass through and reach him!

THE CROWD. He stands beside her bed! He takes her hand! Listen, he speaks to her!

CHRISTUS, within. Maiden, arise!

THE CROWD. See, she obeys his voice! She stirs! She lives! Her mother holds her folded in her arms! O miracle of miracles! O marvel!

IX

THE TOWER OF MAGDALA

MARY MAGDALENE. Companionless, unsatisfied, forlorn, I sit here in this lonely tower, and look Upon the lake below me, and the hills That swoon with heat, and see as in a vision All my past life unroll itself before me. The princes and the merchants come to me, Merchants of Tyre and Princes of Damascus. And pass, and disappear, and are no more; But leave behind their merchandise and jewels, Their perfumes, and their gold, and their disgust. I loathe them, and the very memory of them Is unto me as thought of food to one Cloyed with the luscious figs of Dalmanutha! What if hereafter, in the long hereafter Of endless joy or pain, or joy in pain, It were my punishment to be with them Grown hideous and decrepit in their sins, And hear them say: Thou that hast brought us here, Be unto us as thou hast been of old! I look upon this raiment that I wear, These silks, and these embroideries, and they seem Only as cerements wrapped about my limbs! I look upon these rings thick set with pearls, And emerald and amethyst and jasper, And they are burning coals upon my flesh! This serpent on my wrist becomes alive! Away, thou viper! and away, ye garlands, Whose odors bring the swift remembrance back Of the unhallowed revels in these chambers! But yesterday,--and yet it seems to me Something remote, like a pathetic song Sung long ago by minstrels in the street,-- But yesterday, as from this tower I gazed, Over the olive and the walnut trees Upon the lake and the white ships, and wondered Whither and whence they steered, and who was in them, A fisher's boat drew near the landing-place Under the oleanders, and the people Came up from it, and passed beneath the tower, Close under me. In front of them, as leader, Walked one of royal aspect, clothed in white, Who lifted up his eyes, and looked at me, And all at once the air seemed filled and living With a mysterious power, that streamed from him, And overflowed me with an atmosphere Of light and love. As one entranced I stood, And when I woke again, lo! he was gone; So that I said: Perhaps it is a dream. But from that very hour the seven demons That had their habitation in this body Which men call beautiful, departed from me!

This morning, when the first gleam of the dawn Made Lebanon a glory in the air, And all below was darkness, I beheld An angel, or a spirit glorified, With wind-tossed garments walking on the lake. The face I could not see, but I distinguished The attitude and gesture, and I knew 'T was he that healed me. And the gusty wind Brought to mine ears a voice, which seemed to say: Be of good cheer! 'T is I! Be not afraid! And from the darkness, scarcely heard, the answer: If it be thou, bid me come unto thee Upon the water! And the voice said: Come! And then I heard a cry of fear: Lord, save me! As of a drowning man. And then the voice: Why didst thou doubt, O thou of little faith! At this all vanished, and the wind was hushed, And the great sun came up above the hills, And the swift-flying vapors hid themselves In caverns among the rocks! Oh, I must find him And follow him, and be with him forever!

Thou box of alabaster, in whose walls The souls of flowers lie pent, the precious balm And spikenard of Arabian farms, the spirits Of aromatic herbs, ethereal natures Nursed by the sun and dew, not all unworthy To bathe his consecrated feet, whose step Makes every threshold holy that he crosses; Let us go forth upon our pilgrimage, Thou and I only! Let us search for him Until we find him, and pour out our souls Before his feet, till all that's left of us Shall be the broken caskets that once held us!

X

THE HOUSE OF SIMON THE PHARISEE

A GUEST at table. Are ye deceived? Have any of the Rulers Believed on him? or do they know indeed This man to be the very Christ? Howbeit We know whence this man is, but when the Christ Shall come, none knoweth whence he is.

CHRISTUS. Whereunto shall I liken, then, the men Of this generation? and what are they like? They are like children sitting in the markets, And calling unto one another, saying: We have piped unto you, and ye have not danced We have mourned unto you, and ye have not wept! This say I unto you, for John the Baptist Came neither eating bread nor drinking wine Ye say he hath a devil. The Son of Man Eating and drinking cometh, and ye say: Behold a gluttonous man, and a wine-bibber; Behold a friend of publicans and sinners!

A GUEST aside to SIMON. Who is that woman yonder, gliding in So silently behind him?

SIMON. It is Mary, Who dwelleth in the Tower of Magdala.

THE GUEST. See, how she kneels there weeping, and her tears Fall on his feet; and her long, golden hair Waves to and fro and wipes them dry again. And now she kisses them, and from a box Of alabaster is anointing them With precious ointment, filling all the house With its sweet odor!

SIMON, aside, Oh, this man, forsooth, Were he indeed a Prophet, would have known Who and what manner of woman this may be That toucheth him! would know she is a sinner!

CHRISTUS. Simon, somewhat have I to say to thee.

SIMON. Master, say on.

CHRISTUS. A certain creditor Had once two debtors; and the one of them Owed him five hundred pence; the other, fifty. They having naught to pay withal, he frankly Forgave them both. Now tell me which of them Will love him most?

SIMON. He, I suppose to whom He most forgave.

CHRISTUS. Yea, thou hast rightly judged. Seest thou this woman? When thine house I entered, Thou gavest me no water for my feet, But she hath washed them with her tears, and wiped them With her own hair. Thou gavest me no kiss; This woman hath not ceased, since I came in, To kiss my feet. My head with oil didst thou Anoint not; but this woman hath anointed My feet with ointment. Hence I say to thee, Her sins, which have been many, are forgiven, For she loved much.

THE GUESTS. Oh, who, then, is this man That pardoneth also sins without atonement?

CHRISTUS. Woman, thy faith hath saved thee! Go in peace!

THE SECOND PASSOVER.

I

BEFORE THE GATES OF MACHAERUS

MANAHEM. Welcome, O wilderness, and welcome, night And solitude, and ye swift-flying stars That drift with golden sands the barren heavens, Welcome once more! The Angels of the Wind Hasten across the desert to receive me; And sweeter than men's voices are to me The voices of these solitudes; the sound Of unseen rivulets, and the far-off cry Of bitterns in the reeds of water-pools. And lo! above me, like the Prophet's arrow Shot from the eastern window, high in air The clamorous cranes go singing through the night. O ye mysterious pilgrims of the air, Would I had wings that I might follow you!

I look forth from these mountains, and behold The omnipotent and omnipresent night, Mysterious as the future and the fate That hangs o'er all men's lives! I see beneath me The desert stretching to the Dead Sea shore, And westward, faint and far away, the glimmer Of torches on Mount Olivet, announcing The rising of the Moon of Passover. Like a great cross it seems, on which suspended, With head bowed down in agony, I see A human figure! Hide, O merciful heaven, The awful apparition from my sight!

And thou, Machaerus, lifting high and black Thy dreadful walls against the rising moon, Haunted by demons and by apparitions, Lilith, and Jezerhara, and Bedargon, How grim thou showest in the uncertain light, A palace and a prison, where King Herod Feasts with Herodias, while the Baptist John Fasts, and consumes his unavailing life! And in thy court-yard grows the untithed rue, Huge as the olives of Gethsemane, And ancient as the terebinth of Hebron, Coeval with the world. Would that its leaves Medicinal could purge thee of the demons That now possess thee, and the cunning fox That burrows in thy walls, contriving mischief!

Music is heard from within.

Angels of God! Sandalphon, thou that weavest The prayers of men into immortal garlands, And thou, Metatron, who dost gather up Their songs, and bear them to the gates of heaven, Now gather up together in your hands The prayers that fill this prison, and the songs That echo from the ceiling of this palace, And lay them side by side before God's feet!

He enters the castle.

II

HEROD'S BANQUET-HALL

MANAHEM. Thou hast sent for me, O King, and I am here.

HEROD. Who art thou?

MANAHEM. Manahem, the Essenian.

HEROD. I recognize thy features, but what mean These torn and faded garments? On thy road Have demons crowded thee, and rubbed against thee, And given thee weary knees? A cup of wine!

MANAHEM. The Essenians drink no wine.

HEROD. What wilt thou, then?

MANAHEM. Nothing.

HEROD. Not even a cup of water?

MANAHEM. Nothing. Why hast thou sent for me?

HEROD. Dost thou remember One day when I, a schoolboy in the streets Of the great city, met thee on my way To school, and thou didst say to me: Hereafter Thou shalt be king?

MANAHEM. Yea, I remember it.

HEROD. Thinking thou didst not know me, I replied: I am of humble birth; whereat thou, smiling, Didst smite me with thy hand, and saidst again: Thou shalt be king; and let the friendly blows That Manahem hath given thee on this day Remind thee of the fickleness of fortune.

MANAHEM. What more?

HEROD. No more.

MANAHEM. Yea, for I said to thee: It shall be well with thee if thou love justice And clemency towards thy fellow-men. Hast thou done this, O King?

HEROD. Go, ask my people.

MANAHEM. And then, foreseeing all thy life, I added: But these thou wilt forget; and at the end Of life the Lord will punish thee.

HEROD. The end! When will that come? For this I sent to thee. How long shall I still reign? Thou dost not answer! Speak! shall I reign ten years?

MANAHEM. Thou shalt reign twenty, Nay, thirty years. I cannot name the end.

HEROD. Thirty? I thank thee, good Essenian! This is my birthday, and a happier one Was never mine. We hold a banquet here. See, yonder are Herodias and her daughter.

MANAHEM, aside. 'T is said that devils sometimes take the shape Of ministering angels, clothed with air. That they may be inhabitants of earth, And lead man to destruction. Such are these.

HEROD. Knowest thou John the Baptist?

MANAHEM. Yea, I know him; Who knows him not?

HEROD. Know, then, this John the Baptist Said that it was not lawful I should marry My brother Philip's wife, and John the Baptist Is here in prison. In my father's time Matthias Margaloth was put to death For tearing the golden eagle from its station Above the Temple Gate,--a slighter crime Than John is guilty of. These things are warnings To intermeddlers not to play with eagles, Living or dead. I think the Essenians Are wiser, or more wary, are they not?

MANAHEM. The Essenians do not marry.

HEROD. Thou hast given My words a meaning foreign to my thought.

MANAHEM. Let me go hence, O King!

HEROD. Stay yet awhile, And see the daughter of Herodias dance. Cleopatra of Jerusalem, my mother, In her best days, was not more beautiful.

Music. THE DAUGHTER OP HERODIAS dances.

HEROD. Oh, what was Miriam dancing with her timbrel, Compared to this one?

MANAHEM, aside. O thou Angel of Death, Dancing at funerals among the women, When men bear out the dead! The air is hot And stifles me! Oh for a breath of air! Bid me depart, O King!

HEROD. Not yet. Come hither, Salome, thou enchantress! Ask of me Whate'er thou wilt; and even unto the half Of all my kingdom, I will give it thee, As the Lord liveth!

DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS, kneeling. Give me here the head Of John the Baptist on this silver charger!

HEROD. Not that, dear child! I dare not; for the people Regard John as a prophet.

DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. Thou hast sworn it.

HEROD. For mine oath's sake, then. Send unto the prison; Let him die quickly. Oh, accursed oath!

MANAHEM. Bid me depart, O King!

HEROD. Good Manahem, Give me thy hand. I love the Essenians. He's gone and hears me not! The guests are dumb, Awaiting the pale face, the silent witness. The lamps flare; and the curtains of the doorways Wave to and fro as if a ghost were passing! Strengthen my heart, red wine of Ascalon!

III

UNDER THE WALLS OF MACHAERUS

MANAHEM, rushing out. Away from this Palace of sin! The demons, the terrible powers Of the air, that haunt its towers And hide in its water-spouts, Deafen me with the din Of their laughter and their shouts For the crimes that are done within! Sink back into the earth, Or vanish into the air, Thou castle of despair! Let it all be but a dream Of the things of monstrous birth, Of the things that only seem! White Angel of the Moon, Onafiel! be my guide Out of this hateful place Of sin and death, nor hide In you black cloud too soon Thy pale and tranquil face!

A trumpet is blown from the walls.

Hark! hark! It is the breath Of the trump of doom and death, From the battlements overhead Like a burden of sorrow cast On the midnight and the blast, A wailing for the dead, That the gusts drop and uplift! O Herod, thy vengeance is swift! O Herodias, thou hast been The demon, the evil thing, That in place of Esther the Queen, In place of the lawful bride, Hast lain at night by the side Of Ahasuerus the king!

The trumpet again.

The Prophet of God is dead! At a drunken monarch's call, At a dancing-woman's beck, They have severed that stubborn neck And into the banquet-hall Are bearing the ghastly head!

A body is thrown from the tower.

A torch of red Lights the window with its glow; And a white mass as of snow Is hurled into the abyss Of the black precipice, That yawns for it below! O hand of the Most High, O hand of Adonai! Bury it, hide it away From the birds and beasts of prey, And the eyes of the homicide, More pitiless than they, As thou didst bury of yore The body of him that died On the mountain of Peor! Even now I behold a sign, A threatening of wrath divine, A watery, wandering star, Through whose streaming hair, and the white Unfolding garments of light, That trail behind it afar, The constellations shine! And the whiteness and brightness appear Like the Angel bearing the Seer By the hair of his head, in the might And rush of his vehement flight. And I listen until I hear From fathomless depths of the sky The voice of his prophecy Sounding louder and more near!

Malediction! malediction! May the lightnings of heaven fall On palace and prison wall, And their desolation be As the day of fear and affliction, As the day of anguish and ire, With the burning and fuel of fire, In the Valley of the Sea!

IV

NICODEMUS AT NIGHT

NICODEMUS. The streets are silent. The dark houses seem Like sepulchres, in which the sleepers lie Wrapped in their shrouds, and for the moment dead. The lamps are all extinguished; only one Burns steadily, and from the door its light Lies like a shining gate across the street. He waits for me. Ah, should this be at last The long-expected Christ! I see him there Sitting alone, deep-buried in his thought, As if the weight of all the world were resting Upon him, and thus bowed him down. O Rabbi, We know thou art a Teacher come from God, For no man can perform the miracles Thou dost perform, except the Lord be with him. Thou art a Prophet, sent here to proclaim The Kingdom of the Lord. Behold in me A Ruler of the Jews, who long have waited The coming of that kingdom. Tell me of it.

CHRISTUS. Verily, verily I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot Behold the Kingdom of God!

NICODEMUS. Be born again? How can a man be born when he is old? Say, can he enter for a second time Into his mother's womb, and so be born?

CHRISTUS. Verily I say unto thee, except A man be born of water and the spirit, He cannot enter into the Kingdom of God. For that which of the flesh is born, is flesh; And that which of the spirit is born, is spirit.

NICODEMUS. We Israelites from the Primeval Man Adam Ahelion derive our bodies; Our souls are breathings of the Holy Ghost. No more than this we know, or need to know.

CHRISTUS. Then marvel not, that I said unto thee Ye must be born again.

NICODEMUS. The mystery Of birth and death we cannot comprehend.

CHRISTUS. The wind bloweth where it listeth, and we hear The sound thereof, but know not whence it cometh, Nor whither it goeth. So is every one Born of the spirit!

NICODEMUS, aside. How can these things be? He seems to speak of some vague realm of shadows, Some unsubstantial kingdom of the air! It is not this the Jews are waiting for, Nor can this be the Christ, the Son of David, Who shall deliver us!

CHRISTUS. Art thou a master Of Israel, and knowest not these things? We speak that we do know, and testify That we have seen, and ye will not receive Our witness. If I tell you earthly things, And ye believe not, how shall ye believe, If I should tell you of things heavenly? And no man hath ascended up to heaven, But he alone that first came down from heaven, Even the Son of Man which is in heaven!

NICODEMUS, aside. This is a dreamer of dreams; a visionary, Whose brain is overtasked, until he deems The unseen world to be a thing substantial, And this we live in, an unreal vision! And yet his presence fascinates and fills me With wonder, and I feel myself exalted Into a higher region, and become Myself in part a dreamer of his dreams, A seer of his visions!

CHRISTUS. And as Moses Uplifted the serpent in the wilderness, So must the Son of Man be lifted up; That whosoever shall believe in Him Shall perish not, but have eternal life. He that believes in Him is not condemned; He that believes not, is condemned already.

NICODEMUS, aside. He speaketh like a Prophet of the Lord!

CHRISTUS. This is the condemnation; that the light Is come into the world, and men loved darkness Rather than light, because their deeds are evil!

NICODEMUS, aside. Of me he speaketh! He reproveth me, Because I come by night to question him!

CHRISTUS. For every one that doeth evil deeds Hateth the light, nor cometh to the light Lest he should be reproved.

NICODEMUS, aside. Alas, how truly He readeth what is passing in my heart!

CHRISTUS. But he that doeth truth comes to the light, So that his deeds may be made manifest, That they are wrought in God.

NICODEMUS. Alas! alas!

V

BLIND BARTIMEUS

BARTIMEUS. Be not impatient, Chilion; it is pleasant To sit here in the shadow of the walls Under the palms, and hear the hum of bees, And rumor of voices passing to and fro, And drowsy bells of caravans on their way To Sidon or Damascus. This is still The City of Palms, and yet the walls thou seest Are not the old walls, not the walls where Rahab Hid the two spies, and let them down by cords Out of the window, when the gates were shut, And it was dark. Those walls were overthrown When Joshua's army shouted, and the priests Blew with their seven trumpets.

CHILION. When was that?

BARTIMEUS. O my sweet rose of Jericho, I know not Hundreds of years ago. And over there Beyond the river, the great prophet Elijah Was taken by a whirlwind up to heaven In chariot of fire, with fiery horses. That is the plain of Moab; and beyond it Rise the blue summits of Mount Abarim, Nebo and Pisgah and Peor, where Moses Died, whom the Lord knew face to face? and whom He buried in a valley, and no man Knows of his sepulchre unto this day.

CHILION. Would thou couldst see these places, as I see them.

BARTIMEUS. I have not seen a glimmer of the light Since thou wast born. I never saw thy face, And yet I seem to see it; and one day Perhaps shall see it; for there is a Prophet In Galilee, the Messiah, the Son of David, Who heals the blind, if I could only find him. I hear the sound of many feet approaching, And voices, like the murmur of a crowd! What seest thou?

CHILION. A young man clad in white Is coming through the gateway, and a crowd Of people follow.

BARTIMEUS. Can it be the Prophet! O neighbors, tell me who it is that passes?

ONE OF THE CROWD. Jesus of Nazareth.

BARTIMEUS, crying. O Son of David! Have mercy on me!

MANY OP THE CROWD. Peace. Blind Bartimeus! Do not disturb the Master.

BARTIMEUS, crying more vehemently. Son of David, Have mercy on me!

ONE OF THE CROWD. See, the Master stops. Be of good comfort; rise, He calleth thee!

BARTIMEUS, casting away his cloak. Chilion! good neighbors! lead me on.

CHRISTUS. What wilt thou That I should do to thee?

BARTIMEUS. Good Lord! my sight-- That I receive my sight!

CHRISTUS. Receive thy sight! Thy faith hath made thee whole!

THE CROWD. He sees again!

CHRISTUS passes on, The crowd gathers round BARTIMEUS.

BARTIMEUS. I see again; but sight bewilders me! Like a remembered dream, familiar things Come back to me. I see the tender sky Above me, see the trees, the city walls, And the old gateway, through whose echoing arch I groped so many years; and you, my neighbors; But know you by your friendly voices only. How beautiful the world is! and how wide! Oh, I am miles away, if I but look! Where art thou, Chilion?

CHILION. Father, I am here.

BARTIMEUS. Oh let me gaze upon thy face, dear child! For I have only seen thee with my hands! How beautiful thou art! I should have known thee; Thou hast her eyes whom we shall see hereafter! O God of Abraham! Elion! Adonai! Who art thyself a Father, pardon me If for a moment I have thee postponed To the affections and the thoughts of earth, Thee, and the adoration that I owe thee, When by thy power alone these darkened eyes Have been unsealed again to see thy light!

VI

JACOB'S WELL

A SAMARITAN WOMAN. The sun is hot; and the dry east-wind blowing Fills all the air with dust. The birds are silent; Even the little fieldfares in the corn No longer twitter; only the grasshoppers Sing their incessant song of sun and summer. I wonder who those strangers were I met Going into the city? Galileans They seemed to me in speaking, when they asked The short way to the market-place. Perhaps They are fishermen from the lake; or travellers, Looking to find the inn. And here is some one Sitting beside the well; another stranger; A Galilean also by his looks. What can so many Jews be doing here Together in Samaria? Are they going Up to Jerusalem to the Passover? Our Passover is better here at Sychem, For here is Ebal; here is Gerizim, The mountain where our father Abraham Went up to offer Isaac; here the tomb Of Joseph,--for they brought his bones Egypt And buried them in this land, and it is holy.

CHRISTUS. Give me to drink.

SAMARITAN WOMAN. How can it be that thou, Being a Jew, askest to drink of me Which am a woman of Samaria? You Jews despise us; have no dealings with us; Make us a byword; call us in derision The silly folk of Sychar. Sir, how is it Thou askest drink of me?

CHRISTUS. If thou hadst known The gift of God, and who it is that sayeth Give me to drink, thou wouldst have asked of Him; He would have given thee the living water.

SAMARITAN WOMAN. Sir, thou hast naught to draw with, and the well Is deep! Whence hast thou living water? Say, art thou greater than our father Jacob, Which gave this well to us, and drank thereof Himself, and all his children and his cattle?

CHRISTUS. Ah, whosoever drinketh of this water Shall thirst again; but whosoever drinketh The water I shall give him shall not thirst Forevermore, for it shall be within him A well of living water, springing up Into life everlasting.

SAMARITAN WOMAN. Every day I must go to and fro, in heat and cold, And I am weary. Give me of this water, That I may thirst not, nor come here to draw.

CHRISTUS. Go call thy husband, woman, and come hither.

SAMARITAN WOMAN. I have no husband, Sir.

CHRISTUS. Thou hast well said I have no husband. Thou hast had five husbands; And he whom now thou hast is not thy husband.

SAMARITAN WOMAN. Surely thou art a Prophet, for thou readest The hidden things of life! Our fathers worshipped Upon this mountain Gerizim; and ye say The only place in which men ought to worship Is at Jerusalem.

CHRISTUS. Believe me, woman, The hour is coming, when ye neither shall Upon this mount, nor at Jerusalem, Worship the Father; for the hour is coming, And is now come, when the true worshippers Shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth! The Father seeketh such to worship Him. God is a spirit; and they that worship Him Must worship Him in spirit and in truth.

SAMARITAN WOMAN. Master, I know that the Messiah cometh, Which is called Christ; and he will tell us all things.

CHRISTUS. I that speak unto thee am He!

THE DISCIPLES, returning. Behold, The Master sitting by the well, and talking With a Samaritan woman! With a woman Of Sychar, the silly people, always boasting Of their Mount Ebal, and Mount Gerizim, Their Everlasting Mountain, which they think Higher and holier than our Mount Moriah! Why, once upon the Feast of the New Moon, When our great Sanhedrim of Jerusalem Had all its watch-fires kindled on the hills To warn the distant villages, these people Lighted up others to mislead the Jews, And make a mockery of their festival! See, she has left the Master; and is running Back to the city!

SAMARITAN WOMAN. Oh, come see a man Who hath told me all things that I ever did! Say, is not this the Christ?

THE DISCIPLES. Lo, Master, here Is food, that we have brought thee from the city. We pray thee eat it.

CHRISTUS. I have food to eat Ye know not of.

THE DISCIPLES, to each other. Hath any man been here, And brought Him aught to eat, while we were gone?

CHRISTUS. The food I speak of is to do the will Of Him that sent me, and to finish his work. Do ye not say, Lo! there are yet four months And cometh, harvest? I say unto you, Lift up your eyes, and look upon the fields, For they are white already unto harvest!

VII

THE COASTS OF CAESAREA PHILIPPI

CHRISTUS, going up the mountain. Who do the people say I am?

JOHN. Some say That thou art John the Baptist; some, Elias; And others Jeremiah.

JAMES. Or that one Of the old Prophets is risen again.

CHRISTUS. But who say ye I am?

PETER. Thou art the Christ? Thou art the Son of God!

CHRISTUS. Blessed art thou, Simon Barjona! Flesh and blood hath not Revealed it unto thee, but even my Father, Which is in Heaven. And I say unto thee That thou art Peter; and upon this rock I build my Church, and all the gates of Hell Shall not prevail against it. But take heed Ye tell no man that I am the Christ. For I must go up to Jerusalem, And suffer many things, and be rejected Of the Chief Priests, and of the Scribes and Elders, And must be crucified, and the third day Shall rise again!

PETER. Be it far from thee, Lord! This shall not be!

CHRISTUS. Get thee behind me, Satan! Thou savorest not the things that be of God, But those that be of men! If any will Come after me, let him deny himself, And daily take his cross, and follow me. For whosoever will save his life shall lose it, And whosoever will lose his life shall find it. For wherein shall a man be profited If he shall gain the whole world, and shall lose Himself or be a castaway?

JAMES, after a long pause. Why doth The Master lead us up into this mountain?

PETER. He goeth up to pray.

JOHN. See where He standeth Above us on the summit of the hill! His face shines as the sun! and all his raiment Exceeding white as snow, so as no fuller On earth can white them! He is not alone; There are two with him there; two men of eld, Their white beards blowing on the mountain air, Are talking with him.

JAMES. I am sore afraid!

PETER. Who and whence are they?

JOHN. Moses and Elias!

PETER. O Master! it is good for us to be here! If thou wilt, let us make three tabernacles; For thee one, and for Moses and Elias!

JOHN. Behold a bright cloud sailing in the sun! It overshadows us. A golden mist Now hides them from us, and envelops us And all the mountains in a luminous shadow! I see no more. The nearest rocks are hidden.

VOICE from the cloud. Lo! this is my beloved Son! Hear Him!

PETER. It is the voice of God. He speaketh to us, As from the burning bush He spake to Moses!

JOHN. The cloud-wreaths roll away. The veil is lifted; We see again. Behold! He is alone. It was a vision that our eyes beheld, And it hath vanished into the unseen.

CHRISTUS, coming down from the mountain. I charge ye, tell the vision unto no one, Till the Son of Man is risen from the dead!

PETER, aside. Again He speaks of it! What can it mean, This rising from the dead?

JAMES. Why say the Scribe! Elias must first come?

CHRISTUS. He cometh first, Restoring all things. But I say to you, That this Elias is already come. They knew him not, but have done unto him Whate'er they listed, as is written of him.

PETER, aside. It is of John the Baptist He is speaking.

JAMES. As we descend, see, at the mountain's foot, A crowd of people; coming, going, thronging Round the disciples, that we left behind us, Seeming impatient, that we stay so long.

PETER. It is some blind man, or some paralytic That waits the Master's coming to be healed.

JAMES. I see a boy, who struggles and demeans him As if an unclean spirit tormented him!

A CERTAIN MAN, running forward. Lord! I beseech thee, look upon my son. He is mine only child; a lunatic, And sorely vexed; for oftentimes he falleth Into the fire and oft into the water. Wherever the dumb spirit taketh him He teareth him. He gnasheth with his teeth, And pines away. I spake to thy disciples That they should cast him out, and they could not.

CHRISTUS. O faithless generation and perverse! How long shall I be with you, and suffer you? Bring thy son hither.

BYSTANDERS. How the unclean spirit Seizes the boy, and tortures him with pain! He falleth to the ground and wallows, foaming! He cannot live.

CHRISTUS. How long is it ago Since this came unto him?

THE FATHER. Even of a child. Oh, have compassion on us, Lord, and help us, If thou canst help us.

CHRISTUS. If thou canst believe. For unto him that verily believeth, All things are possible.

THE FATHER. Lord, I believe! Help thou mine unbelief!

CHRISTUS. Dumb and deaf spirit, Come out of him, I charge thee, and no more Enter thou into him!

The boy utters a loud cry of pain, and then lies still.

BYSTANDERS. How motionless He lieth there. No life is left in him. His eyes are like a blind man's, that see not. The boy is dead!

OTHERS. Behold! the Master stoops, And takes him by the hand, and lifts him up. He is not dead.

DISCIPLES. But one word from those lips, But one touch of that hand, and he is healed! Ah, why could we not do it?

THE FATHER. My poor child! Now thou art mine again. The unclean spirit Shall never more torment thee! Look at me! Speak unto me! Say that thou knowest me!

DISCIPLES to CHRISTUS departing. Good Master, tell us, for what reason was it We could not cast him out?

CHRISTUS. Because of your unbelief!

VIII

THE YOUNG RULER

CHRISTUS. Two men went up into the temple to pray. The one was a self-righteous Pharisee, The other a Publican. And the Pharisee Stood and prayed thus within himself: O God, I thank thee I am not as other men, Extortioners, unjust, adulterers, Or even as this Publican. I fast Twice in the week, and also I give tithes Of all that I possess! The Publican, Standing afar off, would not lift so much Even as his eyes to heaven, but smote his breast, Saying: God be merciful to me a sinner! I tell you that this man went to his house More justified than the other. Every one That doth exalt himself shall be abased, And he that humbleth himself shall be exalted!

CHILDREN, among themselves. Let us go nearer! He is telling stories! Let us go listen to them.

AN OLD JEW. Children, children! What are ye doing here? Why do ye crowd us? It was such little vagabonds as you That followed Elisha, mucking him and crying: Go up, thou bald-head! But the bears--the bears Came out of the wood, and tare them!

A MOTHER. Speak not thus! We brought them here, that He might lay his hands On them, and bless them.

CHRISTUS. Suffer little children To come unto me, and forbid them not; Of such is the kingdom of heaven; and their angels Look always on my Father's face.

Takes them in his arms and blesses them.

A YOUNG RULER, running. Good Master! What good thing shall I do, that I may have Eternal life?

CHRISTUS. Why callest thou me good? There is none good but one, and that is God. If thou wilt enter into life eternal, Keep the commandments.

YOUNG RULER. Which of them?

CHRISTUS. Thou shalt not Commit adultery; thou shalt not kill; Thou shalt not steal; thou shalt not bear false witness; Honor thy father and thy mother; and love Thy neighbor as thyself.

YOUNG RULER. From my youth up All these things have I kept. What lack I yet?

JOHN. With what divine compassion in his eyes The Master looks upon this eager youth, As if he loved him!

CHRISTUS. Wouldst thou perfect be, Sell all thou hast, and give it to the poor, And come, take up thy cross, and follow me, And thou shalt have thy treasure in the heavens.

JOHN. Behold, how sorrowful he turns away!

CHRISTUS. Children! how hard it is for them that trust In riches to enter into the kingdom of God! 'T is easier for a camel to go through A needle's eye, than for the rich to enter The kingdom of God!

JOHN. Ah, who then can be saved?

CHRISTUS. With men this is indeed impossible, But unto God all things are possible!

PETER. Behold, we have left all, and followed thee. What shall we have therefor?

CHRISTUS. Eternal life.

IX

AT BETHANY

MARTHA busy about household affairs. MARY sitting at the feet of CHRISTUS.

MARTHA. She sitteth idly at the Master's feet. And troubles not herself with household cares. 'T is the old story. When a guest arrives She gives up all to be with him; while I Must be the drudge, make ready the guest-chamber, Prepare the food, set everything in order, And see that naught is wanting in the house. She shows her love by words, and I by works.

MARY. O Master! when thou comest, it is always A Sabbath in the house. I cannot work; I must sit at thy feet; must see thee, hear thee! I have a feeble, wayward, doubting heart, Incapable of endurance or great thoughts, Striving for something that it cannot reach, Baffled and disappointed, wounded, hungry; And only when I hear thee am I happy, And only when I see thee am at peace! Stronger than I, and wiser, and far better In every manner, is my sister Martha. Thou seest how well she orders everything To make thee welcome; how she comes and goes, Careful and cumbered ever with much serving, While I but welcome thee with foolish words! Whene'er thou speakest to me, I am happy; When thou art silent, I am satisfied. Thy presence is enough. I ask no more. Only to be with thee, only to see thee, Sufficeth me. My heart is then at rest. I wonder I am worthy of so much.

MARTHA. Lord, dost thou care not that my sister Mary Hath left me thus to wait on thee alone? I pray thee, bid her help me.

CHRISTUS. Martha, Martha, Careful and troubled about many things Art thou, and yet one thing alone is needful! Thy sister Mary hath chosen that good part, Which never shall be taken away from her!

X

BORN BLIND

A JEW. Who is this beggar blinking in the sun? Is it not he who used to sit and beg By the Gate Beautiful?

ANOTHER. It is the same.

A THIRD. It is not he, but like him, for that beggar Was blind from birth. It cannot be the same.

THE BEGGAR. Yea, I am he.

A JEW. How have thine eyes been opened?

THE BEGGAR. A man that is called Jesus made a clay And put it on mine eyes, and said to me: Go to Siloam's Pool and wash thyself. I went and washed, and I received my sight.

A JEW. Where is he?

THE BEGGAR. I know not.

PHARISEES. What is this crowd Gathered about a beggar? What has happened?

A JEW. Here is a man who hath been blind from birth, And now he sees. He says a man called Jesus Hath healed him.

PHARISEES. As God liveth, the Nazarene! How was this done?

THE BEGGAR. Rabboni, he put clay Upon mine eyes; I washed, and now I see.

PHARISEES. When did he this?

THE BEGGAR. Rabboni, yesterday.

PHARISEES. The Sabbath day. This man is not of God, Because he keepeth not the Sabbath day!

A JEW. How can a man that is a sinner do Such miracles?

PHARISEES. What dost thou say of him That hath restored thy sight?

THE BEGGAR. He is a Prophet.

A JEW. This is a wonderful story, but not true, A beggar's fiction. He was not born blind, And never has been blind!

OTHERS. Here are his parents. Ask them.

PHARISEES. Is this your son?

THE PARENTS. Rabboni, yea; We know this is our son.

PHARISEES. Was he born blind?

THE PARENTS. He was born blind.

PHARISEES. Then how doth he now see?

THE PARENTS, aside. What answer shall we make? If we confess It was the Christ, we shall be driven forth Out of the Synagogue! We know, Rabboni, This is our son, and that he was born blind; But by what means he seeth, we know not, Or who his eyes hath opened, we know not. He is of age; ask him; we cannot say; He shall speak for himself.

PHARISEES. Give God the praise! We know the man that healed thee is a sinner!

THE BEGGAR. Whether He be a sinner, I know not; One thing I know; that whereas I was blind, I now do see.

PHARISEES. How opened he thine eyes? What did he do?

THE BEGGAR. I have already told you. Ye did not hear: why would ye hear again? Will ye be his disciples?

PHARISEES. God of Moses! Are we demoniacs, are we halt or blind, Or palsy-stricken, or lepers, or the like, That we should join the Synagogue of Satan, And follow jugglers? Thou art his disciple, But we are disciples of Moses; and we know That God spake unto Moses; but this fellow, We know not whence he is!

THE BEGGAR. Why, herein is A marvellous thing! Ye know not whence he is, Yet he hath opened mine eyes! We know that God Heareth not sinners; but if any man Doeth God's will, and is his worshipper, Him doth he hear. Oh, since the world began It was not heard that any man hath opened The eyes of one that was born blind. If He Were not of God, surely he could do nothing!

PHARISEES. Thou, who wast altogether born in sins And in iniquities, dost thou teach us? Away with thee out of the holy places, Thou reprobate, thou beggar, thou blasphemer!

THE BEGGAR is cast out.

XI

SIMON MAGUS AND HELEN OF TYRE

On the house-top at Endor. Night. A lighted lantern on a table.

SIMON. Swift are the blessed Immortals to the mortal That perseveres! So doth it stand recorded In the divine Chaldaean Oracles Of Zoroaster, once Ezekiel's slave, Who in his native East betook himself To lonely meditation, and the writing On the dried skins of oxen the Twelve Books Of the Avesta and the Oracles! Therefore I persevere; and I have brought thee From the great city of Tyre, where men deride The things they comprehend not, to this plain Of Esdraelon, in the Hebrew tongue Called Armageddon, and this town of Endor, Where men believe; where all the air is full Of marvellous traditions, and the Enchantress That summoned up the ghost of Samuel Is still remembered. Thou hast seen the land; Is it not fair to look on?

HELEN. It is fair, Yet not so fair as Tyre.

SIMON. Is not Mount Tabor As beautiful as Carmel by the Sea?

HELEN. It is too silent and too solitary; I miss the tumult of the street; the sounds Of traffic, and the going to and fro Of people in gay attire, with cloaks of purple, And gold and silver jewelry!

SIMON. Inventions Of Abriman, the spirit of the dark, The Evil Spirit!

HELEN. I regret the gossip Of friends and neighbors at the open door On summer nights.

SIMON. An idle waste of time.

HELEN. The singing and the dancing, the delight Of music and of motion. Woe is me, To give up all these pleasures, and to lead The life we lead!

SIMON. Thou canst not raise thyself Up to the level of my higher thought, And though possessing thee, I still remain Apart from thee, and with thee, am alone In my high dreams.

HELEN. Happier was I in Tyre. Oh, I remember how the gallant ships Came sailing in, with ivory, gold, and silver, And apes and peacocks; and the singing sailors, And the gay captains with their silken dresses, Smelling of aloes, myrrh, and cinnamon!

SIMON. But the dishonor, Helen! Let the ships Of Tarshish howl for that!

HELEN. And what dishonor? Remember Rahab, and how she became The ancestress of the great Psalmist David; And wherefore should not I, Helen of Tyre, Attain like honor?

SIMON. Thou art Helen of Tyre, And hast been Helen of Troy, and hast been Rahab, The Queen of Sheha, and Semiramis, And Sara of seven husbands, and Jezebel, And other women of the like allurements; And now thou art Minerva, the first Aeon, The Mother of Angels!

HELEN. And the concubine Of Simon the Magician! Is it honor For one who has been all these noble dames, To tramp about the dirty villages And cities of Samaria with a juggler? A charmer of serpents?

SIMON. He who knows himself Knows all things in himself. I have charmed thee, Thou beautiful asp: yet am I no magician, I am the Power of God, and the Beauty of God! I am the Paraclete, the Comforter!

HELEN. Illusions! Thou deceiver, self-deceived! Thou dost usurp the titles of another; Thou art not what thou sayest.

SIMON. Am I not? Then feel my power.

HELEN. Would I had ne'er left Tyre!

He looks at her, and she sinks into a deep sleep.

SIMON. Go, see it in thy dreams, fair unbeliever! And leave me unto mine, if they be dreams, That take such shapes before me, that I see them; These effable and ineffable impressions Of the mysterious world, that come to me From the elements of Fire and Earth and Water, And the all-nourishing Ether! It is written, Look not on Nature, for her name is fatal! Yet there are Principles, that make apparent The images of unapparent things, And the impression of vague characters And visions most divine appear in ether. So speak the Oracles; then wherefore fatal? I take this orange-bough, with its five leaves, Each equidistant on the upright stem; And I project them on a plane below, In the circumference of a circle drawn About a centre where the stem is planted, And each still equidistant from the other, As if a thread of gossamer were drawn Down from each leaf, and fastened with a pin. Now if from these five points a line be traced To each alternate point, we shall obtain The Pentagram, or Solomon's Pentangle, A charm against all witchcraft, and a sign, Which on the banner of Antiochus Drove back the fierce barbarians of the North, Demons esteemed, and gave the Syrian King The sacred name of Soter, or of Savior. Thus Nature works mysteriously with man; And from the Eternal One, as from a centre, All things proceed, in fire, air, earth, and water, And all are subject to one law, which, broken Even in a single point, is broken in all; Demons rush in, and chaos comes again. By this will I compel the stubborn spirits, That guard the treasures, hid in caverns deep On Gerizim, by Uzzi the High-Priest, The ark and holy vessels, to reveal Their secret unto me, and to restore These precious things to the Samaritans. A mist is rising from the plain below me, And as I look, the vapors shape themselves Into strange figures, as if unawares My lips had breathed the Tetragrammaton, And from their graves, o'er all the battlefields Of Armageddon, the long-buried captains Had started, with their thousands, and ten thousands, And rushed together to renew their wars, Powerless, and weaponless, and without a sound! Wake, Helen, from thy sleep! The air grows cold; Let us go down.

HELEN, awaking. Oh, would I were at home!

SIMON. Thou sayest that I usurp another's titles. In youth I saw the Wise Men of the East, Magalath and Pangalath and Saracen, Who followed the bright star, but home returned For fear of Herod by another way. O shining worlds above me! in what deep Recesses of your realms of mystery Lies hidden now that star? and where are they That brought the gifts of frankincense and myrrh?

HELEN. The Nazarene still liveth.

SIMON. We have heard His name in many towns, but have not seen Him. He flits before us; tarries not; is gone When we approach, like something unsubstantial, Made of the air, and fading into air. He is at Nazareth, He is at Nain, Or at the Lovely Village on the Lake, Or sailing on its waters.

HELEN. So say those Who do not wish to find Him.

SIMON. Can this be The King of Israel, whom the Wise Men worshipped? Or does He fear to meet me? It would seem so. We should soon learn which of us twain usurps The titles of the other, as thou sayest.

They go down.

THE THIRD PASSOVER

I

THE ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM

THE SYRO-PHOENICIAN WOMAN and her DAUGHTER on the house-top at Jerusalem.

THE DAUGHTER, singing. Blind Bartimeus at the gates Of Jericho in darkness waits; He hears the crowd;—he hears a breath Say, “It is Christ of Nazareth!” And calls, in tones of agony, Ἰησοῦ, ἐλέησόν με!

The thronging multitudes increase; Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace! But still, above the noisy crowd, The beggar’s cry is shrill and loud; Until they say, “He calleth thee!” Θάρσει ἔγειραι, φωνεῖ δε!

Then saith the Christ, as silent stands The crowd, “What wilt thou at my hands?” And he replies, “O give me light! Rabbi, restore the blind man’s sight.” And Jesus answers, Ὕπαγε Ἡ πίστις σου σέσωκέ δε!

Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see, In darkness and in misery, Recall those mighty Voices Three, Ἰησοῦ, ἐλέησόν με! Θάρσει ἔγειραι, ὕπαγε! Ἡ πίστις σου σέσωκέ δε!

THE MOTHER. Thy faith hath saved thee! Ah, how true that is! For I had faith; and when the Master came Into the coasts of Tyre and Sidon, fleeing From those who sought to slay him, I went forth And cried unto Him, saying: Have mercy on me, O Lord, thou Son of David! for my daughter Is grievously tormented with a devil. But he passed on, and answered not a word. And his disciples said, beseeching Him: Send her away! She crieth after us! And then the Master answered them and said: I am not sent but unto the lost sheep Of the House of Israel! Then I worshipped Him, Saying: Lord help me! And He answered me, It is not meet to take the children's bread And cast it unto dogs! Truth, Lord, I said; And yet the dogs may eat the crumbs which fall From off their master's table; and he turned, And answered me; and said to me: O woman, Great is thy faith; then be it unto thee Even as thou wilt. And from that very hour Thou wast made whole, my darling! my delight!

THE DAUGHTER. There came upon my dark and troubled mind A calm, as when the tumult of the City Suddenly ceases, and I lie and hear The silver trumpets of the Temple blowing Their welcome to the Sabbath. Still I wonder, That one who was so far away from me And could not see me, by his thought alone Had power to heal me. Oh that I could see Him!

THE MOTHER. Perhaps thou wilt; for I have brought thee here To keep the holy Passover, and lay Thine offering of thanksgiving on the altar. Thou mayst both see and hear Him. Hark!

VOICES afar off. Hosanna!

THE DAUGHTER. A crowd comes pouring through the city gate! O mother, look!

VOICES in the street. Hosanna to the Son Of David!

THE DAUGHTER. A great multitude of people Fills all the street; and riding on an ass Comes one of noble aspect, like a king! The people spread their garments in the way, And scatter branches of the palm-trees!

VOICES. Blessed Is he that cometh in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!

OTHER VOICES. Who is this?

VOICES. Jesus of Nazareth!

THE DAUGHTER. Mother, it is he!

VOICES. He hath called Lazarus of Bethany Out of his grave, and raised him from the dead! Hosanna in the highest!

PHARISEES. Ye perceive That nothing we prevail. Behold, the world Is all gone after him!

THE DAUGHTER. What majesty, What power is in that care-worn countenance! What sweetness, what compassion! I no longer Wonder that he hath healed me!

VOICES. Peace in heaven, And glory in the highest!

PHARISEES. Rabbi! Rabbi! Rebuke thy followers!

CHRISTUS. Should they hold their peace The very stones beneath us would cry out!

THE DAUGHTER. All hath passed by me like a dream of wonder! But I have seen Him, and have heard his voice, And I am satisfied! I ask no more!

II

SOLOMON'S PORCH

GAMALIEL THE SCRIBE. When Rabban Simeon--upon whom be peace!-- Taught in these Schools, he boasted that his pen Had written no word that he could call his own, But wholly and always had been consecrated To the transcribing of the Law and Prophets. He used to say, and never tired of saying, The world itself was built upon the Law. And ancient Hillel said, that whosoever Gains a good name gains something for himself, But he who gains a knowledge of the Law Gains everlasting life. And they spake truly. Great is the Written Law; but greater still The Unwritten, the Traditions of the Elders, The lovely words of Levites, spoken first To Moses on the Mount, and handed down From mouth to mouth, in one unbroken sound And sequence of divine authority, The voice of God resounding through the ages.

The Written Law is water; the Unwritten Is precious wine; the Written Law is salt, The Unwritten costly spice; the Written Law Is but the body; the Unwritten, the soul That quickens it and makes it breathe and live. I can remember, many years ago, A little bright-eyed school-boy, a mere stripling, Son of a Galilean carpenter, From Nazareth, I think, who came one day And sat here in the Temple with the Scribes, Hearing us speak, and asking many questions, And we were all astonished at his quickness. And when his mother came, and said: Behold Thy father and I have sought thee, sorrowing; He looked as one astonished, and made answer, How is it that ye sought me? Wist ye not That I must be about my Father's business? Often since then I see him here among us, Or dream I see him, with his upraised face Intent and eager, and I often wonder Unto what manner of manhood he hath grown! Perhaps a poor mechanic like his father, Lost in his little Galilean village And toiling at his craft, to die unknown And he no more remembered among men.

CHRISTUS, in the outer court. The Scribes and Pharisees sit in Moses' seat; All, therefore, whatsoever they command you, Observe and do; but follow not their works They say and do not. They bind heavy burdens And very grievous to be borne, and lay them Upon men's shoulders, but they move them not With so much as a finger!

GAMALIEL, looking forth. Who is this Exhorting in the outer courts so loudly?

CHRISTUS. Their works they do for to be seen of men. They make broad their phylacteries, and enlarge The borders of their garments, and they love The uppermost rooms at feasts, and the chief seats In Synagogues, and greetings in the markets, And to be called of all men Rabbi, Rabbi!

GAMALIEL. It is that loud and turbulent Galilean, That came here at the Feast of Dedication, And stirred the people up to break the Law!

CHRISTUS. Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Pharisees, Ye hypocrites! for ye shut up the kingdom Of heaven, and neither go ye in yourselves Nor suffer them that are entering to go in!

GAMALIEL. How eagerly the people throng and listen, As if his ribald words were words of wisdom!

CHRISTUS. Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Pharisees, Ye hypocrites! for ye devour the houses Of widows, and for pretence ye make long prayers; Therefore shall ye receive the more damnation.

GAMALIEL. This brawler is no Jew,--he is a vile Samaritan, and hath an unclean spirit!

CHRISTUS. Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Pharisees, Ye hypocrites! ye compass sea and land To make one proselyte, and when he is made Ye make him twofold more the child of hell Than you yourselves are!

GAMALIEL. O my father's father! Hillel of blessed memory, hear and judge!

CHRISTUS. Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Pharisees, Ye hypocrites! for ye pay tithe of mint, Of anise, and of cumin, and omit The weightier matters of the law of God, Judgment and faith and mercy; and all these Ye ought to have done, nor leave undone the others!

GAMALIEL. O Rabban Simeon! how must thy bones Stir in their grave to hear such blasphemies!

CHRISTUS. Woe unto you, ye Scribes, and Pharisees, Ye hypocrites! for ye make clean and sweet The outside of the cup and of the platter, But they within are full of all excess!

GAMALIEL. Patience of God! canst thou endure so long? Or art thou deaf, or gone upon a journey?

CHRISTUS. Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Pharisees, Ye hypocrites! for ye are very like To whited sepulchres, which indeed appear Beautiful outwardly, but are within Filled full of dead men's bones and all uncleanness!

GAMALIEL. Am I awake? Is this Jerusalem? And are these Jews that throng and stare and listen?

CHRISTUS. Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Pharisees, Ye hypocrites! because ye build the tombs Of prophets, and adorn the sepulchres Of righteous men, and say: if we had lived When lived our fathers, we would not have been Partakers with them in the blood of Prophets. So ye be witnesses unto yourselves, That ye are children of them that killed the Prophets! Fill ye up then the measure of your fathers. I send unto you Prophets and Wise Men, And Scribes, and some ye crucify, and some Scourge in your Synagogues, and persecute From city to city; that on you may come The righteous blood that hath been shed on earth, From the blood of righteous Abel to the blood Of Zacharias, son of Barachias, Ye slew between the Temple and the altar!

GAMALIEL. Oh, had I here my subtle dialectician, My little Saul of Tarsus, the tent-maker, Whose wit is sharper than his needle's point, He would delight to foil this noisy wrangler!

CHRISTUS. Jerusalem! Jerusalem! O thou That killest the Prophets, and that stonest them Which are sent unto thee, how often would I Have gathered together thy children, as a hen Gathereth her chickens underneath her wing, And ye would not! Behold, your house is left Unto you desolate!

THE PEOPLE. This is a Prophet! This is the Christ that was to come!

GAMALIEL. Ye fools! Think ye, shall Christ come out of Galilee?

III

LORD, IS IT I?

CHRISTUS. One of you shall betray me.

THE DISCIPLES. Is it I? Lord, is it I?

CHRISTUS. One of the Twelve it is That dippeth with me in this dish his hand; He shall betray me. Lo, the Son of Man Goeth indeed as it is written of Him; But woe shall be unto that man by whom He is betrayed! Good were it for that man If he had ne'er been born!

JUDAS ISCARIOT. Lord, is it I?

CHRISTUS. Ay, thou hast said. And that thou doest, do quickly.

JUDAS ISCARIOT, going out. Ah, woe is me!

CHRISTUS. All ye shall be offended Because of me this night; for it is written: Awake, O sword, against my shepherd! Smite The shepherd, saith the Lord of hosts, and scattered Shall be the sheep!--But after I am risen I go before you into Galilee.

PETER. O Master! though all men shall be offended Because of thee, yet will not I be!

CHRISTUS. Simon, Behold how Satan hath desired to have you, That he may sift you as one sifteth wheat! Whither I go thou canst not follow me-- Not now; but thou shalt follow me hereafter.

PETER. Wherefore can I not follow thee? I am ready To go with thee to prison and to death.

CHRISTUS. Verily I say unto thee, this night, Ere the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice!

PETER. Though I should die, yet will I not deny thee.

CHRISTUS. When first I sent you forth without a purse, Or scrip, or shoes, did ye lack anything?

THE DISCIPLES. Not anything.

CHRISTUS. But he that hath a purse, Now let him take it, and likewise his scrip; And he that hath no sword, let him go sell His clothes and buy one. That which hath been written Must be accomplished now: He hath poured out His soul even unto death; he hath been numbered With the transgressors, and himself hath borne The sin of many, and made intercession For the transgressors. And here have an end The things concerning me.

PETER. Behold, O Lord, Behold here are two swords!

CHRISTUS. It is enough.

IV

THE GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE

CHRISTUS. My spirit is exceeding sorrowful Even unto death! Tarry ye here and watch.

He goes apart.

PETER. Under this ancient olive-tree, that spreads Its broad centennial branches like a tent, Let us lie down and rest.

JOHN. What are those torches, That glimmer on Brook Kedron there below us?

JAMES. It is some marriage feast; the joyful maidens Go out to meet the bridegroom.

PETER. I am weary. The struggles of this day have overcome me.

They sleep.

CHRISTUS, falling on his face. Father! all things are possible to thee,-- Oh let this cup pass from me! Nevertheless Not as I will, but as thou wilt, be done!

Returning to the Disciples.

What! could ye not watch with me for one hour? Oh watch and pray, that ye may enter not Into temptation. For the spirit indeed Is willing, but the flesh is weak!

JOHN. Alas! It is for sorrow that our eyes are heavy.-- I see again the glimmer of those torches Among the olives; they are coming hither.

JAMES. Outside the garden wall the path divides; Surely they come not hither.

They sleep again.

CHRISTUS, as before. O my Father! If this cup may not pass away from me, Except I drink of it, thy will be done.

Returning to the Disciples.

Sleep on; and take your rest!

JOHN. Beloved Master, Alas! we know not what to answer thee! It is for sorrow that our eves are heavy.-- Behold, the torches now encompass us.

JAMES. They do but go about the garden wall, Seeking for some one, or for something lost.

They sleep again.

CHRISTUS, as before. If this cup may not pass away from me, Except I drink of it, thy will be done.

Returning to the Disciples.

It is enough! Behold, the Son of Man Hath been betrayed into the hands of sinners! The hour is come. Rise up, let us be going; For he that shall betray me is at hand.

JOHN. Ah me! See, from his forehead, in the torchlight, Great drops of blood are falling to the ground!

PETER. What lights are these? What torches glare and glisten Upon the swords and armor of these men? And there among them Judas Iscariot!

He smites the servant of the High-Priest with his sword.

CHRISTUS. Put up thy sword into its sheath; for they That take the sword shall perish with the sword. The cup my Father hath given me to drink, Shall I not drink it? Think'st thou that I cannot Pray to my Father, and that he shall give me More than twelve legions of angels presently!

JUDAS to CHRISTUS, kissing him. Hail, Master! hail!

CHRISTUS. Friend, wherefore art thou come? Whom seek ye?

CAPTAIN OF THE TEMPLE. Jesus of Nazareth.

CHRISTUS. I am he. Are ye come hither as against a thief, With swords and staves to take me? When I daily Was with you in the Temple, ye stretched forth No hands to take me! But this is your hour, And this the power of darkness. If ye seek Me only, let these others go their way.

The Disciples depart. CHRISTUS is bound and led away. A certain young man follows him, having a linen cloth cast about his body. They lay hold of him, and the young man flees from them naked.

V

THE PALACE OF CAIAPHAS

PHARISEES. What do we? Clearly something must we do, For this man worketh many miracles.

CAIAPHAS. I am informed that he is a mechanic; A carpenter's son; a Galilean peasant, Keeping disreputable company.

PHARISEES. The people say that here in Bethany He hath raised up a certain Lazarus, Who had been dead three days.

CAIAPHAS. Impossible! There is no resurrection of the dead; This Lazarus should be taken, and put to death As an impostor. If this Galilean Would be content to stay in Galilee, And preach in country towns, I should not heed him. But when he comes up to Jerusalem Riding in triumph, as I am informed, And drives the money-changers from the Temple, That is another matter.

PHARISEES. If we thus Let him alone, all will believe on him, And then the Romans come and take away Our place and nation.

CAIAPHAS. Ye know nothing at all. Simon Ben Camith, my great predecessor, On whom be peace! would have dealt presently With such a demagogue. I shall no less. The man must die. Do ye consider not It is expedient that one man should die, Not the whole nation perish? What is death? It differeth from sleep but in duration. We sleep and wake again; an hour or two Later or earlier, and it matters not, And if we never wake it matters not; When we are in our graves we are at peace, Nothing can wake us or disturb us more. There is no resurrection.

PHARISEES, aside. O most faithful Disciple of Hircanus Maccabaeus, Will nothing but complete annihilation Comfort and satisfy thee?

CAIAPHAS. While ye are talking And plotting, and contriving how to take him, Fearing the people, and so doing naught, I, who fear not the people, have been acting; Have taken this Prophet, this young Nazarene, Who by Beelzebub the Prince of devils Casteth out devils, and doth raise the dead, That might as well be dead, and left in peace. Annas my father-in-law hath sent him hither. I hear the guard. Behold your Galilean!

CHRISTUS is brought in bound.

SERVANT, in the vestibule. Why art thou up so late, my pretty damsel?

DAMSEL. Why art thou up so early, pretty man? It is not cock-crow yet, and art thou stirring?

SERVANT. What brings thee here?

DAMSEL. What brings the rest of you?

SERVANT. Come here and warm thy hands.

DAMSEL to PETER. Art thou not One of this man's also disciples?

PETER. I am not.

DAMSEL. Now surely thou art also one of them; Thou art a Galilean, and thy speech Betrayeth thee.

PETER. Woman, I know him not!

CAIAPHAS to CHRISTUS, in the Hall. Who art thou? Tell us plainly of thyself And of thy doctrines, and of thy disciples.

CHRISTUS. Lo, I have spoken openly to the world, I have taught ever in the Synagogue, And in the Temple, where the Jews resort In secret have said nothing. Wherefore then Askest thou me of this? Ask them that heard me What I have said to them. Behold, they know What I have said!

OFFICER, striking him, What, fellow! answerest thou The High-Priest so?

CHRISTUS. If I have spoken evil, Bear witness of the evil; but if well, Why smitest thou me?

CAIAPHAS. Where are the witnesses? Let them say what they know.

THE TWO FALSE WITNESSES. We heard him say: I will destroy this Temple made with hands, And will within three days build up another Made without hands.

SCRIBES and PHARISEES. He is o'erwhelmed with shame And cannot answer!

CAIAPHAS. Dost thou answer nothing? What is this thing they witness here against thee?

SCRIBES and PHARISEES. He holds his peace.

CAIAPHAS. Tell us, art thou the Christ? I do adjure thee by the living God, Tell us, art thou indeed the Christ?

CHRISTUS. I am. Hereafter shall ye see the Son of Man Sit on the right hand of the power of God, And come in clouds of heaven!

CAIAPHAS, rending his clothes. It is enough. He hath spoken blasphemy! What further need Have we of witnesses? Now ye have heard His blasphemy. What think ye? Is he guilty?

SCRIBES and PHARISEES. Guilty of death!

KINSMAN OF MALCHUS to PETER in the vestibule. Surely I know thy face, Did I not see thee in the garden with him?

PETER. How couldst thou see me? I swear unto thee I do not know this man of whom ye speak!

The cock crows.

Hark! the cock crows! That sorrowful, pale face Seeks for me in the crowd, and looks at me, As if He would remind me of those words: Ere the cock crow thou shalt deny me thrice!

Goes out weeping. CHRISTUS is blindfolded and buffeted.

AN OFFICER, striking him with his palm. Prophesy unto us, thou Christ, thou Prophet! Who is it smote thee?

CAIAPHAS. Lead him unto Pilate!

VI

PONTIUS PILATE

PILATE. Wholly incomprehensible to me, Vainglorious, obstinate, and given up To unintelligible old traditions, And proud, and self-conceited are these Jews! Not long ago, I marched the legions Down from Caesarea to their winter-quarters Here in Jerusalem, with the effigies Of Caesar on their ensigns, and a tumult Arose among these Jews, because their Law Forbids the making of all images! They threw themselves upon the ground with wild Expostulations, bared their necks, and cried That they would sooner die than have their Law Infringed in any manner; as if Numa Were not as great as Moses, and the Laws Of the Twelve Tables as their Pentateuch!

And then, again, when I desired to span Their valley with an aqueduct, and bring A rushing river in to wash the city And its inhabitants,--they all rebelled As if they had been herds of unwashed swine! Thousands and thousands of them got together And raised so great a clamor round my doors, That, fearing violent outbreak, I desisted, And left them to their wallowing in the mire.

And now here comes the reverend Sanhedrim Of lawyers, priests, and Scribes and Pharisees, Like old and toothless mastiffs, that can bark But cannot bite, howling their accusations Against a mild enthusiast, who hath preached I know not what new doctrine, being King Of some vague kingdom in the other world, That hath no more to do with Rome and Caesar Than I have with the patriarch Abraham! Finding this man to be a Galilean I sent him straight to Herod, and I hope That is the last of it; but if it be not, I still have power to pardon and release him, As is the custom at the Passover, And so accommodate the matter smoothly, Seeming to yield to them, yet saving him, A prudent and sagacious policy For Roman Governors in the Provinces.

Incomprehensible, fanatic people! Ye have a God, who seemeth like yourselves Incomprehensible, dwelling apart, Majestic, cloud-encompassed, clothed in darkness! One whom ye fear, but love not; yet ye have No Goddesses to soften your stern lives, And make you tender unto human weakness, While we of Rome have everywhere around us Our amiable divinities, that haunt The woodlands, and the waters, and frequent Our households, with their sweet and gracious presence! I will go in, and, while these Jews are wrangling, Read my Ovidius on the Art of Love.

VII

BARABBAS IN PRISON

BARABBAS, to his fellow-prisoners Barabbas is my name, Barabbas, the Son of Shame, Is the meaning, I suppose; I'm no better than the best, And whether worse than the rest Of my fellow-men, who knows?

I was once, to say it in brief, A highwayman, a robber-chief, In the open light of day. So much I am free to confess; But all men, more or less, Are robbers in their way.

From my cavern in the crags, From my lair of leaves and flags, I could see, like ants, below, The camels with their load Of merchandise, on the road That leadeth to Jericho.

And I struck them unaware, As an eagle from the air Drops down upon bird or beast; And I had my heart's desire Of the merchants of Sidon and Tyre, And Damascus and the East.

But it is not for that I fear; It is not for that I am here In these iron fetters bound; Sedition! that is the word That Pontius Pilate heard, And he liketh not the sound.

What think ye, would he care For a Jew slain here or there, Or a plundered caravan? But Caesar!--ah, that is a crime, To the uttermost end of time Shall not be forgiven to man.

Therefore was Herod wroth With Matthias Margaloth, And burned him for a show! Therefore his wrath did smite Judas the Gaulonite, And his followers, as ye know.

For that cause and no more, Am I here, as I said before; For one unlucky night, Jucundus, the captain of horse, Was upon us with all his force, And I was caught in the flight,

I might have fled with the rest, But my dagger was in the breast Of a Roman equerry, As we rolled there in the street, They bound me, hands and feet And this is the end of me.

Who cares for death? Not I! A thousand times I would die, Rather than suffer wrong! Already those women of mine Are mixing the myrrh and the wine; I shall not be with you long.

VIII

ECCE HOMO

PILATE, on the tessellated pavement in front of his palace. Ye have brought unto me this man, as one Who doth pervert the people; and behold! I have examined him, and found no fault Touching the things whereof ye do accuse him. No, nor yet Herod; for I sent you to him, And nothing worthy of death he findeth in him. Ye have a custom at the Passover; That one condemned to death shall be released. Whom will ye, then, that I release to you? Jesus Barabbas, called the Son of Shame, Or Jesus, Son of Joseph, called the Christ?

THE PEOPLE, shouting. Not this man, but Barabbas!

PILATE. What then will ye That I should do with him that is called Christ?

THE PEOPLE. Crucify him!

PILATE. Why, what evil hath he done? Lo, I have found no cause of death in him; I will chastise him, and then let him go.

THE PEOPLE, more vehemently. Crucify him! crucify him!

A MESSENGER, to PILATE. Thy wife sends This message to thee,--Have thou naught to do With that just man; for I this day in dreams Have suffered many things because of him.

PILATE, aside. The Gods speak to us in our dreams! I tremble At what I have to do! O Claudia, How shall I save him? Yet one effort more, Or he must perish!

Washes his hands before them.

I am innocent Of the blood of this just person; see ye to it!

THE PEOPLE. Let his blood be on us and on our children!

VOICES, within the palace. Put on thy royal robes; put on thy crown, And take thy sceptre! Hail, thou King of the Jews!

PILATE. I bring him forth to you, that ye may know I find no fault in him. Behold the man!

CHRISTUS is led in with the purple robe and crown of thorns.

CHIEF PRIESTS and OFFICERS. Crucify him! crucify him!

PILATE. Take ye him; I find no fault in him.

CHIEF PRIESTS. We have a Law, And by our Law he ought to die; because He made himself to be the Son of God.

PILATE, aside. Ah! there are Sons of God, and demigods More than ye know, ye ignorant High-Priests!

To CHRISTUS. Whence art thou?

CHIEF PRIESTS. Crucify him! crucify him!

PILATE, to CHRISTUS. Dost thou not answer me? Dost thou not know That I have power enough to crucify thee? That I have also power to set thee free?

CHRISTUS. Thou couldst have no power at all against me Except that it were given thee from above; Therefore hath he that sent me unto thee The greater sin.

CHIEF PRIESTS. If thou let this man go, Thou art not Caesar's friend. For whosoever Maketh himself a King, speaks against Caesar.

PILATE. Ye Jews, behold your King!

CHIEF PRIESTS. Away with him! Crucify him!

PILATE. Shall I crucify your King?

CHIEF PRIESTS. We have no King but Caesar!

PILATE. Take him, then, Take him, ye cruel and bloodthirsty priests, More merciless than the plebeian mob, Who pity and spare the fainting gladiator Blood-stained in Roman amphitheatres,-- Take him, and crucify him if ye will; But if the immortal Gods do ever mingle With the affairs of mortals, which I doubt not, And hold the attribute of justice dear, They will commission the Eumenides To scatter you to the four winds of heaven, Exacting tear for tear, and blood for blood. Here, take ye this inscription, Priests, and nail it Upon the cross, above your victim's head: Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.

CHIEF PRIESTS. Nay, we entreat! write not, the King of the Jews! But that he said: I am the King of the Jews!

PILATE. Enough. What I have written, I have written.

IX

ACELDAMA

JUDAS ISCARIOT. Lost! Lost! Forever lost! I have betrayed The innocent blood! O God! if thou art love, Why didst thou leave me naked to the tempter? Why didst thou not commission thy swift lightning To strike me dead? or why did I not perish With those by Herod slain, the innocent children, Who went with playthings in their little hands Into the darkness of the other world, As if to bed? Or wherefore was I born, If thou in thy foreknowledge didst perceive All that I am, and all that I must be? I know I am not generous, am not gentle, Like other men; but I have tried to be, And I have failed. I thought by following him I should grow like him; but the unclean spirit That from my childhood up hath tortured me Hath been too cunning and too strong for me, Am I to blame for this? Am I to blame Because I cannot love, and ne'er have known The love of woman or the love of children? It is a curse and a fatality, A mark that hath been set upon my forehead, That none shall slay me, for it were a mercy That I were dead, or never had been born.

Too late! too late! I shall not see Him more Among the living. That sweet, patient face Will never more rebuke me, nor those lips Repeat the words: One of you shall betray me! It stung me into madness. How I loved, Yet hated Him: But in the other world! I will be there before Him, and will wait Until he comes, and fall down on my knees And kiss his feet, imploring pardon, pardon!

I heard Him say: All sins shall be forgiven, Except the sin against the Holy Ghost. That shall not be forgiven in this world, Nor in the world to come. Is that my sin? Have I offended so there is no hope Here nor hereafter? That I soon shall know. O God, have mercy! Christ have mercy on me!

Throws himself headlong from the cliff.

X

THE THREE CROSSES

MANAHEM, THE ESSENIAN. Three crosses in this noonday night uplifted, Three human figures that in mortal pain Gleam white against the supernatural darkness; Two thieves, that writhe in torture, and between them The Suffering Messiah, the Son of Joseph, Ay, the Messiah Triumphant, Son of David! A crown of thorns on that dishonored head! Those hands that healed the sick now pierced with nails, Those feet that wandered homeless through the world Now crossed and bleeding, and at rest forever! And the three faithful Maries, overwhelmed By this great sorrow, kneeling, praying weeping! O Joseph Caiaphas, thou great High-Priest How wilt thou answer for this deed of blood?

SCRIBES and ELDERS. Thou that destroyest the Temple, and dost build it In three days, save thyself; and if thou be The Son of God, come down now from the cross.

CHIEF PRIESTS. Others he saved, himself he cannot save! Let Christ the King of Israel descend That we may see and believe!

SCRIBES and ELDERS. In God he trusted; Let Him deliver him, if He will have him, And we will then believe.

CHRISTUS. Father! forgive them; They know not what they do.

THE IMPENITENT THIEF. If thou be Christ, Oh save thyself and us!

THE PENITENT THIEF. Remember me, Lord, when thou comest into thine own kingdom.

CHRISTUS. This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise.

MANAHEN. Golgotha! Golgotha! Oh the pain and darkness! Oh the uplifted cross, that shall forever Shine through the darkness, and shall conquer pain By the triumphant memory of this hour!

SIMON MAGUS. O Nazarene! I find thee here at last! Thou art no more a phantom unto me! This is the end of one who called himself The Son of God! Such is the fate of those Who preach new doctrines. 'T is not what he did, But what he said, hath brought him unto this. I will speak evil of no dignitaries. This is my hour of triumph, Nazarene!

THE YOUNG RULER. This is the end of him who said to me: Sell that thou hast, and give unto the poor! This is the treasure in heaven he promised me!

CHRISTUS. Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani!

A SOLDIER, preparing the hyssop. He calleth for Elias!

ANOTHER. Nay, let be! See if Elias will now come to save him!

CHRISTUS. I thirst.

A SOLDIER. Give him the wormwood!

CHRISTUS, with a loud cry, bowing his head. It is finished!

XI

THE TWO MARIES

MARY MAGDALENE. We have risen early, yet the sun O'ertakes us ere we reach the sepulchre, To wrap the body of our blessed Lord With our sweet spices.

MARY, MOTHER OF JAMES. Lo, this is the garden, And yonder is the sepulchre. But who Shall roll away the stone for us to enter?

MARY MAGDALENE. It hath been rolled away! The sepulchre Is open! Ah, who hath been here before us, When we rose early, wishing to be first?

MARY, MOTHER OF JAMES. I am affrighted!

MARY MAGDALENE. Hush! I will stoop down And look within. There is a young man sitting On the right side, clothed in a long white garment! It is an angel!

THE ANGEL. Fear not; ye are seeking Jesus of Nazareth, which was crucified. Why do ye seek the living among the dead? He is no longer here; He is arisen! Come see the place where the Lord lay! Remember How He spake unto you in Galilee, Saying: The Son of Man must be delivered Into the hands of sinful men; by them Be crucified, and the third day rise again! But go your way, and say to his disciples, He goeth before you into Galilee; There shall ye see Him as He said to you.

MARY, MOTHER OF JAMES. I will go swiftly for them.

MARY MAGDALENE, alone, weeping. They have taken My Lord away from me, and now I know not Where they have laid Him! Who is there to tell me? This is the gardener. Surely he must know.

CHRISTUS. Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou?

MARY MAGDALENE. They have taken my Lord away; I cannot find Him. O sir, if thou have borne Him hence, I pray thee Tell me where thou hast laid Him.

CHRISTUS. Mary!

MARY MAGDALENE. Rabboni!

XII

THE SEA OF GALILEE

NATHANIEL, in the ship. All is now ended.

JOHN. Nay, He is arisen, I ran unto the tomb, and stooping down Looked in, and saw the linen grave-clothes lying, Yet dared not enter.

PETER. I went in, and saw The napkin that had been about his head, Not lying with the other linen clothes, But wrapped together in a separate place.

THOMAS. And I have seen Him. I have seen the print Of nails upon his hands, and thrust my hands Into his side. I know He is arisen; But where are now the kingdom and the glory He promised unto us? We have all dreamed That we were princes, and we wake to find We are but fishermen.

PETER. Who should have been Fishers of men!

JOHN. We have come back again To the old life, the peaceful life, among The white towns of the Galilean lake.

PETER. They seem to me like silent sepulchres In the gray light of morning! The old life, Yea, the old life! for we have toiled all night And have caught nothing.

JOHN. Do ye see a man Standing upon the beach and beckoning? 'T is like an apparition. He hath kindled A fire of coals, and seems to wait for us. He calleth.

CHRISTUS, from the shore. Children, have ye any meat?

PETER. Alas! We have caught nothing.

CHRISTUS. Cast the net On the right side of the ship, and ye shall find.

PETER. How that reminds me of the days gone by, And one who said: Launch out into the deep, And cast your nets!

NATHANAEL. We have but let them down And they are filled, so that we cannot draw them!

JOHN. It is the Lord!

PETER, girding his fisher's coat about him. He said: When I am risen I will go before you into Galilee!

He casts himself into the lake.

JOHN. There is no fear in love; for perfect love Casteth out fear. Now then, if ye are men, Put forth your strength; we are not far from shore; The net is heavy, but breaks not. All is safe.

PETER, on the shore. Dear Lord! I heard thy voice and could not wait. Let me behold thy face, and kiss thy feet! Thou art not dead, thou livest! Again I see thee. Pardon, dear Lord! I am a sinful man; I have denied thee thrice. Have mercy on me!

THE OTHERS, coming to land. Dear Lord! stay with us! cheer us! comfort us! Lo! we again have found thee! Leave us not!

CHRISTUS. Bring hither of the fish that ye have caught, And come and eat!

JOHN. Behold! He breaketh bread As He was wont. From his own blessed hands Again we take it.

CHRISTUS. Simon, son of Jonas, Lovest thou me, more than these others?

PETER. Yea, More, Lord, than all men, even more than these. Thou knowest that I love thee.

CHRISTUS. Feed my lambs.

THOMAS, aside. How more than we do? He remaineth ever Self-confident and boastful as before. Nothing will cure him.

CHRISTUS. Simon, son of Jonas, Lovest thou me?

PETER. Yea, dearest Lord, I love thee. Thou knowest that I love thee.

CHRISTUS. Feed my sheep.

THOMAS, aside. Again, the selfsame question, and the answer Repeated with more vehemence. Can the Master Doubt if we love Him?

CHRISTUS. Simon, son of Jonas, Lovest thou me?

PETER, grieved. Dear Lord, thou knowest all things. Thou knowest that I love thee.

CHRISTUS. Feed my sheep. When thou wast young thou girdedst thyself, and walkedst Whither thou wouldst; but when thou shalt be old, Thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and other men Shall gird and carry thee whither thou wouldst not. Follow thou me!

JOHN, aside. It is a prophecy Of what death he shall die.

PETER, pointing to JOHN. Tell me, O Lord, And what shall this man do?

CHRISTUS. And if I will He tarry till I come, what is it to thee? Follow thou me!

PETER. Yea, I will follow thee, dear Lord and Master! Will follow thee through fasting and temptation, Through all thine agony and bloody sweat, Thy cross and passion, even unto death!