yet burned,
But he sat in a silence that might betoken
One ashamed that his heart had spoken—
Though where was the word to breed remorse?
He had lauded only his chief’s brave horse!
Not a word she spoke, but his fetters locked;
He watched with a smile that himself bemocked;
She left him seated in caitiff-plight,
Like one that had feared and fled the fight.
But what singer ever sat lonely long
Ere the hidden fountain burst in song!
The battle wine foamed in the warrior’s veins,
And he sang sword-tempest who sat in chains.
“Oh, the wine
Of the vine
Is a feeble thing!
In the rattle
Of battle
The true grapes spring!
“When on whir
Of Tecbir
Allah’s wrath flies,
And the power
Of the Giaour
A blasted leaf lies!
“When on force
Of the horse
The arm flung abroad
Is sweeping,
And reaping
The harvest of God!
“Ha! they drop
From the top
To the sear heap below!
Ha! deeper,
Down steeper,
The infidels go!
“Azrael
Sheer to hell
Shoots the foul shoals!
There Monker
And Nakir
Torture their souls!
“But when drop
On their crop
The scimitars red,
And under
War’s thunder
The faithful lie dead,
“Oh, bright
Is the light
On hero slow breaking!
Rapturous faces
Bent for embraces
Watch for his waking!
“And he hears
In his ears
The voice of Life’s river,
Like a song
Of the strong,
Jubilant ever!
“Oh, the wine
Of the vine
May lead to the gates,
But the rattle
Of battle
Wakes the angel who waits!
“To the lord
Of the sword
Open it must!
The drinker,
The thinker
Sits in the dust!
“He dreams
Of the gleams
Of their garments of white;
He misses
Their kisses,
The maidens of light!
“They long
For the strong
Who has burst through alarms—
Up, by the labour
Of stirrup and sabre,
Up to their arms!
“Oh, the wine of the grape is a feeble ghost!
The wine of the fight is the joy of a host!”
When Saad came home from the far pursuit,
An hour he sat, and an hour was mute.
Then he opened his mouth: “Ah, wife, the fight
Had been lost full sure, but an arm of might
Sudden rose up on the crest of the battle,
Flashed blue lightnings, thundered steel rattle,
Took up the fighting, and drove it on—
Enoch sure, or the good Saint John!
Wherever he leaped, like a lion he,
The battle was thickest, or soon to be!
Wherever he sprang with his lion roar,
In a minute the battle was there no more!
With a headlong fear, the sinners fled,
And we swept them down the steep of the dead:
Before us, not from us, did they flee,
They ceased in the depths of a new Red Sea!
But him who saved us we saw no more;
He went as he came, by a secret door!
And strangest of all—nor think I err
If a miracle I for truth aver—
I was close to him thrice—the holy Force
Wore my silver-ringed hauberk, rode Abdon my horse!”
The lady rose up, withholding her word,
And led to the terrace her wondering lord,
Where, song-soothed, and weary with battle strain,
Abu Midjan sat counting the links of his chain:
“The battle was raging, he raging worse;
I freed him, harnessed him, gave him thy horse.”
“Abu Midjan! the singer of love and of wine!
The arm of the battle, it also was thine?
Rise up, shake the irons from off thy feet:
For the lord of the fight are fetters meet?
If thou wilt, then drink till thou be hoar:
Allah shall judge thee; I judge no more!”
Abu Midjan arose; he flung aside
The clanking fetters, and thus he cried:
“If thou give me to God and his decrees,
Nor purge my sin with the shame of these,
Wrath against me I dare not store:
In the name of Allah, I drink no more!”
An Old Story
In the ancient house of ages,
See, they cannot rest!
With a hope, which awe assuages,
Tremble all the blest.
For the son and heir eternal,
To be son yet more,
Leaves his stately chair supernal
For the earth’s low floor;
Leaves the room so high and old,
Leaves the all-world hearth,
Seeks the out-air, frosty-cold,
Of the twilight earth—
To be throned in newer glory
In a mother’s lap,
Gather up our broken story,
And right every hap.
There Earth’s foster-baby lies,
Sleep-dimmed all his graces,
’Neath four stars of parents’ eyes,
And two heavens of faces!
See! the cow and ass, dumb-staring,
Feel the skirts of good
Fold them in dull-blessed sharing
Of infinitude.
Make a little room betwixt you,
Pray you, Ass and Cow!
Sure we shall, if I kneel next you,
Know each other now!
To the pit-fallen comes salvation—
Love is never loath!
Here we are, thy whole creation,
Waiting, Lord, thy growth!
On the slopes of Bethlehem,
Round their resting sheep,
Shepherds sat, and went and came,
Guarding holy sleep;
But the silent, high dome-spaces,
Airy galleries,
Thronged they were with watching faces,
Thronged with open eyes.
Far across the desert floor,
Come, slow-drawing nigher,
Sages deep in starry lore,
Priests of burning Fire.
In the sky they read his story,
And, through starlight cool,
They come riding to the Glory,
To the Wonderful.
Babe and mother, coming Mage,
Shepherd, ass, and cow!
Angels watching the new age,
Time’s intensest Now!
Heaven down-brooding, Earth upstraining,
Far ends closing in!
Sure the eternal tide is gaining
On the strand of sin!
See! but see! Heaven’s chapel-master
Signs with lifted hand;
Winds divine blow fast and faster,
Swelling bosoms grand.
Hark the torrent-joy let slip!
Hark the great throats ring!
Glory! Peace! Good-fellowship!
And a Child for king!
A Book of Dreams
I lay and dreamed. The Master came,
In seamless garment drest;
I stood in bonds ’twixt love and shame,
Not ready to be blest.
He stretched his arms, and gently sought
To clasp me to his heart;
I shrank, for I, unthinking, thought
He knew me but in part.
I did not love him as I would!
Embraces were not meet!
I dared not ev’n stand where he stood—
I fell and kissed his feet.
Years, years have passed away since then;
Oft hast thou come to me;
The question scarce will rise
