But quickens at the very thought of him;
And not a dream of mine but he doth stand
Within its heart and make it bright. No man
To me is other than his friend or foe.
You are his friend, and I believe you true!
I have been true to him—now, I am true
To you.
And therefore doubly true to him!
O let us match our loyalties, and strive
Between us who shall win the higher crown!
Men boast them of a friendship stronger far
Than love of woman. Prove it! I’ll not boast,
But I’ll contend with you on equal terms
In this brave race: and if you win the prize
I’ll hold you next to him: and if I win
He’ll hold you next to me; and either way
We’ll not be far apart. Do you accept
My challenge?
Yes! For you enforce my heart
By honour to resign its great desire,
And love itself to offer sacrifice
Of all disloyal dreams on its own altar.
Yet love remains; therefore I pray you, think
How surely you must lose in our contention.
For I am known to Naaman: but you
He blindly takes for Tsarpi. ’Tis to her
He gives his gratitude: the praise you win
Endears her name.
Her name? Why, what is that?
A name is but an empty shell, a mask
That does not change the features of the face
Beneath it. Can a name rejoice, or weep,
Or hope? Can it be moved by tenderness
To daily services of love, or feel the warmth
Of dear companionship? How many things
We call by names that have no meaning: kings
That cannot rule; and gods that are not good;
And wives that do not love! It matters not
What syllables he utters when he calls,
’Tis I who come—’tis I who minister
Unto my lord, and mine the living heart
That feels the comfort of his confidence,
The thrill of gladness when he speaks to me—
I do not hear the name!
And yet, be sure
There’s danger in this error—and no gain!
I seek no gain; I only tread the path
Marked for me daily by the hand of love.
And if his blindness spared my lord one pang
Of sorrow in his black, forsaken hour—
And if this error makes his burdened heart
More quiet, and his shadowed way less dark,
Whom do I rob? Not her who chose to stay
At ease in Rimmon’s House! Surely not him!
Only myself? And that enriches me.
Why trouble we the master? Let it go—
Tomorrow he must know the truth—and then
He shall dispose of me e’en as he will!
Tomorrow?
Yes, for I will tarry here,
While you conduct him to Elisha’s house
To find the promised healing. I forebode
A sudden danger from the craven king
Of Israel, or else a secret ambush
From those who hate us in Damascus. Go,
But leave me twenty men: this mountain-pass
Protects the road behind you. Make my lord
Obey the prophet’s word, whatever he commands,
And come again in peace. Farewell!
Song.
Above the edge of dark appear the lances of the sun;
Along the mountain-ridges clear his rosy heralds run;
The vapours down the valley go
Like broken armies, dark and low.
Look up, my heart, from every hill
In folds of rose and daffodil
The sunrise banners flow.
O fly away on silent wing, ye boding owls of night!
O welcome little birds that sing the coming-in of light!
For new, and new, and ever-new,
The golden bud within the blue;
And every morning seems to say:
“There’s something happy on the way,
And God sends love to you!”
Appearing at the entrance of his tent.
O let me ever wake to music! For the soul
Returns most gently then, and finds its way
By the soft, winding clue of melody,
Out of the dusky labyrinth of sleep,
Into the light. My body feels the sun
Though I behold naught that his rays reveal.
Come, thou who art my daydawn and my sight,
Sweet eyes, come close, and make the sunrise mine!
Coming near.
A fairer day, dear lord, was never born
In Paradise! The sapphire cup of heaven
Is filled with golden wine: the earth, adorned
With jewel-drops of dew, unveils her face
A joyful bride, in welcome to her king.
And look! He leaps upon the Eastern hills
All ruddy fire, and claims her with a kiss.
Yonder the snowy peaks of Hermon float
Unmoving as a wind-dropt cloud. The gulf
Of Jordan, filled with violet haze, conceals
The rivers winding trail with wreaths of mist.
Below us, marble-crowned Samaria thrones
Upon her emerald hill amid the Vale
Of Barley, while the plains to northward change
Their colour like the shimmering necks of doves.
The lark springs up, with morning on her wings,
To climb her singing stairway in the blue,
And all the fields are sprinkled with her joy!
Thy voice is magical: thy words are visions!
I must content myself with them, for now
My only hope is lost: Samaria’s king
Rejects our monarch’s message—hast thou heard?
“Am I a god that I should cure a leper?”
He sends me home unhealed, with angry words,
Back to Damascus and the lingering death.
What matter where he sends? No god is he
To slay or make alive. Elisha bids
You come to him at Dothan, there to learn
There is a God in Israel.
I fear
That I am grown mistrustful of all gods;
Their secret counsels are implacable.
Fear not! There’s One who rules in righteousness
High over all.
What knowest thou of Him?
Oh, I have heard—the maid of Israel—
Rememberest thou? She often said her God
Was merciful and kind, and slow to wrath,
And plenteous in forgiveness, pitying us
Like as a father pitieth his children.
If there were such a God, I’d worship Him
Forever!
Then make haste to hear the word
His prophet promises to speak to thee!
Obey it, my dear lord, and thou shalt lose
This curse that burdens thee. This tiny spot
Of white that mars the beauty of thy brow
Shall melt like snow; thine eyes be filled with light.
Thou wilt not need my leading any more—
Nor me—for thou wilt see me, all unveiled—
I tremble
