MOSESA Play(1916)

PERSONS

MOSES

Scene I.:Outside a college in Thebes. Egyptian students pass by.Mosesalone in meditation.[EnterMessenger.]Messenger

Scene I.:Outside a college in Thebes. Egyptian students pass by.Mosesalone in meditation.

[EnterMessenger.]

Messenger

[Handing papyrus.] Pharaoh’s desires.

Moses

[Reads.] To our beloved son, greeting. Add to our thoughts of you, if possible to add, but a little, and you are more than old heroes—not to bemean your genius, who might cry “Was that all!” We pile barriers everywhere: we give you idiots for tools, tree stumps for swords, skin sacks for souls. The sixteenth pyramid remains to be built: we give you the last draft of slaves. Move! Forget not the edict.Pharaoh.

Moses

[ToMessenger.] What is the edict?

MessengerThe royal paunch of Pharaoh dangled worriedly,Not knowing where the wrong: viands once giant-likeCame to him thin and thinner—what rats gnawed?Horror, the swarm of slaves! The satraps sworeTheir wives’ bones hurt them when they lay abed,That before were soft and plump: the people howledThey’d boil the slaves three days to get their fat,Ending the famine. A haggard council heldDecrees the two hind molars, those two staunchestBusy labourers in the belly’s service, to be drawnFrom out each slave’s greased mouth, which soonFrom incapacity will lose the habitOf eating.MosesWell, should their bones stick out to find the air,I’ll make a use of them for pleasantness—Droll demonstrations of anatomy.MessengerAnd when you’ve ended find ’twas one on sharks.[Mosessigns toMessengerto go.ExitMessenger.]MosesFine! Fine!See, in my brainWhat madmen have rushed throughAnd like a tornadoTorn up the tight rootsOf some dead universe:The old clay is brokenFor a power to soak in and knitIt all into tougher tissuesTo hold life;Pricking my nerves till the brain might crackIt boils to my finger-tips,Till my hands ache to gripThe hammer—the lone hammerThat breaks lives into a roadThrough which my genius drives.Pharaoh well peruked and oiled,And your admirable pyramids,And your interminable processionOf crowded kings,You are my little fishing rodsWherewith I catch the fishTo suit my hungry belly.I am rough now, and new, and will have no tailor.Startlingly,As a mountain-sideWakes aware of its other sideWhen from a cave a leopard comes,On its heels the same red sand,Springing with acquainted air,Sprang an intelligenceColoured as a whim of mine,Showed to my dull outer eyesThe living eyes underneath.Did I not shrivel up and take the place of air,Secret as those eyes were,And those strong eyes call up a giant frame?And I am that now.Pharaoh is sleek and deep;And where his love for me is set—underThe deeps, on their floor, or in the shallow ways,Though I have been as a diver—never yetCould I find.... I have a way, a touchstone!A small misdemeanour, touch of rebelliousness;To prick the vein of father, monitor, foe,Will tell which of these his kingship is.If I shut my eyes to the edict,And leave the pincers to rustAnd the slaves’ teeth as God made them,Then hide from the summoning tribunal,Pharaoh will speak; and I’ll seize that word to act.Should the word be a foe’s I can use it wellAs a poison to soak into Egypt’s bowels;A wraith from old Nile will cry“For his mercy they break his back”And I shall have a great following for this,The rude, touched heart of the mauled, sweaty horde,Their rough tongues fawn at my hands, their red-streaked eyesGlitter with sacrifice. Well! Pharaoh bids me act....Hah! I’m all a-bristle.... Lord, his eyes would go wideIf he knew the road my rampant dreams would race!I am too much awake now—restless, so restless.Behind white mists invisiblyMy thoughts stood like a mountain;But Power, watching as a man,Saw no mountain there—Only the mixing mist and skyAnd the flat earth.What shoulder pushed through those mistsOf gay fantastic pastimesAnd startled hills of sleep?[He looks in a mirror.]Oh, apparition of me,Ruddy flesh soon hueless,Fade and show to my eyesThe lasting bare body;Soul-sack fall awayAnd show what you hold!Sing! Let me hear you sing.A Voice[Sings.]Upon my lips, like a cloudTo burst on the peaks of light,Sit cowled impossible thingsTo tie my hands at their prime and height.Power, break through their shroud;Pierce them so thoroughly,Thoroughly enter me,Know me for one dead;Break the shadowy thread,The cowering spirit’s bondWrit by illusions blond!Ah! Let the morning paleThrob with a wilder pulse:No delicate flame shall quailWith terror at your convulse.Thin branches whip the white skiesTo lips and spaces of songThat chant a mood to my eyes....Ah! Sleep can be overlong.MosesVoices thunder, voices of deeds not done:Lo, on the air are scrawled in abysmal lightOld myths never known and yet already forgone,And songs more lost, more secret than desert light:Martyrdoms of uncreated things,Virgin silences waiting a breaking voice—As in a womb they cry, in a cage beat vain wingsUnder life, over life: is their unbeing my choice?Dull wine of torpor—the unsoldered spirit lies limp.Ah! If she would run into a mould,Some new idea unwalledTo human by-ways, an apocalyptic campOf utterest and ulterior dreaming,Understood only in its gleaming,To flash stark naked the whole girth of the world.I am sick of priests and forms,This rigid dry-boned refinement:As ladies’ perfumes areObnoxious to stern natures,This miasma of a rotting godIs to me.Who has made of the forest a park?Who has changed the wolf to a dog?And put the horse in harness?And man’s mind in a groove?I heard the one spirit cry in them,“Break this metamorphosis,Disenchant my lying body;Only putrefaction is free,And I, Freedom, am not.Moses! Touch us, thou!”There shall not be a void or calm,But a fury fill the veins of time—Whose limbs had begun to rot,Who had flattered my stupid torporWith an easy and mimic energy,And drained my veins with a paltry marvelMore monstrous than battle;For the soul ached and went out dead in pleasure.Is not this song still sung in the streets of me?A naked AfricanWalked in the sunSinging—singingOf his wild love.I slew the tigerWith your young strength(My tawny panther)Rolled round my life.Three sheep, your breastsAnd my head between,Grazing togetherOn a smooth slope.Ah! Koelue!Had you embalmed your beauty, soIt could not backward goOr change in any way,What were the use if on my eyesThe embalming spices were not laidTo keep us fixed,Two amorous sculptures passioned endlessly?What were the use if my sight grewAnd its far branches were cloud-hung,You small at the roots like grass;While the new lips my spirit would kissWere not red lips of flesh,But the huge kiss of power?Where yesterday soft hair through my fingers fellA shaggy mane would entwine;And no slim form work fire to my thighs,But human Life’s inarticulate massThrob the pulse of a thingWhose mountain flanks awryBeg my mastery—mine!Ah! I will ride the dizzy beast of the worldMy road—my way.

Messenger

The royal paunch of Pharaoh dangled worriedly,Not knowing where the wrong: viands once giant-likeCame to him thin and thinner—what rats gnawed?Horror, the swarm of slaves! The satraps sworeTheir wives’ bones hurt them when they lay abed,That before were soft and plump: the people howledThey’d boil the slaves three days to get their fat,Ending the famine. A haggard council heldDecrees the two hind molars, those two staunchestBusy labourers in the belly’s service, to be drawnFrom out each slave’s greased mouth, which soonFrom incapacity will lose the habitOf eating.

The royal paunch of Pharaoh dangled worriedly,

Not knowing where the wrong: viands once giant-like

Came to him thin and thinner—what rats gnawed?

Horror, the swarm of slaves! The satraps swore

Their wives’ bones hurt them when they lay abed,

That before were soft and plump: the people howled

They’d boil the slaves three days to get their fat,

Ending the famine. A haggard council held

Decrees the two hind molars, those two staunchest

Busy labourers in the belly’s service, to be drawn

From out each slave’s greased mouth, which soon

From incapacity will lose the habit

Of eating.

Moses

Well, should their bones stick out to find the air,I’ll make a use of them for pleasantness—Droll demonstrations of anatomy.

Well, should their bones stick out to find the air,

I’ll make a use of them for pleasantness—

Droll demonstrations of anatomy.

Messenger

And when you’ve ended find ’twas one on sharks.

[Mosessigns toMessengerto go.ExitMessenger.]

[Mosessigns toMessengerto go.

ExitMessenger.]

Moses

Fine! Fine!See, in my brainWhat madmen have rushed throughAnd like a tornadoTorn up the tight rootsOf some dead universe:The old clay is brokenFor a power to soak in and knitIt all into tougher tissuesTo hold life;Pricking my nerves till the brain might crackIt boils to my finger-tips,Till my hands ache to gripThe hammer—the lone hammerThat breaks lives into a roadThrough which my genius drives.Pharaoh well peruked and oiled,And your admirable pyramids,And your interminable processionOf crowded kings,You are my little fishing rodsWherewith I catch the fishTo suit my hungry belly.I am rough now, and new, and will have no tailor.Startlingly,As a mountain-sideWakes aware of its other sideWhen from a cave a leopard comes,On its heels the same red sand,Springing with acquainted air,Sprang an intelligenceColoured as a whim of mine,Showed to my dull outer eyesThe living eyes underneath.Did I not shrivel up and take the place of air,Secret as those eyes were,And those strong eyes call up a giant frame?And I am that now.

Fine! Fine!

See, in my brain

What madmen have rushed through

And like a tornado

Torn up the tight roots

Of some dead universe:

The old clay is broken

For a power to soak in and knit

It all into tougher tissues

To hold life;

Pricking my nerves till the brain might crack

It boils to my finger-tips,

Till my hands ache to grip

The hammer—the lone hammer

That breaks lives into a road

Through which my genius drives.

Pharaoh well peruked and oiled,

And your admirable pyramids,

And your interminable procession

Of crowded kings,

You are my little fishing rods

Wherewith I catch the fish

To suit my hungry belly.

I am rough now, and new, and will have no tailor.

Startlingly,

As a mountain-side

Wakes aware of its other side

When from a cave a leopard comes,

On its heels the same red sand,

Springing with acquainted air,

Sprang an intelligence

Coloured as a whim of mine,

Showed to my dull outer eyes

The living eyes underneath.

Did I not shrivel up and take the place of air,

Secret as those eyes were,

And those strong eyes call up a giant frame?

And I am that now.

Pharaoh is sleek and deep;And where his love for me is set—underThe deeps, on their floor, or in the shallow ways,Though I have been as a diver—never yetCould I find.... I have a way, a touchstone!A small misdemeanour, touch of rebelliousness;To prick the vein of father, monitor, foe,Will tell which of these his kingship is.If I shut my eyes to the edict,And leave the pincers to rustAnd the slaves’ teeth as God made them,Then hide from the summoning tribunal,Pharaoh will speak; and I’ll seize that word to act.Should the word be a foe’s I can use it wellAs a poison to soak into Egypt’s bowels;A wraith from old Nile will cry“For his mercy they break his back”And I shall have a great following for this,The rude, touched heart of the mauled, sweaty horde,Their rough tongues fawn at my hands, their red-streaked eyesGlitter with sacrifice. Well! Pharaoh bids me act....Hah! I’m all a-bristle.... Lord, his eyes would go wideIf he knew the road my rampant dreams would race!I am too much awake now—restless, so restless.Behind white mists invisiblyMy thoughts stood like a mountain;But Power, watching as a man,Saw no mountain there—Only the mixing mist and skyAnd the flat earth.What shoulder pushed through those mistsOf gay fantastic pastimesAnd startled hills of sleep?

Pharaoh is sleek and deep;

And where his love for me is set—under

The deeps, on their floor, or in the shallow ways,

Though I have been as a diver—never yet

Could I find.... I have a way, a touchstone!

A small misdemeanour, touch of rebelliousness;

To prick the vein of father, monitor, foe,

Will tell which of these his kingship is.

If I shut my eyes to the edict,

And leave the pincers to rust

And the slaves’ teeth as God made them,

Then hide from the summoning tribunal,

Pharaoh will speak; and I’ll seize that word to act.

Should the word be a foe’s I can use it well

As a poison to soak into Egypt’s bowels;

A wraith from old Nile will cry

“For his mercy they break his back”

And I shall have a great following for this,

The rude, touched heart of the mauled, sweaty horde,

Their rough tongues fawn at my hands, their red-streaked eyes

Glitter with sacrifice. Well! Pharaoh bids me act....

Hah! I’m all a-bristle.... Lord, his eyes would go wide

If he knew the road my rampant dreams would race!

I am too much awake now—restless, so restless.

Behind white mists invisibly

My thoughts stood like a mountain;

But Power, watching as a man,

Saw no mountain there—

Only the mixing mist and sky

And the flat earth.

What shoulder pushed through those mists

Of gay fantastic pastimes

And startled hills of sleep?

[He looks in a mirror.]

Oh, apparition of me,Ruddy flesh soon hueless,Fade and show to my eyesThe lasting bare body;Soul-sack fall awayAnd show what you hold!Sing! Let me hear you sing.

Oh, apparition of me,

Ruddy flesh soon hueless,

Fade and show to my eyes

The lasting bare body;

Soul-sack fall away

And show what you hold!

Sing! Let me hear you sing.

A Voice

[Sings.]

Upon my lips, like a cloudTo burst on the peaks of light,Sit cowled impossible thingsTo tie my hands at their prime and height.Power, break through their shroud;Pierce them so thoroughly,Thoroughly enter me,Know me for one dead;Break the shadowy thread,The cowering spirit’s bondWrit by illusions blond!

Upon my lips, like a cloud

To burst on the peaks of light,

Sit cowled impossible things

To tie my hands at their prime and height.

Power, break through their shroud;

Pierce them so thoroughly,

Thoroughly enter me,

Know me for one dead;

Break the shadowy thread,

The cowering spirit’s bond

Writ by illusions blond!

Ah! Let the morning paleThrob with a wilder pulse:No delicate flame shall quailWith terror at your convulse.Thin branches whip the white skiesTo lips and spaces of songThat chant a mood to my eyes....Ah! Sleep can be overlong.

Ah! Let the morning pale

Throb with a wilder pulse:

No delicate flame shall quail

With terror at your convulse.

Thin branches whip the white skies

To lips and spaces of song

That chant a mood to my eyes....

Ah! Sleep can be overlong.

Moses

Voices thunder, voices of deeds not done:Lo, on the air are scrawled in abysmal lightOld myths never known and yet already forgone,And songs more lost, more secret than desert light:Martyrdoms of uncreated things,Virgin silences waiting a breaking voice—As in a womb they cry, in a cage beat vain wingsUnder life, over life: is their unbeing my choice?

Voices thunder, voices of deeds not done:

Lo, on the air are scrawled in abysmal light

Old myths never known and yet already forgone,

And songs more lost, more secret than desert light:

Martyrdoms of uncreated things,

Virgin silences waiting a breaking voice—

As in a womb they cry, in a cage beat vain wings

Under life, over life: is their unbeing my choice?

Dull wine of torpor—the unsoldered spirit lies limp.Ah! If she would run into a mould,Some new idea unwalledTo human by-ways, an apocalyptic campOf utterest and ulterior dreaming,Understood only in its gleaming,To flash stark naked the whole girth of the world.

Dull wine of torpor—the unsoldered spirit lies limp.

Ah! If she would run into a mould,

Some new idea unwalled

To human by-ways, an apocalyptic camp

Of utterest and ulterior dreaming,

Understood only in its gleaming,

To flash stark naked the whole girth of the world.

I am sick of priests and forms,This rigid dry-boned refinement:As ladies’ perfumes areObnoxious to stern natures,This miasma of a rotting godIs to me.Who has made of the forest a park?Who has changed the wolf to a dog?And put the horse in harness?And man’s mind in a groove?

I am sick of priests and forms,

This rigid dry-boned refinement:

As ladies’ perfumes are

Obnoxious to stern natures,

This miasma of a rotting god

Is to me.

Who has made of the forest a park?

Who has changed the wolf to a dog?

And put the horse in harness?

And man’s mind in a groove?

I heard the one spirit cry in them,“Break this metamorphosis,Disenchant my lying body;Only putrefaction is free,And I, Freedom, am not.Moses! Touch us, thou!”

I heard the one spirit cry in them,

“Break this metamorphosis,

Disenchant my lying body;

Only putrefaction is free,

And I, Freedom, am not.

Moses! Touch us, thou!”

There shall not be a void or calm,But a fury fill the veins of time—Whose limbs had begun to rot,Who had flattered my stupid torporWith an easy and mimic energy,And drained my veins with a paltry marvelMore monstrous than battle;For the soul ached and went out dead in pleasure.

There shall not be a void or calm,

But a fury fill the veins of time—

Whose limbs had begun to rot,

Who had flattered my stupid torpor

With an easy and mimic energy,

And drained my veins with a paltry marvel

More monstrous than battle;

For the soul ached and went out dead in pleasure.

Is not this song still sung in the streets of me?

A naked AfricanWalked in the sunSinging—singingOf his wild love.

A naked African

Walked in the sun

Singing—singing

Of his wild love.

I slew the tigerWith your young strength(My tawny panther)Rolled round my life.

I slew the tiger

With your young strength

(My tawny panther)

Rolled round my life.

Three sheep, your breastsAnd my head between,Grazing togetherOn a smooth slope.

Three sheep, your breasts

And my head between,

Grazing together

On a smooth slope.

Ah! Koelue!Had you embalmed your beauty, soIt could not backward goOr change in any way,What were the use if on my eyesThe embalming spices were not laidTo keep us fixed,Two amorous sculptures passioned endlessly?What were the use if my sight grewAnd its far branches were cloud-hung,You small at the roots like grass;While the new lips my spirit would kissWere not red lips of flesh,But the huge kiss of power?Where yesterday soft hair through my fingers fellA shaggy mane would entwine;And no slim form work fire to my thighs,But human Life’s inarticulate massThrob the pulse of a thingWhose mountain flanks awryBeg my mastery—mine!Ah! I will ride the dizzy beast of the worldMy road—my way.

Ah! Koelue!

Had you embalmed your beauty, so

It could not backward go

Or change in any way,

What were the use if on my eyes

The embalming spices were not laid

To keep us fixed,

Two amorous sculptures passioned endlessly?

What were the use if my sight grew

And its far branches were cloud-hung,

You small at the roots like grass;

While the new lips my spirit would kiss

Were not red lips of flesh,

But the huge kiss of power?

Where yesterday soft hair through my fingers fell

A shaggy mane would entwine;

And no slim form work fire to my thighs,

But human Life’s inarticulate mass

Throb the pulse of a thing

Whose mountain flanks awry

Beg my mastery—mine!

Ah! I will ride the dizzy beast of the world

My road—my way.

Scene II.:Evening before Thebes. The Pyramids are being built. Swarms of Hebrews labouring. Priests and Taskmasters. Two Hebrews are furtively talking.Koeluepasses by singing.

KoelueThe vague viols of eveningCall all the flower clansTo some abysmal swingingAnd tumult of deep trance;He may hear, flower of my singing,And come hither winging.Old Hebrew[Gazing after her in a muffled frenzy.]Hateful harlot! Boils cover your small cruel face.O, fine champion Moses: O, so good to us:O, grand begetter on her of a whip and a torturer,Her father, born to us since you kissed her.Our champion, O so good to us!Young HebrewFor shame! Our brothers’ twisted blood-smeared gumsTell we only have more room for wreck curtailed:For you, having no teeth to draw, it is no mercyPerhaps; but they might mangle your gumsOr touch a nerve somewhere. He barred it now;And that is all his thanks, he, too, in peril.Be still, old man; wait a little.Old HebrewWait!All day some slow dark quadruped beatsTo pulp our springiness:All day some hoofed animal treads our veins,Leisurely—leisurely our energies flow out:All agonies created from the first dayHave wandered hungry searching the world for us,Or they would perish like disused Behemoth.Is our Messiah one to unleash these agoniesAs Moses does, who gives us an Abinoah?Young HebrewYesterday as I lay nigh dead with toilUnderneath the hurtling crane oiled with our blood,Thinking to end all and let the crane crush me,He came by and bore me into the shade:O, what a furnace roaring in his bloodThawed my congealed sinews and tingled my ownRaging through me like a strong cordial.He spoke! Since yesterdayAm I not larger grown?I’ve seen men hugely shapen in soul,Of such unhuman shaggy male turbulenceThey tower in foam miles from our neck-strained sight,And to their shop only heroes come;But all were cripples to this speedConstrained to the stables of flesh.I say there is a famine in ripe harvestWhen hungry giants come as guests:Come knead the hills and ocean into food,There is none for him.The streaming vigours of his blood eruptingFrom his halt tongue are like an anger thrustOut of a madman’s piteous craving forA monstrous balked perfection.Old HebrewHe is a prince, an animalNot of our kind; who perhaps has heardVague rumours of our world, to his mindAn unpleasant miasma.Young HebrewIs not Miriam his sister, Jochabed his mother?In the womb he looked round and sawFrom furthermost stretches our wrong:From the palaces and schoolsOur pain has pierced dead generationsBack to his blood’s thin source.As we lie chained by Egyptian menHe lay in nets of their women,And now rejoices he has broken their meshes.O! His desires are fleets of treasureHe has squandered in treacherous seas,Sailing mistrust to find frank ports;He fears our fear and tampers mildlyFor our assent to let him save us.When he walks amid our toilWith some master-masonHis tense brows, criticalOf the loose enginery,Hint famed devices flat, his rodScratching new schemes on the sand:But read hard the scrawled lines there—Limned turrets and darkness, chinks of light,Half beasts snorting into the light,A phantasmagoria, wild escapadeTo our hearts’ clue; just a daring planTo the honest mason. What swathed meanings peerFrom his work-a-day council, washed to and fromYour understanding till you doubtThat a word was said—But a terror wakes and forces your eyesInto his covertly, to search his searching;Startled to life, starved hopes slink outCowering, incredulous.Old Hebrew[To himself.] His youth is flattered at Moses’ kind speech to him.[To theYoung Hebrew.]I am broken and grey, have seen much in my time,And all this gay grotesque of childish manLong passed; half blind, half deaf, I only grumbleI am not blind or deaf enough for peace.I have seen splendid young fools cheat themselvesInto a prophet’s frenzy; I have seenSo many crazed shadows puffed away,And conscious cheats with such an ache for fameThey’d make a bonfire of themselves to beMouthed in the squares, broad in the public eye:And whose backs break, whose lives are mauled, afterIt all falls flat? His tender airs chill me—As thoughts of sleep to a man tiptoed night-longRoped round his neck, for sleep means death to him.Oh, he is kind to us!Your safe teeth chatter when they hear a step:He left them yours because his cunning wayWould brag the wrong against his humane actBy Pharaoh; so gain more favour than he lost.Young HebrewHelp him not then, and push your safety away:I for my part will be his backward eye,His hands when they are shut. Ah! Abinoah!Like a bad smell from the soul of Moses diptIn the mire of lust he hangs round him;And if his slit-like eyes could tear right outThe pleasure Moses on his daughter had,She’d be as virgin as ere she came nestlingInto that fierce unmanageable blood,Flying from her loathed father. O, that slaveHas hammered from the anvil of her beautyA steel to break his manacles: hard for usMoses has made him overseer. O, his slitsPry—pry.... For what?... To sell to Imra....[Abinoahis seen approaching.]Sh! The thin-lipped abomination!Zig-zagging haschish tours in a fine style:It were delightful labour making bricks,Knowing they would kiss friendly with his head.Abinoah[Who has been taking haschish; and who has one obsession, hatred of Jews.]Dirt-draggled mongrels, circumcised slaves,You puddle with your lousy gibberishThe holy air, Pharaoh’s own tributary:Filthy manure for Pharaoh’s flourishing,I’ll circumcise and make holy your tongues,And stop one outlet to your profanation.[To theOld Hebrew.]I’ve never seen one beg so for a blow;Too soft am I to resist such entreaty.[Beats him.]Your howling holds the earnest energiesYou cheat from Pharaoh when you make his bricks.An Aged Minstrel[Sings from a distance.]Taut is the air and tied the trees,The leaves lie as on a hand;God’s unthinkable imaginationInvents new tortures for nature.And when the air is soft and the leavesFeel free and push and tremble,Will they not remember and sayHow wonderful to have lived?[TheOld Hebrewis agitated and murmurs.]Messiah, Messiah.... That voice....O, he has beaten my sight out.... I seeLike a rain about a devouring fire....[The Minstrel sings.]Ye who best God awhile, O hear: your wealthIs but His cunning to see to make death more hard,Your iron sinews take more pain in breaking;And he has made the market for your beautyToo poor to buy although you die to sell.Old HebrewI am crazed with whips.... I hear a Messiah.Young HebrewThe venerable man will question this.Abinoah[Overhearing.] I’ll beat you more, and he’ll questionThe scratchiness of your whining; or, may be,Thence may be born deep argumentWith reasons from philosophy,That this blow, taking longer, yet was but one,Or perhaps two; or that you felt this one—Arguing from the difference in your whine—Exactly, or not, like the other.MinstrelYou labour hard to give pain.Abinoah[Still beating.] My pain is ... not ... to labour so.MinstrelWhat is this greybeard worth to you now,All his dried-up blood crumbled to dust?[MotionsAbinoahto desist, but not in time to prevent the old man fainting into the hands of theYoung Hebrew.]AbinoahHarper, are you envious of the old fool?Go! Hug the rat who stole your last crumbs,And gnawed the hole in your life which made time wonderWho it was saved labour for him the next score of years.We allowed them life for their labour—they haggled.Food they must have, and (god of laughter!) even ease;But mud and lice and Jews are very busyBreeding plagues in ease.[The Minstrel pulls his beard and robe off.]AbinoahMoses!MosesYou drunken rascal!AbinoahA drunken rascal! Isis, hear the Prince!Drunken with duty, and he calls me rascal.MosesYou may think it your duty to get drunk;But get yourself bronze claws beforeYou would be impudent.AbinoahWhen a man’s drunk he’ll kiss a horse or king,He’s so affectionate. Under your wordsThere is strong wine to make me drunk; you think,The lines of all your face say, “Her father, Koelue’s father.”MosesThis is too droll and extraordinary.I dreamt I was a prince—a queer droll dreamWhere a certain slave of mine, a thing, a toad,Shifting his belly, showed a diamondWhere he had lain; and a blind dumb messengerBore syllabled messages soaked right through with glee:I paid the toad, the blind man; afterwardsThey spread a stench and snarling. O, droll dream!I think you merely mean to flatter me,You subtle knave, that, more than prince, I’mmanAnd worth to listen to your bawdy breath.AbinoahYet my breath was worth your mixing with.MosesA boy at college flattered so by a girlWill give her what she asks for.AbinoahOsiris! Burning Osiris!Of thee desirable, for thee, her hair....[He looks inanely atMoses,saying to himself.]Prince Imra vowed his honey-hives and vineyards:Isis, to let a Jew have her for nothing![He sings under his breath.]Night by night in a little houseA man and woman meet;They look like each other,They are sister and brother;And night by night at that same hourA king calls for his son in vain.Moses[To himself.] So, sister Miriam, it is known then. Slave, you die.[Aloud.] O, you ambiguous stench,You’ll be more interesting as a mummyI have no doubt.AbinoahI’m drunk, yes—drenched with the thoughtOf a certain thing. [Aside.] I’ll sleep sounder to-nightThan all the nights I’ve followed him aboutWorrying each slight clue, each monosyllableTo give the word to Imra: the prince is near,And Moses’ eyes shall blink before next hourTo a hundred javelins. I’ll tease him till they come.[Aloud.] On Koelue’s tears I swam to you, in a mistOf her sighs I hung round you;As in some hallucination I’ve been walkingA white waste world, we two only in it.MosesDoubtless the instinct balked to bully the girl,Making large gapings in your haschish dreams,Led you to me in whom she was thoroughly lost.Pah, you sicken me![He is silent awhile, then turns away.]AbinoahPrince Imra is Pharaoh’s choice now, and Koelue’s.[Mosesturns back menacingly.]MosesSilence, you beast![He changes his tone to a winning softness.]I hate these family quarrels: it is soLike fratricide. I am a rebel, well?Soft! You are not, and we are knit so closeIt would be shame for a son to be so honouredAnd the father still unknown: come, Koelue’s (somy) father,I’ll tell my plans—you’ll beg to be rebel then.Look round on the night—Old as the first, bleak, even her wish is done;She has never seen, though dreamt perhaps of the sun,Yet only dawn divides; could a miracleDestroy the dawn, night would be mixed with light,No night or light would be, but a new thing:So with these slaves, who perhaps have dreamt of freedom,Egypt was in the way; I’ll strike it outWith my ways curious and unusual.I have a trouble in my mind for largeness,Rough-hearted, shaggy, which your grave ardours lack:Here is the quarry quiet for me to hew;Here are the springs, primeval elements,The roots’ hid secrecy, old source of race,Unreasoned reason of the savage instinct.I’d shape one impulse through the contrariesOf vain ambitious men, selfish and callous,And frail life-drifters, reticent, delicate—Litheness thread bulk, a nation’s harmony:These are not lame nor bent awry, but placelessWith the rust and stagnant. All that’s low I’ll charm,Barbaric love sweeten to tenderness,Cunning run into wisdom, craft turn to skill;Their meanness, threaded right and sensibly,Change to a prudence envied and not sneered;Their hugeness be a driving wedge to a thingIneffable and useable, as nearSolidity as human life can be:So grandly fashion these rude elementsInto some newer nature, a consciousnessLike naked light seizing the all-eyed soul,Oppressing with its gorgeous tyrannyUntil they take it thus—or die.[While speaking, he places his hand on the unsuspecting Egyptian’s head and gently, caressingly, pulls his hair back until his chin is above his forehead, and holds him so till he is suffocated. In the darkness ahead is seen the glimmer of javelins and spears: it is Prince Imra’s cohorts come to arrestMoses.]

Koelue

The vague viols of eveningCall all the flower clansTo some abysmal swingingAnd tumult of deep trance;He may hear, flower of my singing,And come hither winging.

The vague viols of evening

Call all the flower clans

To some abysmal swinging

And tumult of deep trance;

He may hear, flower of my singing,

And come hither winging.

Old Hebrew

[Gazing after her in a muffled frenzy.]

Hateful harlot! Boils cover your small cruel face.O, fine champion Moses: O, so good to us:O, grand begetter on her of a whip and a torturer,Her father, born to us since you kissed her.Our champion, O so good to us!

Hateful harlot! Boils cover your small cruel face.

O, fine champion Moses: O, so good to us:

O, grand begetter on her of a whip and a torturer,

Her father, born to us since you kissed her.

Our champion, O so good to us!

Young Hebrew

For shame! Our brothers’ twisted blood-smeared gumsTell we only have more room for wreck curtailed:For you, having no teeth to draw, it is no mercyPerhaps; but they might mangle your gumsOr touch a nerve somewhere. He barred it now;And that is all his thanks, he, too, in peril.Be still, old man; wait a little.

For shame! Our brothers’ twisted blood-smeared gums

Tell we only have more room for wreck curtailed:

For you, having no teeth to draw, it is no mercy

Perhaps; but they might mangle your gums

Or touch a nerve somewhere. He barred it now;

And that is all his thanks, he, too, in peril.

Be still, old man; wait a little.

Old Hebrew

Wait!All day some slow dark quadruped beatsTo pulp our springiness:All day some hoofed animal treads our veins,Leisurely—leisurely our energies flow out:All agonies created from the first dayHave wandered hungry searching the world for us,Or they would perish like disused Behemoth.Is our Messiah one to unleash these agoniesAs Moses does, who gives us an Abinoah?

Wait!

All day some slow dark quadruped beats

To pulp our springiness:

All day some hoofed animal treads our veins,

Leisurely—leisurely our energies flow out:

All agonies created from the first day

Have wandered hungry searching the world for us,

Or they would perish like disused Behemoth.

Is our Messiah one to unleash these agonies

As Moses does, who gives us an Abinoah?

Young Hebrew

Yesterday as I lay nigh dead with toilUnderneath the hurtling crane oiled with our blood,Thinking to end all and let the crane crush me,He came by and bore me into the shade:O, what a furnace roaring in his bloodThawed my congealed sinews and tingled my ownRaging through me like a strong cordial.He spoke! Since yesterdayAm I not larger grown?I’ve seen men hugely shapen in soul,Of such unhuman shaggy male turbulenceThey tower in foam miles from our neck-strained sight,And to their shop only heroes come;But all were cripples to this speedConstrained to the stables of flesh.I say there is a famine in ripe harvestWhen hungry giants come as guests:Come knead the hills and ocean into food,There is none for him.The streaming vigours of his blood eruptingFrom his halt tongue are like an anger thrustOut of a madman’s piteous craving forA monstrous balked perfection.

Yesterday as I lay nigh dead with toil

Underneath the hurtling crane oiled with our blood,

Thinking to end all and let the crane crush me,

He came by and bore me into the shade:

O, what a furnace roaring in his blood

Thawed my congealed sinews and tingled my own

Raging through me like a strong cordial.

He spoke! Since yesterday

Am I not larger grown?

I’ve seen men hugely shapen in soul,

Of such unhuman shaggy male turbulence

They tower in foam miles from our neck-strained sight,

And to their shop only heroes come;

But all were cripples to this speed

Constrained to the stables of flesh.

I say there is a famine in ripe harvest

When hungry giants come as guests:

Come knead the hills and ocean into food,

There is none for him.

The streaming vigours of his blood erupting

From his halt tongue are like an anger thrust

Out of a madman’s piteous craving for

A monstrous balked perfection.

Old Hebrew

He is a prince, an animalNot of our kind; who perhaps has heardVague rumours of our world, to his mindAn unpleasant miasma.

He is a prince, an animal

Not of our kind; who perhaps has heard

Vague rumours of our world, to his mind

An unpleasant miasma.

Young Hebrew

Is not Miriam his sister, Jochabed his mother?In the womb he looked round and sawFrom furthermost stretches our wrong:From the palaces and schoolsOur pain has pierced dead generationsBack to his blood’s thin source.As we lie chained by Egyptian menHe lay in nets of their women,And now rejoices he has broken their meshes.O! His desires are fleets of treasureHe has squandered in treacherous seas,Sailing mistrust to find frank ports;He fears our fear and tampers mildlyFor our assent to let him save us.When he walks amid our toilWith some master-masonHis tense brows, criticalOf the loose enginery,Hint famed devices flat, his rodScratching new schemes on the sand:But read hard the scrawled lines there—Limned turrets and darkness, chinks of light,Half beasts snorting into the light,A phantasmagoria, wild escapadeTo our hearts’ clue; just a daring planTo the honest mason. What swathed meanings peerFrom his work-a-day council, washed to and fromYour understanding till you doubtThat a word was said—But a terror wakes and forces your eyesInto his covertly, to search his searching;Startled to life, starved hopes slink outCowering, incredulous.

Is not Miriam his sister, Jochabed his mother?

In the womb he looked round and saw

From furthermost stretches our wrong:

From the palaces and schools

Our pain has pierced dead generations

Back to his blood’s thin source.

As we lie chained by Egyptian men

He lay in nets of their women,

And now rejoices he has broken their meshes.

O! His desires are fleets of treasure

He has squandered in treacherous seas,

Sailing mistrust to find frank ports;

He fears our fear and tampers mildly

For our assent to let him save us.

When he walks amid our toil

With some master-mason

His tense brows, critical

Of the loose enginery,

Hint famed devices flat, his rod

Scratching new schemes on the sand:

But read hard the scrawled lines there—

Limned turrets and darkness, chinks of light,

Half beasts snorting into the light,

A phantasmagoria, wild escapade

To our hearts’ clue; just a daring plan

To the honest mason. What swathed meanings peer

From his work-a-day council, washed to and from

Your understanding till you doubt

That a word was said—

But a terror wakes and forces your eyes

Into his covertly, to search his searching;

Startled to life, starved hopes slink out

Cowering, incredulous.

Old Hebrew

[To himself.] His youth is flattered at Moses’ kind speech to him.

[To theYoung Hebrew.]

I am broken and grey, have seen much in my time,And all this gay grotesque of childish manLong passed; half blind, half deaf, I only grumbleI am not blind or deaf enough for peace.I have seen splendid young fools cheat themselvesInto a prophet’s frenzy; I have seenSo many crazed shadows puffed away,And conscious cheats with such an ache for fameThey’d make a bonfire of themselves to beMouthed in the squares, broad in the public eye:And whose backs break, whose lives are mauled, afterIt all falls flat? His tender airs chill me—As thoughts of sleep to a man tiptoed night-longRoped round his neck, for sleep means death to him.Oh, he is kind to us!Your safe teeth chatter when they hear a step:He left them yours because his cunning wayWould brag the wrong against his humane actBy Pharaoh; so gain more favour than he lost.

I am broken and grey, have seen much in my time,

And all this gay grotesque of childish man

Long passed; half blind, half deaf, I only grumble

I am not blind or deaf enough for peace.

I have seen splendid young fools cheat themselves

Into a prophet’s frenzy; I have seen

So many crazed shadows puffed away,

And conscious cheats with such an ache for fame

They’d make a bonfire of themselves to be

Mouthed in the squares, broad in the public eye:

And whose backs break, whose lives are mauled, after

It all falls flat? His tender airs chill me—

As thoughts of sleep to a man tiptoed night-long

Roped round his neck, for sleep means death to him.

Oh, he is kind to us!

Your safe teeth chatter when they hear a step:

He left them yours because his cunning way

Would brag the wrong against his humane act

By Pharaoh; so gain more favour than he lost.

Young Hebrew

Help him not then, and push your safety away:I for my part will be his backward eye,His hands when they are shut. Ah! Abinoah!Like a bad smell from the soul of Moses diptIn the mire of lust he hangs round him;And if his slit-like eyes could tear right outThe pleasure Moses on his daughter had,She’d be as virgin as ere she came nestlingInto that fierce unmanageable blood,Flying from her loathed father. O, that slaveHas hammered from the anvil of her beautyA steel to break his manacles: hard for usMoses has made him overseer. O, his slitsPry—pry.... For what?... To sell to Imra....

Help him not then, and push your safety away:

I for my part will be his backward eye,

His hands when they are shut. Ah! Abinoah!

Like a bad smell from the soul of Moses dipt

In the mire of lust he hangs round him;

And if his slit-like eyes could tear right out

The pleasure Moses on his daughter had,

She’d be as virgin as ere she came nestling

Into that fierce unmanageable blood,

Flying from her loathed father. O, that slave

Has hammered from the anvil of her beauty

A steel to break his manacles: hard for us

Moses has made him overseer. O, his slits

Pry—pry.... For what?... To sell to Imra....

[Abinoahis seen approaching.]

Sh! The thin-lipped abomination!Zig-zagging haschish tours in a fine style:It were delightful labour making bricks,Knowing they would kiss friendly with his head.

Sh! The thin-lipped abomination!

Zig-zagging haschish tours in a fine style:

It were delightful labour making bricks,

Knowing they would kiss friendly with his head.

Abinoah

[Who has been taking haschish; and who has one obsession, hatred of Jews.]

Dirt-draggled mongrels, circumcised slaves,You puddle with your lousy gibberishThe holy air, Pharaoh’s own tributary:Filthy manure for Pharaoh’s flourishing,I’ll circumcise and make holy your tongues,And stop one outlet to your profanation.

Dirt-draggled mongrels, circumcised slaves,

You puddle with your lousy gibberish

The holy air, Pharaoh’s own tributary:

Filthy manure for Pharaoh’s flourishing,

I’ll circumcise and make holy your tongues,

And stop one outlet to your profanation.

[To theOld Hebrew.]

I’ve never seen one beg so for a blow;Too soft am I to resist such entreaty.[Beats him.]Your howling holds the earnest energiesYou cheat from Pharaoh when you make his bricks.

I’ve never seen one beg so for a blow;

Too soft am I to resist such entreaty.

[Beats him.]

Your howling holds the earnest energies

You cheat from Pharaoh when you make his bricks.

An Aged Minstrel

[Sings from a distance.]

Taut is the air and tied the trees,The leaves lie as on a hand;God’s unthinkable imaginationInvents new tortures for nature.

Taut is the air and tied the trees,

The leaves lie as on a hand;

God’s unthinkable imagination

Invents new tortures for nature.

And when the air is soft and the leavesFeel free and push and tremble,Will they not remember and sayHow wonderful to have lived?

And when the air is soft and the leaves

Feel free and push and tremble,

Will they not remember and say

How wonderful to have lived?

[TheOld Hebrewis agitated and murmurs.]

Messiah, Messiah.... That voice....O, he has beaten my sight out.... I seeLike a rain about a devouring fire....

Messiah, Messiah.... That voice....

O, he has beaten my sight out.... I see

Like a rain about a devouring fire....

[The Minstrel sings.]

Ye who best God awhile, O hear: your wealthIs but His cunning to see to make death more hard,Your iron sinews take more pain in breaking;And he has made the market for your beautyToo poor to buy although you die to sell.

Ye who best God awhile, O hear: your wealth

Is but His cunning to see to make death more hard,

Your iron sinews take more pain in breaking;

And he has made the market for your beauty

Too poor to buy although you die to sell.

Old Hebrew

I am crazed with whips.... I hear a Messiah.

Young Hebrew

The venerable man will question this.

Abinoah

[Overhearing.] I’ll beat you more, and he’ll questionThe scratchiness of your whining; or, may be,Thence may be born deep argumentWith reasons from philosophy,That this blow, taking longer, yet was but one,Or perhaps two; or that you felt this one—Arguing from the difference in your whine—Exactly, or not, like the other.

[Overhearing.] I’ll beat you more, and he’ll question

The scratchiness of your whining; or, may be,

Thence may be born deep argument

With reasons from philosophy,

That this blow, taking longer, yet was but one,

Or perhaps two; or that you felt this one—

Arguing from the difference in your whine—

Exactly, or not, like the other.

Minstrel

You labour hard to give pain.

Abinoah

[Still beating.] My pain is ... not ... to labour so.

Minstrel

What is this greybeard worth to you now,All his dried-up blood crumbled to dust?

What is this greybeard worth to you now,

All his dried-up blood crumbled to dust?

[MotionsAbinoahto desist, but not in time to prevent the old man fainting into the hands of theYoung Hebrew.]

Abinoah

Harper, are you envious of the old fool?Go! Hug the rat who stole your last crumbs,And gnawed the hole in your life which made time wonderWho it was saved labour for him the next score of years.We allowed them life for their labour—they haggled.Food they must have, and (god of laughter!) even ease;But mud and lice and Jews are very busyBreeding plagues in ease.

Harper, are you envious of the old fool?

Go! Hug the rat who stole your last crumbs,

And gnawed the hole in your life which made time wonder

Who it was saved labour for him the next score of years.

We allowed them life for their labour—they haggled.

Food they must have, and (god of laughter!) even ease;

But mud and lice and Jews are very busy

Breeding plagues in ease.

[The Minstrel pulls his beard and robe off.]

Abinoah

Moses!

Moses

You drunken rascal!

Abinoah

A drunken rascal! Isis, hear the Prince!Drunken with duty, and he calls me rascal.

A drunken rascal! Isis, hear the Prince!

Drunken with duty, and he calls me rascal.

Moses

You may think it your duty to get drunk;But get yourself bronze claws beforeYou would be impudent.

You may think it your duty to get drunk;

But get yourself bronze claws before

You would be impudent.

Abinoah

When a man’s drunk he’ll kiss a horse or king,He’s so affectionate. Under your wordsThere is strong wine to make me drunk; you think,The lines of all your face say, “Her father, Koelue’s father.”

When a man’s drunk he’ll kiss a horse or king,

He’s so affectionate. Under your words

There is strong wine to make me drunk; you think,

The lines of all your face say, “Her father, Koelue’s father.”

Moses

This is too droll and extraordinary.I dreamt I was a prince—a queer droll dreamWhere a certain slave of mine, a thing, a toad,Shifting his belly, showed a diamondWhere he had lain; and a blind dumb messengerBore syllabled messages soaked right through with glee:I paid the toad, the blind man; afterwardsThey spread a stench and snarling. O, droll dream!I think you merely mean to flatter me,You subtle knave, that, more than prince, I’mmanAnd worth to listen to your bawdy breath.

This is too droll and extraordinary.

I dreamt I was a prince—a queer droll dream

Where a certain slave of mine, a thing, a toad,

Shifting his belly, showed a diamond

Where he had lain; and a blind dumb messenger

Bore syllabled messages soaked right through with glee:

I paid the toad, the blind man; afterwards

They spread a stench and snarling. O, droll dream!

I think you merely mean to flatter me,

You subtle knave, that, more than prince, I’mman

And worth to listen to your bawdy breath.

Abinoah

Yet my breath was worth your mixing with.

Moses

A boy at college flattered so by a girlWill give her what she asks for.

A boy at college flattered so by a girl

Will give her what she asks for.

Abinoah

Osiris! Burning Osiris!Of thee desirable, for thee, her hair....

Osiris! Burning Osiris!

Of thee desirable, for thee, her hair....

[He looks inanely atMoses,saying to himself.]

Prince Imra vowed his honey-hives and vineyards:Isis, to let a Jew have her for nothing!

Prince Imra vowed his honey-hives and vineyards:

Isis, to let a Jew have her for nothing!

[He sings under his breath.]

Night by night in a little houseA man and woman meet;They look like each other,They are sister and brother;And night by night at that same hourA king calls for his son in vain.

Night by night in a little house

A man and woman meet;

They look like each other,

They are sister and brother;

And night by night at that same hour

A king calls for his son in vain.

Moses

[To himself.] So, sister Miriam, it is known then. Slave, you die.[Aloud.] O, you ambiguous stench,You’ll be more interesting as a mummyI have no doubt.

[To himself.] So, sister Miriam, it is known then. Slave, you die.

[Aloud.] O, you ambiguous stench,

You’ll be more interesting as a mummy

I have no doubt.

Abinoah

I’m drunk, yes—drenched with the thoughtOf a certain thing. [Aside.] I’ll sleep sounder to-nightThan all the nights I’ve followed him aboutWorrying each slight clue, each monosyllableTo give the word to Imra: the prince is near,And Moses’ eyes shall blink before next hourTo a hundred javelins. I’ll tease him till they come.[Aloud.] On Koelue’s tears I swam to you, in a mistOf her sighs I hung round you;As in some hallucination I’ve been walkingA white waste world, we two only in it.

I’m drunk, yes—drenched with the thought

Of a certain thing. [Aside.] I’ll sleep sounder to-night

Than all the nights I’ve followed him about

Worrying each slight clue, each monosyllable

To give the word to Imra: the prince is near,

And Moses’ eyes shall blink before next hour

To a hundred javelins. I’ll tease him till they come.

[Aloud.] On Koelue’s tears I swam to you, in a mist

Of her sighs I hung round you;

As in some hallucination I’ve been walking

A white waste world, we two only in it.

Moses

Doubtless the instinct balked to bully the girl,Making large gapings in your haschish dreams,Led you to me in whom she was thoroughly lost.Pah, you sicken me!

Doubtless the instinct balked to bully the girl,

Making large gapings in your haschish dreams,

Led you to me in whom she was thoroughly lost.

Pah, you sicken me!

[He is silent awhile, then turns away.]

Abinoah

Prince Imra is Pharaoh’s choice now, and Koelue’s.

[Mosesturns back menacingly.]

Moses

Silence, you beast!

[He changes his tone to a winning softness.]

I hate these family quarrels: it is soLike fratricide. I am a rebel, well?Soft! You are not, and we are knit so closeIt would be shame for a son to be so honouredAnd the father still unknown: come, Koelue’s (somy) father,I’ll tell my plans—you’ll beg to be rebel then.Look round on the night—Old as the first, bleak, even her wish is done;She has never seen, though dreamt perhaps of the sun,Yet only dawn divides; could a miracleDestroy the dawn, night would be mixed with light,No night or light would be, but a new thing:So with these slaves, who perhaps have dreamt of freedom,Egypt was in the way; I’ll strike it outWith my ways curious and unusual.I have a trouble in my mind for largeness,Rough-hearted, shaggy, which your grave ardours lack:Here is the quarry quiet for me to hew;Here are the springs, primeval elements,The roots’ hid secrecy, old source of race,Unreasoned reason of the savage instinct.I’d shape one impulse through the contrariesOf vain ambitious men, selfish and callous,And frail life-drifters, reticent, delicate—Litheness thread bulk, a nation’s harmony:These are not lame nor bent awry, but placelessWith the rust and stagnant. All that’s low I’ll charm,Barbaric love sweeten to tenderness,Cunning run into wisdom, craft turn to skill;Their meanness, threaded right and sensibly,Change to a prudence envied and not sneered;Their hugeness be a driving wedge to a thingIneffable and useable, as nearSolidity as human life can be:So grandly fashion these rude elementsInto some newer nature, a consciousnessLike naked light seizing the all-eyed soul,Oppressing with its gorgeous tyrannyUntil they take it thus—or die.

I hate these family quarrels: it is so

Like fratricide. I am a rebel, well?

Soft! You are not, and we are knit so close

It would be shame for a son to be so honoured

And the father still unknown: come, Koelue’s (somy) father,

I’ll tell my plans—you’ll beg to be rebel then.

Look round on the night—

Old as the first, bleak, even her wish is done;

She has never seen, though dreamt perhaps of the sun,

Yet only dawn divides; could a miracle

Destroy the dawn, night would be mixed with light,

No night or light would be, but a new thing:

So with these slaves, who perhaps have dreamt of freedom,

Egypt was in the way; I’ll strike it out

With my ways curious and unusual.

I have a trouble in my mind for largeness,

Rough-hearted, shaggy, which your grave ardours lack:

Here is the quarry quiet for me to hew;

Here are the springs, primeval elements,

The roots’ hid secrecy, old source of race,

Unreasoned reason of the savage instinct.

I’d shape one impulse through the contraries

Of vain ambitious men, selfish and callous,

And frail life-drifters, reticent, delicate—

Litheness thread bulk, a nation’s harmony:

These are not lame nor bent awry, but placeless

With the rust and stagnant. All that’s low I’ll charm,

Barbaric love sweeten to tenderness,

Cunning run into wisdom, craft turn to skill;

Their meanness, threaded right and sensibly,

Change to a prudence envied and not sneered;

Their hugeness be a driving wedge to a thing

Ineffable and useable, as near

Solidity as human life can be:

So grandly fashion these rude elements

Into some newer nature, a consciousness

Like naked light seizing the all-eyed soul,

Oppressing with its gorgeous tyranny

Until they take it thus—or die.

[While speaking, he places his hand on the unsuspecting Egyptian’s head and gently, caressingly, pulls his hair back until his chin is above his forehead, and holds him so till he is suffocated. In the darkness ahead is seen the glimmer of javelins and spears: it is Prince Imra’s cohorts come to arrestMoses.]

The End.

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