Jaffar the Barmecide, the good vizier,The poor man's hope, the friend without a peer,Jaffar was dead, slain by a doom unjust;And guilty Haroun, sullen with mistrustOf what the good, and e'en the bad, might say,Ordained that no man living, from that day,Should dare to speak his name on pain of death.All Araby and Persia held their breath;All but the brave Mondeer; he, proud to showHow far for love a grateful soul could go,And facing death for very scorn and grief(For his great heart wanted a great relief),Stood forth in Bagdad, daily, in the squareWhere once had stood a happy house, and thereHarangued the tremblers at the scimitarOn all they owed to the divine Jaffar."Bring me this man," the caliph cried; the manWas brought, was gazed upon. The mutes beganTo bind his arms. "Welcome, brave cords," cried he,"From bonds far worse Jaffar delivered me;From wants, from shames, from loveliest household fears,Made a man's eyes friends with delicious tears;Restored me, loved me, put me on a parWith his great self. How can I pay Jaffar?"Haroun, who felt that on a soul like thisThe mightiest vengeance could not fall amiss,Now deigned to smile, as one great lord of fateMight smile upon another half as great.He said, "Let worth grow frenzied if it will;The caliph's judgment shall be master still.Go, and since gifts so move thee, take this gem,The richest in the Tartar's diadem,And hold the giver as thou deemest fit!""Gifts!" cried the friend; he took, and holding itHigh toward the heavens, as though to meet his star,Exclaimed, "This, too, I owe to thee, Jaffar!"
Jaffar the Barmecide, the good vizier,The poor man's hope, the friend without a peer,Jaffar was dead, slain by a doom unjust;And guilty Haroun, sullen with mistrustOf what the good, and e'en the bad, might say,Ordained that no man living, from that day,Should dare to speak his name on pain of death.All Araby and Persia held their breath;
Jaffar the Barmecide, the good vizier,
The poor man's hope, the friend without a peer,
Jaffar was dead, slain by a doom unjust;
And guilty Haroun, sullen with mistrust
Of what the good, and e'en the bad, might say,
Ordained that no man living, from that day,
Should dare to speak his name on pain of death.
All Araby and Persia held their breath;
All but the brave Mondeer; he, proud to showHow far for love a grateful soul could go,And facing death for very scorn and grief(For his great heart wanted a great relief),Stood forth in Bagdad, daily, in the squareWhere once had stood a happy house, and thereHarangued the tremblers at the scimitarOn all they owed to the divine Jaffar.
All but the brave Mondeer; he, proud to show
How far for love a grateful soul could go,
And facing death for very scorn and grief
(For his great heart wanted a great relief),
Stood forth in Bagdad, daily, in the square
Where once had stood a happy house, and there
Harangued the tremblers at the scimitar
On all they owed to the divine Jaffar.
"Bring me this man," the caliph cried; the manWas brought, was gazed upon. The mutes beganTo bind his arms. "Welcome, brave cords," cried he,"From bonds far worse Jaffar delivered me;From wants, from shames, from loveliest household fears,Made a man's eyes friends with delicious tears;Restored me, loved me, put me on a parWith his great self. How can I pay Jaffar?"
"Bring me this man," the caliph cried; the man
Was brought, was gazed upon. The mutes began
To bind his arms. "Welcome, brave cords," cried he,
"From bonds far worse Jaffar delivered me;
From wants, from shames, from loveliest household fears,
Made a man's eyes friends with delicious tears;
Restored me, loved me, put me on a par
With his great self. How can I pay Jaffar?"
Haroun, who felt that on a soul like thisThe mightiest vengeance could not fall amiss,Now deigned to smile, as one great lord of fateMight smile upon another half as great.He said, "Let worth grow frenzied if it will;The caliph's judgment shall be master still.Go, and since gifts so move thee, take this gem,The richest in the Tartar's diadem,And hold the giver as thou deemest fit!""Gifts!" cried the friend; he took, and holding itHigh toward the heavens, as though to meet his star,Exclaimed, "This, too, I owe to thee, Jaffar!"
Haroun, who felt that on a soul like this
The mightiest vengeance could not fall amiss,
Now deigned to smile, as one great lord of fate
Might smile upon another half as great.
He said, "Let worth grow frenzied if it will;
The caliph's judgment shall be master still.
Go, and since gifts so move thee, take this gem,
The richest in the Tartar's diadem,
And hold the giver as thou deemest fit!"
"Gifts!" cried the friend; he took, and holding it
High toward the heavens, as though to meet his star,
Exclaimed, "This, too, I owe to thee, Jaffar!"
Wall, no! I can't tell where he lives,Because he don't live, you see;Leastways, he's got out of the habitOf livin' like you and me.Whar have you been for the last three years,That you haven't heard folks tellHow Jimmy Bludsoe passed in his checks,The night of the Prairie Belle?He warn't no saint—them engineersIs all pretty much alike—One wife in Natchez-Under-the-Hill,And another one here in Pike.A careless man in his talk was Jim,And an awkward man in a row—But he never flunked, and he never lied—I reckon he never knowed how.And this was all the religion he had—To treat his engine well;Never be passed on the river;To mind the pilot's bell;And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire;A thousand times he swore,He'd hold her nozzle agin the bankTill the last soul got ashore.All boats has their day on the Mississip',And her day came at last—The Movastar was a better boat,But the Belle, she wouldn't be passed,And so came a-tearin' along that night,The oldest craft on the line,With a nigger squat on her safety-valve,And her furnaces crammed, rosin and pine.The fire burst out as she cleared the bar,And burnt a hole in the night,And quick as a flash she turned and madeFor that willer-bank on the right.Ther' was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled outOver all the infernal roar,"I'll hold her nozzle agin the bankTill the last galoot's ashore."Thro' the hot black breath of the burnin' boatJim Bludsoe's voice was heard,And they all had trust in his cussedness,And know'd he would keep his word.And sure's you're born, they all got offAfore the smokestacks fell,And Bludsoe's ghost went up aloneIn the smoke of Prairie Belle.He warn't no saint—but at judgmentI'd run my chance with JimLongside of some pious gentlemanThat wouldn't shook hands with him.He'd seen his duty, a dead sure thing,And went fer it thar and then;And Christ ain't a-goin' to be too hardOn a man that died for men.
Wall, no! I can't tell where he lives,Because he don't live, you see;Leastways, he's got out of the habitOf livin' like you and me.Whar have you been for the last three years,That you haven't heard folks tellHow Jimmy Bludsoe passed in his checks,The night of the Prairie Belle?
Wall, no! I can't tell where he lives,
Because he don't live, you see;
Leastways, he's got out of the habit
Of livin' like you and me.
Whar have you been for the last three years,
That you haven't heard folks tell
How Jimmy Bludsoe passed in his checks,
The night of the Prairie Belle?
He warn't no saint—them engineersIs all pretty much alike—One wife in Natchez-Under-the-Hill,And another one here in Pike.A careless man in his talk was Jim,And an awkward man in a row—But he never flunked, and he never lied—I reckon he never knowed how.
He warn't no saint—them engineers
Is all pretty much alike—
One wife in Natchez-Under-the-Hill,
And another one here in Pike.
A careless man in his talk was Jim,
And an awkward man in a row—
But he never flunked, and he never lied—
I reckon he never knowed how.
And this was all the religion he had—To treat his engine well;Never be passed on the river;To mind the pilot's bell;And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire;A thousand times he swore,He'd hold her nozzle agin the bankTill the last soul got ashore.
And this was all the religion he had—
To treat his engine well;
Never be passed on the river;
To mind the pilot's bell;
And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire;
A thousand times he swore,
He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank
Till the last soul got ashore.
All boats has their day on the Mississip',And her day came at last—The Movastar was a better boat,But the Belle, she wouldn't be passed,And so came a-tearin' along that night,The oldest craft on the line,With a nigger squat on her safety-valve,And her furnaces crammed, rosin and pine.
All boats has their day on the Mississip',
And her day came at last—
The Movastar was a better boat,
But the Belle, she wouldn't be passed,
And so came a-tearin' along that night,
The oldest craft on the line,
With a nigger squat on her safety-valve,
And her furnaces crammed, rosin and pine.
The fire burst out as she cleared the bar,And burnt a hole in the night,And quick as a flash she turned and madeFor that willer-bank on the right.Ther' was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled outOver all the infernal roar,"I'll hold her nozzle agin the bankTill the last galoot's ashore."
The fire burst out as she cleared the bar,
And burnt a hole in the night,
And quick as a flash she turned and made
For that willer-bank on the right.
Ther' was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out
Over all the infernal roar,
"I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank
Till the last galoot's ashore."
Thro' the hot black breath of the burnin' boatJim Bludsoe's voice was heard,And they all had trust in his cussedness,And know'd he would keep his word.And sure's you're born, they all got offAfore the smokestacks fell,And Bludsoe's ghost went up aloneIn the smoke of Prairie Belle.
Thro' the hot black breath of the burnin' boat
Jim Bludsoe's voice was heard,
And they all had trust in his cussedness,
And know'd he would keep his word.
And sure's you're born, they all got off
Afore the smokestacks fell,
And Bludsoe's ghost went up alone
In the smoke of Prairie Belle.
He warn't no saint—but at judgmentI'd run my chance with JimLongside of some pious gentlemanThat wouldn't shook hands with him.He'd seen his duty, a dead sure thing,And went fer it thar and then;And Christ ain't a-goin' to be too hardOn a man that died for men.
He warn't no saint—but at judgment
I'd run my chance with Jim
Longside of some pious gentleman
That wouldn't shook hands with him.
He'd seen his duty, a dead sure thing,
And went fer it thar and then;
And Christ ain't a-goin' to be too hard
On a man that died for men.
FOOTNOTE:[7]By permission of Mrs. Hay.
[7]By permission of Mrs. Hay.
[7]By permission of Mrs. Hay.
Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope UrbaneAnd Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,Appareled in magnificent attire,With retinue of many a knight and squire,On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat,And heard the priests chant the Magnificat,And as he listened, o'er and o'er againRepeated, like a burden or refrain,He caught the words, "Deposuit potentesDe sede et exultavit humiles;"And slowly lifting up his kingly head,He to the learned clerk beside him said,"What mean those words?" The clerk made answer meet,"He has put down the mighty from their seat,And has exalted them of low degree."Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully,"'Tis well that such seditious words are sungOnly by priests and in the Latin tongue;For unto priests and people be it known,There is no power can push me from my throne!"And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep,Lulled by the chant, monotonous and deep.When he awoke it was already night;The church was empty, and there was no light,Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint,Lighted a little space before some saint.He started from his seat and gazed around,But saw no living thing and heard no sound.He groped toward the door, but it was locked;He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked,And uttered awful threatenings and complaints,And imprecations upon men and saints.The sounds reëchoed from the roof and wallsAs if dead priests were laughing in their stalls.At length the sexton hearing from withoutThe tumult of the knocking and the shout,And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer,Came with his lantern asking, "Who is there?"Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said,"Open: 'Tis I, the King! Art thou afraid?"The frightened sexton muttering with a curse,"This is some drunken vagabond or worse!"Turned the great key and flung the portal wide;A man rushed by him at a single stride,Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak,Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke,But leaped into the blackness of the night,And vanished like a spectre from his sight.Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope UrbaneAnd Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,Despoiled of his magnificent attire,Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire,With sense of wrong and outrage desperate,Strode on and thundered at the palace gate;Rushed through the courtyard, thrusting in his rageTo right and left each seneschal and page,And hurried up the broad and sounding stair,His white face ghastly in the torches' glare.From hall to hall he rushed in breathless speed,Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed,Until at last he reached the banquet room,Blazing with light and breathing with perfume.There on the dais sat another king,Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet ring,King Robert's self in feature, form and height,But all transfigured with angelic light.It was an Angel; and his presence thereWith a divine effulgence filled the air,An exaltation piercing the disguise,Though none the hidden Angel recognize.A moment speechless, motionless, amazed,The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed,Who met his look of anger and surpriseWith the divine compassion of his eyes;Then said, "Who art thou, and why comest thou here?"To which King Robert answered with a sneer,"I am the King, and come to claim my ownFrom an imposter, who usurps my throne!"And suddenly, at these audacious words,Up sprang the angry guests and drew their swords!The Angel answered with unruffled brow,"Nay, not the king, but the king's Jester, thouHenceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape,And for thy counselor shalt lead an ape;Thou shalt obey my servants when they call,And wait upon my henchmen in the hall!"Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers,They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs;A group of tittering pages ran before,And as they opened wide the folding doors,His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms,The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms,And all the vaulted chamber roar and ringWith the mock plaudits of "Long live the King!"Next morning, waking with the day's first beam,He said within himself, "It was a dream!"But the straw rustled as he turned his head,There were the cap and bells beside his bed,Around him rose the bare discolored walls,Close by the steeds were champing in their stalls,And in the corner, a revolting shape,Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape.It was no dream; the world he loved so muchHad turned to dust and ashes at his touch!Days came and went; and now returned againTo Sicily the old Saturnian reign;Under the Angel's governance benignThe happy island danced with corn and wine,And deep within the mountain's burning breastEnceladus, the giant, was at rest.Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate,Sullen and silent and disconsolate,Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear,With look bewildered and a vacant stare,Close shaven above the ears as monks are shorn,By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn,His only friend the ape, his only foodWhat others left,—he still was unsubdued.And when the Angel met him on his way,And half in earnest, half in jest, would say,Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel,The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel,"Art thou the King?" the passion of his woe,Burst from him in resistless overflow,And, lifting high his forehead he would flingThe haughty answer back, "I am, I am, the King!"Almost three years were ended, when there cameAmbassadors of great repute and fameFrom Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,Unto King Robert, saying that Pope UrbaneBy letter summoned them forthwith to comeOn Holy Thursday to his City of Rome.The Pope received them with great pomp and blareOf bannered trumpets, on St. Peter's Square,Giving his benediction and embrace,Fervent, and full of apostolic grace.While with congratulations and with prayersHe entertained the Angel unawares.Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd,Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud,"I am the King! Look and behold in meRobert, your brother, King of Sicily!This man who wears my semblance in your eyes,Is an imposter in a king's disguise.Do you not know me? Does no voice withinAnswer my cry, and say we are akin?"The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien,Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene;The Emperor, laughing said, "It is strange sportTo keep a madman for thy fool at court!"And the poor baffled Jester in disgraceWas hustled back among the populace.In solemn state the Holy Week went by,And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky;The presence of the Angel, with its light,Before the sun rose, made the city bright,And with new fervor filled the hearts of men,Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again.Even the Jester, on his bed of straw,With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw,He felt within a power unfelt before,And, kneeling humbly on the chamber floor,He heard the rushing garments of the LordSweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward.And now the visit ending, and once moreValmond returning to the Danube's shore,Homeward the Angel journeyed, and againThe land was made resplendent with his train,Flashing along the towns of ItalyUnto Salerno, and from thence by sea.And when once more within Palermo's wall,And, seated on the throne in his great hall,He heard the Angelus from convent towers,As if a better world conversed with ours,He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher,And with a gesture bade the rest retire;And when they were alone, the Angel said,"Art thou the King?" Then, bowing down his head,King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast,And meekly answered him: "Thou knowest best!My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence,And in some cloister's school of penitence,Across those stones that pave the way to heaven,Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven!"The Angel smiled, and from his radiant faceA holy light illumined all the place,And through the open window, loud and clear,They heard the monks chant in the chapel near,Above the noise and tumult of the street:"He has put down the mighty from their seat,And has exalted them of low degree!"And through the chant a second melodyRose like the throbbing of a single string:"I am an Angel, and thou art the King!"King Robert, who was standing near the throne,Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone!But all appareled as in days of old,With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold,And when his courtiers came, they found him thereKneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer.
Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope UrbaneAnd Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,Appareled in magnificent attire,With retinue of many a knight and squire,On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat,And heard the priests chant the Magnificat,And as he listened, o'er and o'er againRepeated, like a burden or refrain,He caught the words, "Deposuit potentesDe sede et exultavit humiles;"And slowly lifting up his kingly head,He to the learned clerk beside him said,"What mean those words?" The clerk made answer meet,"He has put down the mighty from their seat,And has exalted them of low degree."Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully,"'Tis well that such seditious words are sungOnly by priests and in the Latin tongue;For unto priests and people be it known,There is no power can push me from my throne!"And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep,Lulled by the chant, monotonous and deep.When he awoke it was already night;The church was empty, and there was no light,Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint,Lighted a little space before some saint.He started from his seat and gazed around,But saw no living thing and heard no sound.He groped toward the door, but it was locked;He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked,And uttered awful threatenings and complaints,And imprecations upon men and saints.The sounds reëchoed from the roof and wallsAs if dead priests were laughing in their stalls.
Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane
And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,
Appareled in magnificent attire,
With retinue of many a knight and squire,
On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat,
And heard the priests chant the Magnificat,
And as he listened, o'er and o'er again
Repeated, like a burden or refrain,
He caught the words, "Deposuit potentes
De sede et exultavit humiles;"
And slowly lifting up his kingly head,
He to the learned clerk beside him said,
"What mean those words?" The clerk made answer meet,
"He has put down the mighty from their seat,
And has exalted them of low degree."
Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully,
"'Tis well that such seditious words are sung
Only by priests and in the Latin tongue;
For unto priests and people be it known,
There is no power can push me from my throne!"
And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep,
Lulled by the chant, monotonous and deep.
When he awoke it was already night;
The church was empty, and there was no light,
Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint,
Lighted a little space before some saint.
He started from his seat and gazed around,
But saw no living thing and heard no sound.
He groped toward the door, but it was locked;
He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked,
And uttered awful threatenings and complaints,
And imprecations upon men and saints.
The sounds reëchoed from the roof and walls
As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls.
At length the sexton hearing from withoutThe tumult of the knocking and the shout,And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer,Came with his lantern asking, "Who is there?"Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said,"Open: 'Tis I, the King! Art thou afraid?"The frightened sexton muttering with a curse,"This is some drunken vagabond or worse!"Turned the great key and flung the portal wide;A man rushed by him at a single stride,Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak,Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke,But leaped into the blackness of the night,And vanished like a spectre from his sight.Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope UrbaneAnd Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,Despoiled of his magnificent attire,Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire,With sense of wrong and outrage desperate,Strode on and thundered at the palace gate;Rushed through the courtyard, thrusting in his rageTo right and left each seneschal and page,And hurried up the broad and sounding stair,His white face ghastly in the torches' glare.From hall to hall he rushed in breathless speed,Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed,Until at last he reached the banquet room,Blazing with light and breathing with perfume.
At length the sexton hearing from without
The tumult of the knocking and the shout,
And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer,
Came with his lantern asking, "Who is there?"
Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said,
"Open: 'Tis I, the King! Art thou afraid?"
The frightened sexton muttering with a curse,
"This is some drunken vagabond or worse!"
Turned the great key and flung the portal wide;
A man rushed by him at a single stride,
Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak,
Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke,
But leaped into the blackness of the night,
And vanished like a spectre from his sight.
Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane
And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,
Despoiled of his magnificent attire,
Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire,
With sense of wrong and outrage desperate,
Strode on and thundered at the palace gate;
Rushed through the courtyard, thrusting in his rage
To right and left each seneschal and page,
And hurried up the broad and sounding stair,
His white face ghastly in the torches' glare.
From hall to hall he rushed in breathless speed,
Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed,
Until at last he reached the banquet room,
Blazing with light and breathing with perfume.
There on the dais sat another king,Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet ring,King Robert's self in feature, form and height,But all transfigured with angelic light.It was an Angel; and his presence thereWith a divine effulgence filled the air,An exaltation piercing the disguise,Though none the hidden Angel recognize.
There on the dais sat another king,
Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet ring,
King Robert's self in feature, form and height,
But all transfigured with angelic light.
It was an Angel; and his presence there
With a divine effulgence filled the air,
An exaltation piercing the disguise,
Though none the hidden Angel recognize.
A moment speechless, motionless, amazed,The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed,Who met his look of anger and surpriseWith the divine compassion of his eyes;Then said, "Who art thou, and why comest thou here?"To which King Robert answered with a sneer,"I am the King, and come to claim my ownFrom an imposter, who usurps my throne!"And suddenly, at these audacious words,Up sprang the angry guests and drew their swords!The Angel answered with unruffled brow,"Nay, not the king, but the king's Jester, thouHenceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape,And for thy counselor shalt lead an ape;Thou shalt obey my servants when they call,And wait upon my henchmen in the hall!"
A moment speechless, motionless, amazed,
The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed,
Who met his look of anger and surprise
With the divine compassion of his eyes;
Then said, "Who art thou, and why comest thou here?"
To which King Robert answered with a sneer,
"I am the King, and come to claim my own
From an imposter, who usurps my throne!"
And suddenly, at these audacious words,
Up sprang the angry guests and drew their swords!
The Angel answered with unruffled brow,
"Nay, not the king, but the king's Jester, thou
Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape,
And for thy counselor shalt lead an ape;
Thou shalt obey my servants when they call,
And wait upon my henchmen in the hall!"
Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers,They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs;A group of tittering pages ran before,And as they opened wide the folding doors,His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms,The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms,And all the vaulted chamber roar and ringWith the mock plaudits of "Long live the King!"
Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers,
They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs;
A group of tittering pages ran before,
And as they opened wide the folding doors,
His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms,
The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms,
And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring
With the mock plaudits of "Long live the King!"
Next morning, waking with the day's first beam,He said within himself, "It was a dream!"But the straw rustled as he turned his head,There were the cap and bells beside his bed,Around him rose the bare discolored walls,Close by the steeds were champing in their stalls,And in the corner, a revolting shape,Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape.It was no dream; the world he loved so muchHad turned to dust and ashes at his touch!
Next morning, waking with the day's first beam,
He said within himself, "It was a dream!"
But the straw rustled as he turned his head,
There were the cap and bells beside his bed,
Around him rose the bare discolored walls,
Close by the steeds were champing in their stalls,
And in the corner, a revolting shape,
Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape.
It was no dream; the world he loved so much
Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch!
Days came and went; and now returned againTo Sicily the old Saturnian reign;Under the Angel's governance benignThe happy island danced with corn and wine,And deep within the mountain's burning breastEnceladus, the giant, was at rest.
Days came and went; and now returned again
To Sicily the old Saturnian reign;
Under the Angel's governance benign
The happy island danced with corn and wine,
And deep within the mountain's burning breast
Enceladus, the giant, was at rest.
Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate,Sullen and silent and disconsolate,Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear,With look bewildered and a vacant stare,Close shaven above the ears as monks are shorn,By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn,His only friend the ape, his only foodWhat others left,—he still was unsubdued.And when the Angel met him on his way,And half in earnest, half in jest, would say,Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel,The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel,"Art thou the King?" the passion of his woe,Burst from him in resistless overflow,And, lifting high his forehead he would flingThe haughty answer back, "I am, I am, the King!"
Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate,
Sullen and silent and disconsolate,
Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear,
With look bewildered and a vacant stare,
Close shaven above the ears as monks are shorn,
By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn,
His only friend the ape, his only food
What others left,—he still was unsubdued.
And when the Angel met him on his way,
And half in earnest, half in jest, would say,
Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel,
The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel,
"Art thou the King?" the passion of his woe,
Burst from him in resistless overflow,
And, lifting high his forehead he would fling
The haughty answer back, "I am, I am, the King!"
Almost three years were ended, when there cameAmbassadors of great repute and fameFrom Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,Unto King Robert, saying that Pope UrbaneBy letter summoned them forthwith to comeOn Holy Thursday to his City of Rome.
Almost three years were ended, when there came
Ambassadors of great repute and fame
From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,
Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane
By letter summoned them forthwith to come
On Holy Thursday to his City of Rome.
The Pope received them with great pomp and blareOf bannered trumpets, on St. Peter's Square,Giving his benediction and embrace,Fervent, and full of apostolic grace.While with congratulations and with prayersHe entertained the Angel unawares.Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd,Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud,"I am the King! Look and behold in meRobert, your brother, King of Sicily!This man who wears my semblance in your eyes,Is an imposter in a king's disguise.Do you not know me? Does no voice withinAnswer my cry, and say we are akin?"The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien,Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene;The Emperor, laughing said, "It is strange sportTo keep a madman for thy fool at court!"And the poor baffled Jester in disgraceWas hustled back among the populace.
The Pope received them with great pomp and blare
Of bannered trumpets, on St. Peter's Square,
Giving his benediction and embrace,
Fervent, and full of apostolic grace.
While with congratulations and with prayers
He entertained the Angel unawares.
Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd,
Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud,
"I am the King! Look and behold in me
Robert, your brother, King of Sicily!
This man who wears my semblance in your eyes,
Is an imposter in a king's disguise.
Do you not know me? Does no voice within
Answer my cry, and say we are akin?"
The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien,
Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene;
The Emperor, laughing said, "It is strange sport
To keep a madman for thy fool at court!"
And the poor baffled Jester in disgrace
Was hustled back among the populace.
In solemn state the Holy Week went by,And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky;The presence of the Angel, with its light,Before the sun rose, made the city bright,And with new fervor filled the hearts of men,Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again.
In solemn state the Holy Week went by,
And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky;
The presence of the Angel, with its light,
Before the sun rose, made the city bright,
And with new fervor filled the hearts of men,
Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again.
Even the Jester, on his bed of straw,With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw,He felt within a power unfelt before,And, kneeling humbly on the chamber floor,He heard the rushing garments of the LordSweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward.
Even the Jester, on his bed of straw,
With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw,
He felt within a power unfelt before,
And, kneeling humbly on the chamber floor,
He heard the rushing garments of the Lord
Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward.
And now the visit ending, and once moreValmond returning to the Danube's shore,Homeward the Angel journeyed, and againThe land was made resplendent with his train,Flashing along the towns of ItalyUnto Salerno, and from thence by sea.And when once more within Palermo's wall,And, seated on the throne in his great hall,He heard the Angelus from convent towers,As if a better world conversed with ours,He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher,And with a gesture bade the rest retire;And when they were alone, the Angel said,"Art thou the King?" Then, bowing down his head,King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast,And meekly answered him: "Thou knowest best!My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence,And in some cloister's school of penitence,Across those stones that pave the way to heaven,Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven!"
And now the visit ending, and once more
Valmond returning to the Danube's shore,
Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again
The land was made resplendent with his train,
Flashing along the towns of Italy
Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea.
And when once more within Palermo's wall,
And, seated on the throne in his great hall,
He heard the Angelus from convent towers,
As if a better world conversed with ours,
He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher,
And with a gesture bade the rest retire;
And when they were alone, the Angel said,
"Art thou the King?" Then, bowing down his head,
King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast,
And meekly answered him: "Thou knowest best!
My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence,
And in some cloister's school of penitence,
Across those stones that pave the way to heaven,
Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven!"
The Angel smiled, and from his radiant faceA holy light illumined all the place,And through the open window, loud and clear,They heard the monks chant in the chapel near,Above the noise and tumult of the street:"He has put down the mighty from their seat,And has exalted them of low degree!"And through the chant a second melodyRose like the throbbing of a single string:"I am an Angel, and thou art the King!"
The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face
A holy light illumined all the place,
And through the open window, loud and clear,
They heard the monks chant in the chapel near,
Above the noise and tumult of the street:
"He has put down the mighty from their seat,
And has exalted them of low degree!"
And through the chant a second melody
Rose like the throbbing of a single string:
"I am an Angel, and thou art the King!"
King Robert, who was standing near the throne,Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone!But all appareled as in days of old,With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold,And when his courtiers came, they found him thereKneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer.
King Robert, who was standing near the throne,
Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone!
But all appareled as in days of old,
With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold,
And when his courtiers came, they found him there
Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer.
FOOTNOTE:[8]Used by permission of, and special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., authorized publishers of his works.
[8]Used by permission of, and special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., authorized publishers of his works.
[8]Used by permission of, and special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., authorized publishers of his works.
On either side the river lieLong fields of barley and of rye,That clothe the wold and meet the sky;And thro' the field the road runs byTo many-tower'd Camelot;And up and down the people go,Gazing where the lilies blowRound an island there below,The island of Shalott.Willows whiten, aspens quiver,Little breezes dusk and shiverThro' the wave that runs foreverBy the island in the riverFlowing down to Camelot.Four gray walls, and four gray towers,Overlook a space of flowers,And the silent isle embowersThe Lady of Shalott.By the margin, willow-veil'dSlide the heavy barges trail'dBy slow horses; and unhail'dThe shallop flitteth silken-sail'dSkimming down to Camelot.But who hath seen her wave her hand?Or at the casement seen her stand?Or is she known in all the land,The Lady of Shalott?Only reapers, reaping earlyIn among the bearded barley,Hear a song that echoes cheerlyFrom the river winding clearly,Down to tower'd Camelot:And by the moon the reaper wearyPiling sheaves in uplands airy,Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairyLady of Shalott."
On either side the river lieLong fields of barley and of rye,That clothe the wold and meet the sky;And thro' the field the road runs byTo many-tower'd Camelot;And up and down the people go,Gazing where the lilies blowRound an island there below,The island of Shalott.
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,Little breezes dusk and shiverThro' the wave that runs foreverBy the island in the riverFlowing down to Camelot.Four gray walls, and four gray towers,Overlook a space of flowers,And the silent isle embowersThe Lady of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs forever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle embowers
The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow-veil'dSlide the heavy barges trail'dBy slow horses; and unhail'dThe shallop flitteth silken-sail'dSkimming down to Camelot.But who hath seen her wave her hand?Or at the casement seen her stand?Or is she known in all the land,The Lady of Shalott?
By the margin, willow-veil'd
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot.
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping earlyIn among the bearded barley,Hear a song that echoes cheerlyFrom the river winding clearly,Down to tower'd Camelot:And by the moon the reaper wearyPiling sheaves in uplands airy,Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairyLady of Shalott."
Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,
Down to tower'd Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper weary
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott."
There she weaves by night and dayA magic web with colors gay.She has heard a whisper say,A curse is on her if she stayTo look down to Camelot.She knows not what the curse may be,And so she weaveth steadily,And little other care hath she,The Lady of Shalott.And moving thro' a mirror clearThat hangs before her all the year,Shadows of the world appear,There she sees the highway nearWinding down to Camelot:There the river eddy whirls,And there the surly village-churls,And the red cloaks of market girls,Pass onward from Shalott.Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,An abbot on an ambling pad,Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,Goes by to tower'd Camelot;And sometimes thro' the mirror blueThe knights come riding two and two:She hath no loyal knight and true,The Lady of Shalott.But in her web she still delightsTo weave the mirror's magic sights,For often thro' the silent nightsA funeral, with plumes and lightsAnd music, went to Camelot:Or when the moon was overhead,Came two young lovers lately wed;"I am half sick of shadows," saidThe Lady of Shalott.
There she weaves by night and dayA magic web with colors gay.She has heard a whisper say,A curse is on her if she stayTo look down to Camelot.She knows not what the curse may be,And so she weaveth steadily,And little other care hath she,The Lady of Shalott.
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colors gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving thro' a mirror clearThat hangs before her all the year,Shadows of the world appear,There she sees the highway nearWinding down to Camelot:There the river eddy whirls,And there the surly village-churls,And the red cloaks of market girls,Pass onward from Shalott.
And moving thro' a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear,
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot:
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,An abbot on an ambling pad,Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,Goes by to tower'd Camelot;And sometimes thro' the mirror blueThe knights come riding two and two:She hath no loyal knight and true,The Lady of Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delightsTo weave the mirror's magic sights,For often thro' the silent nightsA funeral, with plumes and lightsAnd music, went to Camelot:Or when the moon was overhead,Came two young lovers lately wed;"I am half sick of shadows," saidThe Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,He rode between the barley sheaves,The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,And flamed upon the brazen greavesOf bold Sir Lancelot.A red-cross knight forever kneel'dTo a lady in his shield,That sparkled on the yellow field,Beside remote Shalott.All in the blue unclouded weatherThick jewel'd shone the saddle-leather,The helmet and the helmet-featherBurn'd like one burning flame together,As he rode down to Camelot.As often thro' the purple night,Below the starry clusters bright,Some bearded meteor, trailing light,Moves over still Shalott.His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;From underneath his helmet flow'dHis coal-black curls as on he rode,As he rode down to Camelot.From the bank and from the riverHe flashed into the crystal mirror,"Tirra lirra," by the riverSang Sir Lancelot.She left the web, she left the loom,She made three paces thro' the room,She saw the water lily bloom,She saw the helmet and the plume,She look'd down to Camelot.Out flew the web and floated wide;The mirror crack'd from side to side;"The curse is come upon me," criedThe Lady of Shalott.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,He rode between the barley sheaves,The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,And flamed upon the brazen greavesOf bold Sir Lancelot.A red-cross knight forever kneel'dTo a lady in his shield,That sparkled on the yellow field,Beside remote Shalott.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight forever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weatherThick jewel'd shone the saddle-leather,The helmet and the helmet-featherBurn'd like one burning flame together,As he rode down to Camelot.As often thro' the purple night,Below the starry clusters bright,Some bearded meteor, trailing light,Moves over still Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick jewel'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;From underneath his helmet flow'dHis coal-black curls as on he rode,As he rode down to Camelot.From the bank and from the riverHe flashed into the crystal mirror,"Tirra lirra," by the riverSang Sir Lancelot.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,She made three paces thro' the room,She saw the water lily bloom,She saw the helmet and the plume,She look'd down to Camelot.Out flew the web and floated wide;The mirror crack'd from side to side;"The curse is come upon me," criedThe Lady of Shalott.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.
In the stormy east-wind straining,The pale yellow woods were waning,The broad stream in his banks complaining,Heavily the low sky rainingOver tower'd Camelot;Down she came and found a boatBeneath a willow left afloat,And round about the prow she wroteThe Lady of Shalott.And down the river's dim expanseLike some bold seer in a trance,Seeing all his own mischance—With a glassy countenanceDid she look to Camelot.And at the closing of the dayShe loosed the chain, and down she lay;The broad stream bore her far away,The Lady of Shalott.Lying robed in snowy whiteThat loosely flew to left and right—The leaves upon her falling light—Thro' the noises of the nightShe floated down to Camelot:And as the boat-head wound alongThe willowy hills and fields among,They heard her singing her last song,The Lady of Shalott.Heard a carol, mournful, holy,Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,Till her blood was frozen slowlyAnd her eyes were darken'd wholly,Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.For ere she reached upon the tideThe first house by the water side,Singing in her song she died,The Lady of Shalott.Under tower and balcony,By garden-wall and gallery,A gleaming shape she floated by,Dead-pale between the houses high,Silent into Camelot.Out upon the wharfs they came,Knight and burgher, lord and dame,And around the prow they read her name,The Lady of Shalott.Who is this? and what is here?And in the lighted palace nearDied the sound of royal cheer;And they cross'd themselves for fear,All the knights at Camelot:But Lancelot mused a little space;He said, "She has a lovely face;God in His mercy lend her grace,The Lady of Shalott."
In the stormy east-wind straining,The pale yellow woods were waning,The broad stream in his banks complaining,Heavily the low sky rainingOver tower'd Camelot;Down she came and found a boatBeneath a willow left afloat,And round about the prow she wroteThe Lady of Shalott.
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanseLike some bold seer in a trance,Seeing all his own mischance—With a glassy countenanceDid she look to Camelot.And at the closing of the dayShe loosed the chain, and down she lay;The broad stream bore her far away,The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance—
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Lying robed in snowy whiteThat loosely flew to left and right—The leaves upon her falling light—Thro' the noises of the nightShe floated down to Camelot:And as the boat-head wound alongThe willowy hills and fields among,They heard her singing her last song,The Lady of Shalott.
Lying robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right—
The leaves upon her falling light—
Thro' the noises of the night
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,Till her blood was frozen slowlyAnd her eyes were darken'd wholly,Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.For ere she reached upon the tideThe first house by the water side,Singing in her song she died,The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly
And her eyes were darken'd wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reached upon the tide
The first house by the water side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,By garden-wall and gallery,A gleaming shape she floated by,Dead-pale between the houses high,Silent into Camelot.Out upon the wharfs they came,Knight and burgher, lord and dame,And around the prow they read her name,The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? and what is here?And in the lighted palace nearDied the sound of royal cheer;And they cross'd themselves for fear,All the knights at Camelot:But Lancelot mused a little space;He said, "She has a lovely face;God in His mercy lend her grace,The Lady of Shalott."
Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they cross'd themselves for fear,
All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in His mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."
It pleased the Lord of Angels (praise his name!)To hear, one day, report from those who cameWith pitying sorrow, or exultant joy,To tell of earthly tasks in His employ;For some were sorry when they saw how slowThe stream of heavenly love on earth must flow;And some were glad because their eyes had seen,Along its banks, fresh flowers and living green.So, at a certain hour, before the throneThe youngest angel, Asmiel, stood alone;Nor glad, nor sad, but full of earnest thought,And thus his tidings to the Master brought:"Lord, in the city Lupon I have foundThree servants of thy holy name, renownedAbove their fellows. One is very wise,With thoughts that ever range above the skies;And one is gifted with the golden speechThat makes men glad to hear when he will teach;And one, with no rare gift or grace endued,Has won the people's love by doing good.With three such saints Lupon is trebly blest;But, Lord, I fain would know which loves thee best?"Then spake the Lord of Angels, to whose lookThe hearts of all are like an open book:"In every soul the secret thought I read,And well I know who loves me best indeed.But every life has pages vacant still,Whereon a man may write the thing he will;Therefore I read in silence, day by day,And wait for hearts untaught to learn my way.But thou shalt go to Lupon, to the threeWho serve me there, and take this word from me:Tell each of them his Master bids him goAlone to Spiran's huts, across the snow;There he shall find a certain task for me,But what, I do not tell to them nor thee.Give thou the message, make my word the test,And crown for me the one who answers best."Silent the angel stood, with folded hands,To take the imprint of his Lord's commands;Then drew one breath, obedient and elate,And passed the self-same hour, through Lupon's gate.First to the Temple door he made his way;And then because it was an holy-day,He saw the folk by thousands thronging, stirredBy ardent thirst to hear the preacher's word.Then, while the echoes murmured Bernol's name,Through aisles that hushed behind him, Bernol came;Strung to the keenest pitch of conscious might,With lips prepared and firm, and eyes alight.One moment at the pulpit step he kneltIn silent prayer, and on his shoulder feltThe angel's hand:—"The Master bids thee goAlone to Spiran's huts, across the snow,To serve Him there." Then Bernol's hidden faceWent white as death, and for about the spaceOf ten slow heart-beats there was no reply;Till Bernol looked around and whispered, "Why?"But answer to this question came there none;The angel sighed, and with a sigh was gone.Within the humble house where Malvin spentHis studious years, on holy things intent,Sweet stillness reigned; and there the angel foundThe saintly sage immersed in thought profound,Weaving with patient toil and willing careA web of wisdom, wonderful and fair:A seamless robe for Truth's great bridal meet,And needing but one thread to be complete.Then Asmiel touched his hand and broke the threadOf fine-spun thought, and very gently said,"The One of whom thou thinkest bids thee goAlone to Spiran's huts, across the snow,To serve Him there." With sorrow and surpriseMalvin looked up, reluctance in his eyes.The broken thought, the strangeness of the call,The perilous passage of the mountain-wall,The solitary journey, and the lengthOf ways unknown, too great for his frail strength,Appalled him. With a doubtful browHe scanned the doubtful task, and muttered, "How?"But Asmiel answered, as he turned to go,With cold disheartened voice, "I do not know."Now as he went, with fading hope, to seekThe third and last, to whom God bade him speak,Scarce twenty steps away whom should he meetBut Fermor, hurrying cheerful down the street,With ready heart that faced his work like play,And joyed to find it greater day by day!The angel stopped him with uplifted hand,And gave without delay his Lord's command:"He whom thou servest here would have thee goAlone to Spiran's huts, across the snow,To serve Him there." Ere Asmiel breathed againThe eager answer leaped to meet him, "When?"The angel's face with inward joy grew bright,And all his figure glowed with heavenly light;He took the golden circlet from his browAnd gave the crown to Fermor, answering; "Now!For thou hast met the Master's bidden test,And I have found the man who loves Him best.Not thine, nor mine, to question or replyWhen He commands us, asking 'how?' or 'why?'He knows the cause; His ways are wise and just;Who serves the King must serve with perfect trust."
It pleased the Lord of Angels (praise his name!)To hear, one day, report from those who cameWith pitying sorrow, or exultant joy,To tell of earthly tasks in His employ;For some were sorry when they saw how slowThe stream of heavenly love on earth must flow;And some were glad because their eyes had seen,Along its banks, fresh flowers and living green.So, at a certain hour, before the throneThe youngest angel, Asmiel, stood alone;Nor glad, nor sad, but full of earnest thought,And thus his tidings to the Master brought:"Lord, in the city Lupon I have foundThree servants of thy holy name, renownedAbove their fellows. One is very wise,With thoughts that ever range above the skies;And one is gifted with the golden speechThat makes men glad to hear when he will teach;And one, with no rare gift or grace endued,Has won the people's love by doing good.With three such saints Lupon is trebly blest;But, Lord, I fain would know which loves thee best?"
It pleased the Lord of Angels (praise his name!)
To hear, one day, report from those who came
With pitying sorrow, or exultant joy,
To tell of earthly tasks in His employ;
For some were sorry when they saw how slow
The stream of heavenly love on earth must flow;
And some were glad because their eyes had seen,
Along its banks, fresh flowers and living green.
So, at a certain hour, before the throne
The youngest angel, Asmiel, stood alone;
Nor glad, nor sad, but full of earnest thought,
And thus his tidings to the Master brought:
"Lord, in the city Lupon I have found
Three servants of thy holy name, renowned
Above their fellows. One is very wise,
With thoughts that ever range above the skies;
And one is gifted with the golden speech
That makes men glad to hear when he will teach;
And one, with no rare gift or grace endued,
Has won the people's love by doing good.
With three such saints Lupon is trebly blest;
But, Lord, I fain would know which loves thee best?"
Then spake the Lord of Angels, to whose lookThe hearts of all are like an open book:"In every soul the secret thought I read,And well I know who loves me best indeed.But every life has pages vacant still,Whereon a man may write the thing he will;Therefore I read in silence, day by day,And wait for hearts untaught to learn my way.But thou shalt go to Lupon, to the threeWho serve me there, and take this word from me:Tell each of them his Master bids him goAlone to Spiran's huts, across the snow;There he shall find a certain task for me,But what, I do not tell to them nor thee.Give thou the message, make my word the test,And crown for me the one who answers best."Silent the angel stood, with folded hands,To take the imprint of his Lord's commands;Then drew one breath, obedient and elate,And passed the self-same hour, through Lupon's gate.
Then spake the Lord of Angels, to whose look
The hearts of all are like an open book:
"In every soul the secret thought I read,
And well I know who loves me best indeed.
But every life has pages vacant still,
Whereon a man may write the thing he will;
Therefore I read in silence, day by day,
And wait for hearts untaught to learn my way.
But thou shalt go to Lupon, to the three
Who serve me there, and take this word from me:
Tell each of them his Master bids him go
Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow;
There he shall find a certain task for me,
But what, I do not tell to them nor thee.
Give thou the message, make my word the test,
And crown for me the one who answers best."
Silent the angel stood, with folded hands,
To take the imprint of his Lord's commands;
Then drew one breath, obedient and elate,
And passed the self-same hour, through Lupon's gate.
First to the Temple door he made his way;And then because it was an holy-day,He saw the folk by thousands thronging, stirredBy ardent thirst to hear the preacher's word.Then, while the echoes murmured Bernol's name,Through aisles that hushed behind him, Bernol came;Strung to the keenest pitch of conscious might,With lips prepared and firm, and eyes alight.One moment at the pulpit step he kneltIn silent prayer, and on his shoulder feltThe angel's hand:—"The Master bids thee goAlone to Spiran's huts, across the snow,To serve Him there." Then Bernol's hidden faceWent white as death, and for about the spaceOf ten slow heart-beats there was no reply;Till Bernol looked around and whispered, "Why?"But answer to this question came there none;The angel sighed, and with a sigh was gone.
First to the Temple door he made his way;
And then because it was an holy-day,
He saw the folk by thousands thronging, stirred
By ardent thirst to hear the preacher's word.
Then, while the echoes murmured Bernol's name,
Through aisles that hushed behind him, Bernol came;
Strung to the keenest pitch of conscious might,
With lips prepared and firm, and eyes alight.
One moment at the pulpit step he knelt
In silent prayer, and on his shoulder felt
The angel's hand:—"The Master bids thee go
Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow,
To serve Him there." Then Bernol's hidden face
Went white as death, and for about the space
Of ten slow heart-beats there was no reply;
Till Bernol looked around and whispered, "Why?"
But answer to this question came there none;
The angel sighed, and with a sigh was gone.
Within the humble house where Malvin spentHis studious years, on holy things intent,Sweet stillness reigned; and there the angel foundThe saintly sage immersed in thought profound,Weaving with patient toil and willing careA web of wisdom, wonderful and fair:A seamless robe for Truth's great bridal meet,And needing but one thread to be complete.
Within the humble house where Malvin spent
His studious years, on holy things intent,
Sweet stillness reigned; and there the angel found
The saintly sage immersed in thought profound,
Weaving with patient toil and willing care
A web of wisdom, wonderful and fair:
A seamless robe for Truth's great bridal meet,
And needing but one thread to be complete.
Then Asmiel touched his hand and broke the threadOf fine-spun thought, and very gently said,"The One of whom thou thinkest bids thee goAlone to Spiran's huts, across the snow,To serve Him there." With sorrow and surpriseMalvin looked up, reluctance in his eyes.The broken thought, the strangeness of the call,The perilous passage of the mountain-wall,The solitary journey, and the lengthOf ways unknown, too great for his frail strength,Appalled him. With a doubtful browHe scanned the doubtful task, and muttered, "How?"But Asmiel answered, as he turned to go,With cold disheartened voice, "I do not know."
Then Asmiel touched his hand and broke the thread
Of fine-spun thought, and very gently said,
"The One of whom thou thinkest bids thee go
Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow,
To serve Him there." With sorrow and surprise
Malvin looked up, reluctance in his eyes.
The broken thought, the strangeness of the call,
The perilous passage of the mountain-wall,
The solitary journey, and the length
Of ways unknown, too great for his frail strength,
Appalled him. With a doubtful brow
He scanned the doubtful task, and muttered, "How?"
But Asmiel answered, as he turned to go,
With cold disheartened voice, "I do not know."
Now as he went, with fading hope, to seekThe third and last, to whom God bade him speak,Scarce twenty steps away whom should he meetBut Fermor, hurrying cheerful down the street,With ready heart that faced his work like play,And joyed to find it greater day by day!The angel stopped him with uplifted hand,And gave without delay his Lord's command:"He whom thou servest here would have thee goAlone to Spiran's huts, across the snow,To serve Him there." Ere Asmiel breathed againThe eager answer leaped to meet him, "When?"
Now as he went, with fading hope, to seek
The third and last, to whom God bade him speak,
Scarce twenty steps away whom should he meet
But Fermor, hurrying cheerful down the street,
With ready heart that faced his work like play,
And joyed to find it greater day by day!
The angel stopped him with uplifted hand,
And gave without delay his Lord's command:
"He whom thou servest here would have thee go
Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow,
To serve Him there." Ere Asmiel breathed again
The eager answer leaped to meet him, "When?"
The angel's face with inward joy grew bright,And all his figure glowed with heavenly light;He took the golden circlet from his browAnd gave the crown to Fermor, answering; "Now!For thou hast met the Master's bidden test,And I have found the man who loves Him best.Not thine, nor mine, to question or replyWhen He commands us, asking 'how?' or 'why?'He knows the cause; His ways are wise and just;Who serves the King must serve with perfect trust."
The angel's face with inward joy grew bright,
And all his figure glowed with heavenly light;
He took the golden circlet from his brow
And gave the crown to Fermor, answering; "Now!
For thou hast met the Master's bidden test,
And I have found the man who loves Him best.
Not thine, nor mine, to question or reply
When He commands us, asking 'how?' or 'why?'
He knows the cause; His ways are wise and just;
Who serves the King must serve with perfect trust."
FOOTNOTE:[9]From "Music and other Poems," copyright, 1904, by Charles Scribner's Sons.
[9]From "Music and other Poems," copyright, 1904, by Charles Scribner's Sons.
[9]From "Music and other Poems," copyright, 1904, by Charles Scribner's Sons.
The little toy dog is covered with dust,But sturdy and stanch he stands;And the little tin soldier is red with rust,And his musket molds in his hands.Time was when the little toy dog was newAnd the soldier was passing fair,And that was the time when our Little Boy BlueKissed them and put them there."Now, don't you go till I come," he said;"And don't you make any noise!"So toddling off to his trundle bedHe dreamt of the pretty toys.And, as he was dreaming, an angel songAwakened our Little Boy Blue—Oh, the years are many, the years are long,But the little toy friends are true.Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,Each in the same old place.Awaiting the touch of a little hand,The smile of a little face.And they wonder, as waiting these long years through,In the dust of that little chair,What has become of that Little Boy BlueSince he kissed them and put them there.
The little toy dog is covered with dust,But sturdy and stanch he stands;And the little tin soldier is red with rust,And his musket molds in his hands.Time was when the little toy dog was newAnd the soldier was passing fair,And that was the time when our Little Boy BlueKissed them and put them there.
The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little tin soldier is red with rust,
And his musket molds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new
And the soldier was passing fair,
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.
"Now, don't you go till I come," he said;"And don't you make any noise!"So toddling off to his trundle bedHe dreamt of the pretty toys.And, as he was dreaming, an angel songAwakened our Little Boy Blue—Oh, the years are many, the years are long,But the little toy friends are true.
"Now, don't you go till I come," he said;
"And don't you make any noise!"
So toddling off to his trundle bed
He dreamt of the pretty toys.
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue—
Oh, the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true.
Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,Each in the same old place.Awaiting the touch of a little hand,The smile of a little face.And they wonder, as waiting these long years through,In the dust of that little chair,What has become of that Little Boy BlueSince he kissed them and put them there.
Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place.
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face.
And they wonder, as waiting these long years through,
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of that Little Boy Blue
Since he kissed them and put them there.
Mary Richling, the heroine of the story, was the wife of John Richling, a resident of New Orleans. At the breaking out of the Civil War she went to visit her parents in Milwaukee. About the time of the bombardment of New Orleans she received news of the dangerous illness of her husband, and she decided at once to reach his bedside, if possible. Taking with her, her baby daughter, a child of three years, she proceeded southward, where, after several unsuccessful attempts to secure a pass, she finally determined to break through the lines.
About the middle of the night Mary Richling was sitting very still and upright on a large, dark horse that stood champing his Mexican bit in the black shadow of a great oak. Alice rested before her, fast asleep against her bosom. Mary held by the bridle another horse, whose naked saddle-tree was empty. A few steps in front of her the light of the full moon shone almost straight down upon a narrow road that just there emerged from the shadow of woods on either side, and divided into a main right fork and a much smaller one that curved around to Mary's left. Off in the direction of the main fork the sky was all aglow with camp-fires. Only just here on the left there was a cool and grateful darkness.
She lifted her head alertly. A twig crackled under a tread, and the next moment a man came out of the bushes at the left, and without a word took the bridle of the old horse from her fingers and vaulted into the saddle. The hand that rested a moment on the cantle as he rose grasped a "navy six." He was dressed in dull homespun, but he was the same who had been dressed in blue. He turned his horse and led the way down the lesser road.
"If we'd gone on three hundred yards further," he whispered,falling back and smiling broadly, "we'd 'a' run into the pickets. I went nigh enough to see the videttes settin' on their hosses in the main road. This here ain't no road; it just goes up to a nigger quarters. I've got one o' the niggers to show us the way."
"Where is he?" whispered Mary; but before her companion could answer, a tattered form moved from behind a bush a little in advance and started ahead in the path, walking and beckoning. Presently they turned into a clear, open forest, and followed the long, rapid, swinging stride of the negro for nearly an hour. Then they halted on the bank of a deep, narrow stream. The negro made a motion for them to keep well to the right when they should enter the water. The white man softly lifted Alice to his arms, directed and assisted Mary to kneel in her saddle, with her skirts gathered carefully under her, and so they went down into the cold stream, the negro first, with arms outstretched above the flood; then Mary, and then the white man,—or, let us say plainly, the spy—with the unawakened child on his breast. And so they rose out of it on the farther side without a shoe or garment wet, save the rags of their dark guide.
Again they followed him, along a line of stake-and-rider fence, with the woods on one side and the bright moonlight flooding a field of young cotton on the other. Now they heard the distant baying of house-dogs, now the doleful call of the chuck-will's-widow, and once Mary's blood turned, for an instant, almost to ice at the unearthly shriek of the hoot owl just above her head. At length they found themselves in a dim, narrow road, and the negro stopped.
"Dess keep dish yeh road fo' 'bout half mile, an' you strak 'pon de broad, main road. Tek de left, an' you go whah yo' fancy tek you."
"Good-by," whispered Mary.
"Good-by, Miss," said the negro, in the same low voice;"good-by, boss; don't you fo'git you promise tek me thoo to de Yankee' when you come back. I 'feered you gwine fo'git it, boss."
The spy said he would not, and they left him. The half-mile was soon passed, though it turned out to be a mile and a half, and at length Mary's companion looked back as they rode single file with Mary in the rear, and said softly:
"There's the road," pointing at its broad, pale line with his six-shooter.
As they entered it and turned to the left, Mary, with Alice again in her arms, moved somewhat ahead of her companion, her indifferent horsemanship having compelled him to drop back to avoid a prickly bush. His horse was just quickening his pace to regain the lost position, when a man sprang up from the ground on the farther side of the highway, snatched a carbine from the earth and cried: "Halt!"
The dark recumbent forms of six or eight others could be seen, enveloped in their blankets, lying about a few red coals. Mary turned a frightened look backward and met the eyes of her companion.
"Move a little faster," said he, in a low, clear voice. As she promptly did so she heard him answer the challenge, as his horse trotted softly after hers.
"Don't stop us, my friend; we're taking a sick child to the doctor."
"Halt, you hound!" the cry rang out; and as Mary glanced back three or four men were just leaping into the road. But she saw also her companion, his face suffused with an earnestness that was almost an agony, rise in his stirrups with the stoop of his shoulders all gone, and wildly cry:
"Go!"
She smote the horse and flew. Alice woke and screamed.
"Hush, my darling," said the mother, laying on the withe; "mamma's here. Hush, darling, mamma's here. Don't befrightened, darling baby. O God, spare my child!" and away she sped.
The report of a carbine rang out and went rolling away in a thousand echoes through the wood. Two others followed in sharp succession, and there went close by Mary's ear the waspish whine of a minie-ball. At the same moment she recognized, once,—twice,—thrice,—just at her back where the hoofs of her companion's horse were clattering—the tart rejoinders of his navy six.
"Go!" he cried again. "Lay low! lay low! cover the child!" But his words were needless. With head bowed forward and form crouched over the crying, clinging child, with slackened rein and fluttering dress, and sun-bonnet and loosened hair blown back upon her shoulders, with lips compressed and silent prayers, Mary was riding for life and liberty and her husband's bedside.
"O mamma, mamma," wailed the terrified little one.
"Go on! Go on!" cried the voice behind; "they're—saddling up! Go! go! We're goin' to make it! We're going to make it! Go-o-o!"
And they made it!
FOOTNOTE:[10]From "Dr. Sevier."
[10]From "Dr. Sevier."
[10]From "Dr. Sevier."
As Glaucus, a young Athenian, now a resident of Pompeii, was strolling with his friend Clodius through the streets of that renowned city, their steps were arrested by a crowd gathered round an open space where three streets met; and just where the porticoes of a light, graceful temple threw their shade, there stood a young girl, with a flower-basket on her right arm and a small three-stringed instrument of music in her left hand, to whose low and soft tones she was modulating a low, plaintive air.
"It is my poor, blind Thessalian," said Glaucus, stopping; "I have not seen her since my return to Pompeii. Hush! let us listen to her song."
Buy my flowers, O buy, I pray!The blind girl comes from afar;If the earth be as fair as I hear them say,These flowers her children are!Do they her beauty keep?They are fresh from her lap, I know,For I caught them fast asleepIn her arms an hour ago.Ye have a world of light,Where love in the loved rejoices;But the blind girl's home is the house of night,And its beings are empty voices.Come buy,—buy, come buy!—Hark! how the sweet things sigh(For they have a voice like ours)O buy—O buy the flowers!
Buy my flowers, O buy, I pray!The blind girl comes from afar;If the earth be as fair as I hear them say,These flowers her children are!
Buy my flowers, O buy, I pray!
The blind girl comes from afar;
If the earth be as fair as I hear them say,
These flowers her children are!
Do they her beauty keep?They are fresh from her lap, I know,For I caught them fast asleepIn her arms an hour ago.
Do they her beauty keep?
They are fresh from her lap, I know,
For I caught them fast asleep
In her arms an hour ago.
Ye have a world of light,Where love in the loved rejoices;But the blind girl's home is the house of night,And its beings are empty voices.
Ye have a world of light,
Where love in the loved rejoices;
But the blind girl's home is the house of night,
And its beings are empty voices.
Come buy,—buy, come buy!—Hark! how the sweet things sigh(For they have a voice like ours)O buy—O buy the flowers!
Come buy,—buy, come buy!—
Hark! how the sweet things sigh
(For they have a voice like ours)
O buy—O buy the flowers!
"I must have that bunch of violets, sweet Nydia," said Glaucus, "your voice is more charming than ever."
The blind girl started forward as she heard the Athenian's voice; then as suddenly paused, while a blush of timidity flushed over neck, cheeks, and temples.
"So you are returned!" she said in a low voice.
"Yes, child, I have not been at Pompeii above a few days. My garden wants your care, you will visit it, I trust, to-morrow, and mind, no garlands at my house shall be woven by any hands but those of the pretty Nydia."
Nydia smiled joyously but did not answer; and Glaucus, placing in his breast the violets he had selected, turned gaily and carelessly from the crowd.
Though of gentle birth, for her cradle was rocked at the foot of Olympus, Nydia had been sold when quite young to Burbo, a gladiator of the amphitheater. She was cruelly treated by the wife of Burbo.
Glaucus bought her, took her to his home, and her sweetest joy was to minister to the comfort and entertainment of her deliverer. The vines that grew upon the walls of the peristyle were not more graceful, their tendrils not more trusting and tender, nor the flowers woven into wreaths and garlands by her skillful fingers more beautiful than the blind flower-girl of the house of Glaucus.
As the months went on what wonder that the kind words and sympathetic voice which had been the first that had sounded musically to her ear should awaken in the breast of Nydia a deeper love than that which springs from gratitude alone! What wonder that in her innocence and blindness she knew no reason why the most brilliant and the most graceful of the young nobles of Pompeii should entertain none other than feelings of friendship for her! When the Athenian drew her unconsciously to his breast, deeming her still a child—when he kissed her cheek and wound his arm around her trembling form, Nydia felt that those feelings she had innocently cherished were of love.
What wonder then that into her wild and passionate soul should creep the pangs of jealousy when another claimed the homage of him who was all to her!
Glaucus loved Ione, a beautiful young Neapolitan of Greek parentage who had lately come to Pompeii. She was one of those brilliant characters which seldom flash across our career. She united in the highest perfection the rarest of earthly gifts,—Genius and Beauty. No one ever possessed superior intellectual qualities without knowing them. In the person of Ione, Glaucus found the long-sought idol of his dreams; and so infatuated was he, that he could talk of no one else. No song was sweetbut that which breathed of love, and to him love was but a synonym of Ione.
"Play to us, dear Nydia,—play, and give us one of thy songs; whether it be of magic or not as thou wilt—let it at least be of love."
"Of love! wish you that I should sing of love?"
"Yes."
She moved a little way from Ione, who had learned to love her more as a sister than a slave, and placing her light, graceful instrument on her knee, after a short prelude, she sang the following strain, in which with touching pathos, her own sighs were represented by theWind, the brightness of the beautiful Ione by theSun-beam, and the personality of Glaucus by his favorite flower, theRose.