So one day more of bitterness had spentSaul, and the night, the solemn night, came on,Grateful to him, for he would be alone.Whether the thought of home, no home, repelled,Or longing toward his sister unconfessedThere in that banishment at BethanyBright with her presence in it—whether thisDrew him, or wish of lonely room and heightWhere more he might from human kind be far—However listing, Saul to OlivetTurned him, and slowly to the summit climbed.The moon not risen yet, the hemisphereOf heaven above him was with clustered starsGlittering, and awful with the glory of God.Upward into those lucid azure deeps,Withdrawn, deep beyond deep, immeasurably,Gazing, Saul said: "Deep calleth unto deep!Those deeps above me unto deeps withinMe cry, as infinite to infinite.The spaces of my spirit answer back;I feel them, empty but capacious, vastAnd void abysses of unfed desire,Hunger eternal and eternal thirst!Upward I gaze, and see the steadfast starsUnshaken in their station calmly shine,I listen to the silence of the skiesAnd yearn, with what desire! for peace like that,Vainly, with what desire! for peace like that!Beneath the pure calm of the holy heaven,So nigh! here am I seething like the sea,That cannot rest, casting up mire and dirtContinually! O state forlorn! Where, where,My God, for me is rest? For me, for me!'Great peace have they,' so sang that psalmist taughtBy Thee, 'Great peace have they that love Thy lawAnd nothing shall offend them.' Answer me,Lord God, doInot love Thy law? Then whyThis opposite of peace within my breast?Am I deceived? DonotI love Thy law?Answer me Thou!"But answer came there none,Or Saul was deaf, and the great sky looked down,With all its multitude of starry eyes,Impassible, upon a human soulWretched, unrespited from long unrest.The weary man upon a spot of groundBare to the heaven had thrown himself supine;Lying diffuse, his wistful face upturned,And poring on the starry-scriptured scrollAbove him, he such thoughts breathed out in words.He had deemed himself alone, aloof from men;But seemed had scarce his murmurous monotoneDied on his lips, he skyward gazing still,When he was conscious of approaching feet,Feet all at once so nigh, they in the darkTouched him ere he could rouse himself to stand.'Why, brother Saul! I stumble on you here,Much as this morn you stumbled over me!'Such, to the sleeping man, a voice seemed borne.'Those odious false-cheery tones once more!Shimei has watched, and, hither following me,Lurked overhearing my soliloquy;Then, stealthily retiring a few steps,Comes back, as with the brisk and frank advanceOf one somewhither walking at full speed,And stumbles against me of purpose rude!'So Saul divined dissembling Shimei,Who said, or to Saul, dreaming, seemed to say—Vision as life-like as reality:"How naturally appear our paths to cross!I thought that I would take a casual strollAlone, and you the same thought had, it seems,At the same time, directed both, odd too,The self-same way—another proof, you see,What kindred spirits we are!"You must have markedHow fine the night is! What a wealth of stars!Do you not sometimes wish, Saul, you could beAs comfortably calm at heart as stars?How wonderfully quiet all is there,Up in the region of the firmament!Probably stars have nothing else to doThan to be calm like that, and smile at usFretting ourselves down here with worry and work.Worry is worse than work to wear us out.But worst of all is having huge desiresThat nothing in the world can satisfy.Some men moon sighing for they know not what,Mainly great hollow hungry mouths and maws,Like void sea-beds; abysses of desire,You know, that not the world itself could fill.Better close up your heart than stretch it wideAnd never get enough to make it full.Adjust yourself, say I, to circumstance,Hard work adjusting circumstance to you!There's nothing better than to go right onDoing the obvious duty next to hand,And let the stars pursue their peaceful way,As hindered not, so envied not, by you.The sky is calm, no doubt—the upper sky—But happens we do not live in the sky,But on the earth, a very different place,And man's work we, not star's work, have to do;So let us be about it while we may."For instance now, to bring the matter home(I trust I shall not seem officious, Saul,I really must make one suggestion more),Your pristine prestige has been much impairedThrough slips and ill-successes on your part.No mean advantage to a man, reputeFor what the godless Romans call 'good luck,'Piously we, 'the favor of the Lord';This is forsaking you, I grieve to find,On all sides round, wherever I inquire.Up, and recover it with one bold push,Push that dares hazard all upon a cast.You know twelve men there are in special sortDubbed the 'apostles' of the Nazarene,Who play a part assigned as witnessesTo testify that Jesus rose again,After his crucifixion, from the dead.These fellows boldly in JerusalemStay, while the rest run scattering far and wide.Some kind of superstitious charm or aweSurrounds them—that is, in their own conceitAnd fond illusion of impunity.Boldly arrest them, Saul, and spoil the spell."Thus far, as oft in dreams will chance, Saul layAnd helpless heard what irked him sore to hear;But now, the loathing irrepressibleExcited by such hateful speech, roused himTo spurning that asunder broke the bonds,The nightmare bonds, of sleep. He, full awake,Groped with his hands about, dreading to feelShimei indeed couched nigh, as he had dreamed,Breathing into his ear. No Shimei there!He sprang upon his feet, and in the lightOf the waned moon, now risen, still large and fair,Looked round and round—to find himself alone."A dream, then," Saul said, "only a hideous dream!Thank God! How horribly real it seemed! How likeMust I have grown tohim, to have had his thoughts!What demon's doom only to have such thoughts!Perhaps a demon whispered these now to me!I could even pity Shimei, to be hauntAnd harbor of his ceaseless evil thoughts—Could pity, save that I detest too much.I cannot be like him and loathe him so;Or does he haply also loathe himself?Then were I like, for sure I loathe myself!What travesty it was of those my thoughts!And not ignoble thoughts, though vain, they were.The mad pranks that our dreaming brains will play!"So musing, there Saul, on the mountain's brow,Statue-like stood some moments in suspense;Then slow descending to his house repaired.A deep, deep draught of pure oblivionIn sleep drowned him until the morrow noon.Prayer then, and then fast broken, and calmly SaulThe ill dream of his yesternight revolved.What better project for fresh act than thatWhich, gladly now he pondered, ShimeiDid not propose, but only Shimei'sFalse lively mimic counterfeit in sleep?Yea, he would next, with prompt but circumspectAudacity, the audacious head and frontSmite of this growing mischief, in those menStyled the apostles of the Nazarene.Saul knew within his heart that secretlyHe dreaded this adventure; therefore he,With will sardonically set, moved onTo undertake it. Twenty men of triedTrue mettle, men with muscle iron-firm,And mind seasoned, through many hazards run,And long wont of impunity, to scornAll danger—such a score of men chose Saul,And, from them veiling yet his purpose, took,With indirection intricate, his wayToward where, as he, by diligent quest, had learned,The twelve apostles used each day to meetIn secret from their prowling enemies;But to the common people, loving themFor manifold miracles of beneficence,Their secret meeting-place was not unknown.As, gradually, Saul with his retinueDrew near the spot, so large a followingOf arméd men, led by a chief whose fameWas rife now through Jerusalem for deedsAnd purposes of uttermost revengeAgainst the Galilæan heresy,Gathered about their course a growing crowd,Who, urged by various thought and feeling, watchedWhat might that minatory march intend.Reached thus at length the place, Saul stays his steps,And, turning to his men in halt to hear,Speaks, with that dense clear voice which tense will breeds:"Here hide the twelve arch-heretics of all.Ye come to take them hence bond prisoners,For lodgment in a hold whence no escape,That they may cease sedition to foment.Duly the fathers of the Sanhedrim,Wise warders of our Hebrew commonwealth,Will thence adjudge them to their doom of death.No waste of words in parley now, leave asked,Terms offered, naught of that, no paltering pause,Instantly, stroke on stroke, down with the door!"But pause they did, those picked, use-hardened men;They stood as struck with palsy or with fear."Traitors be ye, or cravens, which?" cried Saul—Amazement, indignation, ire, disdain,Effacing exhortation in his tone.Then, mastering himself, less fiercely heChode them: "Whence and whereto is this? Mean ye,Ye surely mean not, mutiny? Rouse, then,With will; obey, your loyalty retrieve!"But still they hung there moveless, until one,Seeming the spokesman of his fellows, said:"No mutineers, no traitors, cravens none,Are we. But look around, and judge what meansThis concourse of beholders"—"'Look around'?Aroundlook?" thundered Saul. "Nay, straight-on looks,These sole, become stout hearts, staunch wills. 'Around'Cease looking ye, and all right forward stareTo where yon door fronts you and you affronts.Batter it down, and, staring forward, on!"The vehement, vindictive, dense onslaughtOf that impatient, proud, imperious willSmote like the missile of a catapultAgainst the clamped immovable dead wallOf fixed inert resistance to Saul's wish,Which strangely, as one man, those men opposed.That impact did not shake that stubborn strength,Nor shiver back in staggering recoil—Absorbed, annulled, annihilated, waste!One infinitesimal instant, Saul a blindMad impulse felt—which, that same instant, heQuenched in a simultaneous saner thought—To rush single upon the door, with blankRidiculous demonstration of balked willIndignant. "Me, then, seize, your chief contemned,"Said Saul, "contemned, since not obeyed, and meDeliver captive to the Sanhedrim,Denounced unworthy of your trust, and theirs!"As, saying this, around he glanced, he saw,With unintending eyes, a spectacleWhich well had awed him, but that he was Saul.The frequence of spectators serried nighHad armed themselves with stones, and imminent stood,A thunder-cloud of menace on each brow,Ready those bolts of vengeance to let fly,In hail-storm that no mortal might withstand,At whoso dared defy their angry mood;Portent so dire Saul could not but peruse."It was but question which should overawe,Ye, or this rabble of sedition here,And ye have solved it like the cowards ye are!"So, with his passion humored to its height,And javelin looks shot at his men in shower,Cried Saul; "I had deemed otherwise of you.And yet, even yet, once wake the dormant manWithin you, and, from hands through fear relaxed,Harmless will drop those miscreant stones which now,With your poltroonery, ye invoke to fallIn well-deservéd doom upon your heads!"Upbraided thus, they, by that spokesman, said:"Stoning may lightly be despised by menLike us, whose trade it is at need to die;And bloody death were meet for men of blood.But we are of the people, as are theseWhom here thou seest around us, stone in hand;And we, the people, love for cause those men,Our benefactors, whom thou seekest to slay—Wherefore, we know not, save perhaps it beSome ill persuasion thine that slanders themAs enemies of our race, seditious men,Conspiring to do evil and not good.But, if we should as lief, as we should loth,Offer them violence, and if we could,As we could not, hope then to escape the stonesHere seen uneasy in so many handsAt only brandished threat of harm to them,Know, there is more than mail enduing theseInviolate against what human touchMight mean them wrong. Something intangible,Invisible, inaudible, unknown,A might as irresistible as strange,Not only arms them proof against assault,But issues from them in dread strokes of doom,Silent like lightning, and like lightning swift,And instantaneous deadly more than that.What prison-walls can prisoners hold these men?Hast thou not heard how Ananias fell,Sapphira too, his wife, dead at their feet,Fell at their feet stone-dead, when they but chargedA lie unto the Spirit of the LordOn those twain twinned in judgment as in crime?A dreadful visitation, as from God;But, whencesoever issuing, dreadful yet!No panoply have we against such stroke,Against the authors of such stroke, no power.Slay us, or get us slain, we can but die;But die like Ananias will we not!"Saul listened with illimitable scorn;And scorn incensed his rage thus crossed to be,Hopelessly crossed, by crass perversity.In rage and scorn, he scourged those men with words:"There is no reasoning with minds like you!—Too ignorant to guess how ignorantYe are, and self-conceited in degreeTo match. Such ignorance, with self-conceitSuch, renders blind indeed. What boots it IShould tell you superstition clouds your brain?Your superstition would not let you hear.Your very senses, given by God to beThe avenues of knowledge to your mind,Satan has clogged to truth, and made of themBut open thoroughfares for lies from himTo enter by and capture you his own.Mere Satan's lies those tales are that ye tell,Of prison-doors thrown wide mysteriouslyTo let these men go free, and of deaths dealtBy magic sentence weaponless from them—Mere Satan's lies those tales, or, were they true,Yet tokens only of Satanic powerAnd craft permitted to disport them hereFor their destruction who to be destroyedProve themselves greedy by such act as yours.Dupes of the devil, go, I pity you!This is your weakness, not your villainy.I thought to make you helpers in my strifeTo save the souls of others, but your soulsThemselves need saving first and most of all—If souls like yours of saving worthy be,Or capable! Some different make of menFrom you, seems I must seek, to serve my need.Yet you I thank at least for this, that yeBy your behavior show me what a sore,How seated, and how wide, into the heartEats of my nation! Lo, I take the cup,The full, the overflowing cup of shameWhich ye this day wring out for me, that cupTake I with thanks from you, and to the dregsDrain it, in pledge, in pledge and sacrament,That I hereafter give myself more whole,More absolute, more consecrate, to one,One only, pure endeavor and desire,The utter rooting out—at cost how dear,No reckoning, mine or other's, toil, and tears,And blood—wherever Jewish name be found,Of this foul creeping rot and leprosy,This blight, this blast, this mildew, on our fame!"Saul, in the light of luminous wrath, foresawNigh, and saluted, that career, which thence,After Judæan cities overrunWith havoc at his hand to Jesus' name,Will bear him ravening on Damascus road!
So one day more of bitterness had spentSaul, and the night, the solemn night, came on,Grateful to him, for he would be alone.Whether the thought of home, no home, repelled,Or longing toward his sister unconfessedThere in that banishment at BethanyBright with her presence in it—whether thisDrew him, or wish of lonely room and heightWhere more he might from human kind be far—However listing, Saul to OlivetTurned him, and slowly to the summit climbed.
The moon not risen yet, the hemisphereOf heaven above him was with clustered starsGlittering, and awful with the glory of God.Upward into those lucid azure deeps,Withdrawn, deep beyond deep, immeasurably,Gazing, Saul said: "Deep calleth unto deep!Those deeps above me unto deeps withinMe cry, as infinite to infinite.The spaces of my spirit answer back;I feel them, empty but capacious, vastAnd void abysses of unfed desire,Hunger eternal and eternal thirst!Upward I gaze, and see the steadfast starsUnshaken in their station calmly shine,I listen to the silence of the skiesAnd yearn, with what desire! for peace like that,Vainly, with what desire! for peace like that!Beneath the pure calm of the holy heaven,So nigh! here am I seething like the sea,That cannot rest, casting up mire and dirtContinually! O state forlorn! Where, where,My God, for me is rest? For me, for me!'Great peace have they,' so sang that psalmist taughtBy Thee, 'Great peace have they that love Thy lawAnd nothing shall offend them.' Answer me,Lord God, doInot love Thy law? Then whyThis opposite of peace within my breast?Am I deceived? DonotI love Thy law?Answer me Thou!"But answer came there none,Or Saul was deaf, and the great sky looked down,With all its multitude of starry eyes,Impassible, upon a human soulWretched, unrespited from long unrest.
The weary man upon a spot of groundBare to the heaven had thrown himself supine;Lying diffuse, his wistful face upturned,And poring on the starry-scriptured scrollAbove him, he such thoughts breathed out in words.He had deemed himself alone, aloof from men;But seemed had scarce his murmurous monotoneDied on his lips, he skyward gazing still,When he was conscious of approaching feet,Feet all at once so nigh, they in the darkTouched him ere he could rouse himself to stand.
'Why, brother Saul! I stumble on you here,Much as this morn you stumbled over me!'Such, to the sleeping man, a voice seemed borne.
'Those odious false-cheery tones once more!Shimei has watched, and, hither following me,Lurked overhearing my soliloquy;Then, stealthily retiring a few steps,Comes back, as with the brisk and frank advanceOf one somewhither walking at full speed,And stumbles against me of purpose rude!'
So Saul divined dissembling Shimei,Who said, or to Saul, dreaming, seemed to say—Vision as life-like as reality:"How naturally appear our paths to cross!I thought that I would take a casual strollAlone, and you the same thought had, it seems,At the same time, directed both, odd too,The self-same way—another proof, you see,What kindred spirits we are!"You must have markedHow fine the night is! What a wealth of stars!Do you not sometimes wish, Saul, you could beAs comfortably calm at heart as stars?How wonderfully quiet all is there,Up in the region of the firmament!Probably stars have nothing else to doThan to be calm like that, and smile at usFretting ourselves down here with worry and work.Worry is worse than work to wear us out.But worst of all is having huge desiresThat nothing in the world can satisfy.Some men moon sighing for they know not what,Mainly great hollow hungry mouths and maws,Like void sea-beds; abysses of desire,You know, that not the world itself could fill.Better close up your heart than stretch it wideAnd never get enough to make it full.Adjust yourself, say I, to circumstance,Hard work adjusting circumstance to you!There's nothing better than to go right onDoing the obvious duty next to hand,And let the stars pursue their peaceful way,As hindered not, so envied not, by you.The sky is calm, no doubt—the upper sky—But happens we do not live in the sky,But on the earth, a very different place,And man's work we, not star's work, have to do;So let us be about it while we may.
"For instance now, to bring the matter home(I trust I shall not seem officious, Saul,I really must make one suggestion more),Your pristine prestige has been much impairedThrough slips and ill-successes on your part.No mean advantage to a man, reputeFor what the godless Romans call 'good luck,'Piously we, 'the favor of the Lord';This is forsaking you, I grieve to find,On all sides round, wherever I inquire.Up, and recover it with one bold push,Push that dares hazard all upon a cast.You know twelve men there are in special sortDubbed the 'apostles' of the Nazarene,Who play a part assigned as witnessesTo testify that Jesus rose again,After his crucifixion, from the dead.These fellows boldly in JerusalemStay, while the rest run scattering far and wide.Some kind of superstitious charm or aweSurrounds them—that is, in their own conceitAnd fond illusion of impunity.Boldly arrest them, Saul, and spoil the spell."
Thus far, as oft in dreams will chance, Saul layAnd helpless heard what irked him sore to hear;But now, the loathing irrepressibleExcited by such hateful speech, roused himTo spurning that asunder broke the bonds,The nightmare bonds, of sleep. He, full awake,Groped with his hands about, dreading to feelShimei indeed couched nigh, as he had dreamed,Breathing into his ear. No Shimei there!He sprang upon his feet, and in the lightOf the waned moon, now risen, still large and fair,Looked round and round—to find himself alone.
"A dream, then," Saul said, "only a hideous dream!Thank God! How horribly real it seemed! How likeMust I have grown tohim, to have had his thoughts!What demon's doom only to have such thoughts!Perhaps a demon whispered these now to me!I could even pity Shimei, to be hauntAnd harbor of his ceaseless evil thoughts—Could pity, save that I detest too much.I cannot be like him and loathe him so;Or does he haply also loathe himself?Then were I like, for sure I loathe myself!What travesty it was of those my thoughts!And not ignoble thoughts, though vain, they were.The mad pranks that our dreaming brains will play!"
So musing, there Saul, on the mountain's brow,Statue-like stood some moments in suspense;Then slow descending to his house repaired.A deep, deep draught of pure oblivionIn sleep drowned him until the morrow noon.
Prayer then, and then fast broken, and calmly SaulThe ill dream of his yesternight revolved.What better project for fresh act than thatWhich, gladly now he pondered, ShimeiDid not propose, but only Shimei'sFalse lively mimic counterfeit in sleep?Yea, he would next, with prompt but circumspectAudacity, the audacious head and frontSmite of this growing mischief, in those menStyled the apostles of the Nazarene.
Saul knew within his heart that secretlyHe dreaded this adventure; therefore he,With will sardonically set, moved onTo undertake it. Twenty men of triedTrue mettle, men with muscle iron-firm,And mind seasoned, through many hazards run,And long wont of impunity, to scornAll danger—such a score of men chose Saul,And, from them veiling yet his purpose, took,With indirection intricate, his wayToward where, as he, by diligent quest, had learned,The twelve apostles used each day to meetIn secret from their prowling enemies;But to the common people, loving themFor manifold miracles of beneficence,Their secret meeting-place was not unknown.
As, gradually, Saul with his retinueDrew near the spot, so large a followingOf arméd men, led by a chief whose fameWas rife now through Jerusalem for deedsAnd purposes of uttermost revengeAgainst the Galilæan heresy,Gathered about their course a growing crowd,Who, urged by various thought and feeling, watchedWhat might that minatory march intend.Reached thus at length the place, Saul stays his steps,And, turning to his men in halt to hear,Speaks, with that dense clear voice which tense will breeds:"Here hide the twelve arch-heretics of all.Ye come to take them hence bond prisoners,For lodgment in a hold whence no escape,That they may cease sedition to foment.Duly the fathers of the Sanhedrim,Wise warders of our Hebrew commonwealth,Will thence adjudge them to their doom of death.No waste of words in parley now, leave asked,Terms offered, naught of that, no paltering pause,Instantly, stroke on stroke, down with the door!"
But pause they did, those picked, use-hardened men;They stood as struck with palsy or with fear."Traitors be ye, or cravens, which?" cried Saul—Amazement, indignation, ire, disdain,Effacing exhortation in his tone.Then, mastering himself, less fiercely heChode them: "Whence and whereto is this? Mean ye,Ye surely mean not, mutiny? Rouse, then,With will; obey, your loyalty retrieve!"
But still they hung there moveless, until one,Seeming the spokesman of his fellows, said:"No mutineers, no traitors, cravens none,Are we. But look around, and judge what meansThis concourse of beholders"—"'Look around'?Aroundlook?" thundered Saul. "Nay, straight-on looks,These sole, become stout hearts, staunch wills. 'Around'Cease looking ye, and all right forward stareTo where yon door fronts you and you affronts.Batter it down, and, staring forward, on!"
The vehement, vindictive, dense onslaughtOf that impatient, proud, imperious willSmote like the missile of a catapultAgainst the clamped immovable dead wallOf fixed inert resistance to Saul's wish,Which strangely, as one man, those men opposed.That impact did not shake that stubborn strength,Nor shiver back in staggering recoil—Absorbed, annulled, annihilated, waste!
One infinitesimal instant, Saul a blindMad impulse felt—which, that same instant, heQuenched in a simultaneous saner thought—To rush single upon the door, with blankRidiculous demonstration of balked willIndignant. "Me, then, seize, your chief contemned,"Said Saul, "contemned, since not obeyed, and meDeliver captive to the Sanhedrim,Denounced unworthy of your trust, and theirs!"
As, saying this, around he glanced, he saw,With unintending eyes, a spectacleWhich well had awed him, but that he was Saul.The frequence of spectators serried nighHad armed themselves with stones, and imminent stood,A thunder-cloud of menace on each brow,Ready those bolts of vengeance to let fly,In hail-storm that no mortal might withstand,At whoso dared defy their angry mood;Portent so dire Saul could not but peruse.
"It was but question which should overawe,Ye, or this rabble of sedition here,And ye have solved it like the cowards ye are!"So, with his passion humored to its height,And javelin looks shot at his men in shower,Cried Saul; "I had deemed otherwise of you.And yet, even yet, once wake the dormant manWithin you, and, from hands through fear relaxed,Harmless will drop those miscreant stones which now,With your poltroonery, ye invoke to fallIn well-deservéd doom upon your heads!"
Upbraided thus, they, by that spokesman, said:"Stoning may lightly be despised by menLike us, whose trade it is at need to die;And bloody death were meet for men of blood.But we are of the people, as are theseWhom here thou seest around us, stone in hand;And we, the people, love for cause those men,Our benefactors, whom thou seekest to slay—Wherefore, we know not, save perhaps it beSome ill persuasion thine that slanders themAs enemies of our race, seditious men,Conspiring to do evil and not good.But, if we should as lief, as we should loth,Offer them violence, and if we could,As we could not, hope then to escape the stonesHere seen uneasy in so many handsAt only brandished threat of harm to them,Know, there is more than mail enduing theseInviolate against what human touchMight mean them wrong. Something intangible,Invisible, inaudible, unknown,A might as irresistible as strange,Not only arms them proof against assault,But issues from them in dread strokes of doom,Silent like lightning, and like lightning swift,And instantaneous deadly more than that.What prison-walls can prisoners hold these men?Hast thou not heard how Ananias fell,Sapphira too, his wife, dead at their feet,Fell at their feet stone-dead, when they but chargedA lie unto the Spirit of the LordOn those twain twinned in judgment as in crime?A dreadful visitation, as from God;But, whencesoever issuing, dreadful yet!No panoply have we against such stroke,Against the authors of such stroke, no power.Slay us, or get us slain, we can but die;But die like Ananias will we not!"
Saul listened with illimitable scorn;And scorn incensed his rage thus crossed to be,Hopelessly crossed, by crass perversity.In rage and scorn, he scourged those men with words:"There is no reasoning with minds like you!—Too ignorant to guess how ignorantYe are, and self-conceited in degreeTo match. Such ignorance, with self-conceitSuch, renders blind indeed. What boots it IShould tell you superstition clouds your brain?Your superstition would not let you hear.Your very senses, given by God to beThe avenues of knowledge to your mind,Satan has clogged to truth, and made of themBut open thoroughfares for lies from himTo enter by and capture you his own.Mere Satan's lies those tales are that ye tell,Of prison-doors thrown wide mysteriouslyTo let these men go free, and of deaths dealtBy magic sentence weaponless from them—Mere Satan's lies those tales, or, were they true,Yet tokens only of Satanic powerAnd craft permitted to disport them hereFor their destruction who to be destroyedProve themselves greedy by such act as yours.Dupes of the devil, go, I pity you!This is your weakness, not your villainy.I thought to make you helpers in my strifeTo save the souls of others, but your soulsThemselves need saving first and most of all—If souls like yours of saving worthy be,Or capable! Some different make of menFrom you, seems I must seek, to serve my need.Yet you I thank at least for this, that yeBy your behavior show me what a sore,How seated, and how wide, into the heartEats of my nation! Lo, I take the cup,The full, the overflowing cup of shameWhich ye this day wring out for me, that cupTake I with thanks from you, and to the dregsDrain it, in pledge, in pledge and sacrament,That I hereafter give myself more whole,More absolute, more consecrate, to one,One only, pure endeavor and desire,The utter rooting out—at cost how dear,No reckoning, mine or other's, toil, and tears,And blood—wherever Jewish name be found,Of this foul creeping rot and leprosy,This blight, this blast, this mildew, on our fame!"
Saul, in the light of luminous wrath, foresawNigh, and saluted, that career, which thence,After Judæan cities overrunWith havoc at his hand to Jesus' name,Will bear him ravening on Damascus road!
After further persecution accomplished by him in Judæa, Saul, with spirits recovered, sets out for Damascus to carry thither the persecuting sword. Pausing on the brow of hill Scopus to survey Jerusalem just left, he soliloquizes. At the same moment, there rides up a troop of Roman horse escorting a man who turns out to be Sergius Paulus, an old-time acquaintance of Saul's, also bound to Damascus. The two pursue their journey together, highly enjoying their ride in that charming season of spring weather, and delightedly conversing on the way. They talk over Greek literature, and in particular by starlight at the close of the first day's journey, Sergius Paulus having by occasion recited an apposite passage of Homer, Saul matches and contrasts this first with a psalm of David, and then additionally with a strain from the prophet Isaiah. This gives rise to conversation on ensuing days, in which religious questions are discussed. Sergius declares himself an atheist of the Epicurean sort, and he plies Saul with incredulous inquiries about the religion of the Jews—Saul answering with Hebrew conviction and earnestness. The two part company at Neapolis (Shechem) because Sergius Paulus halts there, and Saul, in the spirit of true Jewish strictness, will for his part not rest till he has quite passed the bounds of Samaria.
Not yet his fill of slaughter supped, though forthAfar the timorous flock of Jesus nowWere from before his restless, ravening, fierce,Rapacious sword out of Judæa fledTo alien lands remote, beyond the heightsOf Hermon with their everlasting snows,And farther to the islands of the sea—Not yet, even so, his fill of slaughter supped,Saul had from the high-priest commission soughtTo search among the Hebrew synagoguesOf Syrian Damascus, and thence bringBound to Jerusalem whomever found,Woman or man, confessing Jesus Christ.The season was fresh flowering spring; the earthWas glad with universal green to greetThe sun once more, returned in his blue heavenAfter his winter's sojourn in the south.How blithe the welcome of the morning was,Forth looking from his east across the HillsOf Moab on the just awakening world!Saul met it with a sense as if of springAnd morning linking hand in hand for danceTogether in the courses of his blood,As, mounted on a palfrey fresh and fleet,With servitors attendant following him,He issued jocund from Damascus gate.The animal spirits of youth and health in him,The joy of new adventure, the fine pulseOf life felt in the buoyant, bounding stepWith which his steed advanced him on the road,The secret pleasure of release at last,Release and long secure removal, won,Through growing leagues of distance interposed,From the abhorred access of Shimei—These, with the season and the hour so bright,Brightened the darkling heart of Saul to cheer.He was a radiant aspect, fair to see,Fronting his future with that sanguine smile!The acclivity surmounted of a hill,Whence downward dipped his road, declining north,And farewell glimpse gave of Jerusalem,Saul rein drew on his foamy-flankéd steed,And, about winding him, paused, looking back.His retinue, far otherwise than heMounted, part even on foot, with sumpter beastsBearing camp equipage, behind were fallen.These, presently come up, he lets pass onBefore him in the way, while still at gaze,There on the back of his indignant steedResentful to be curbed in mid-career—Companion hoofs heard leaving him behind—Saul sits, perusing, with an inner eye,Yet more than with his outer, what he sees.Half-shadow and half-light, JerusalemHe sees, smitten athwart her level roofsWith sunshine from the horizontal sun,The temple of Jehovah in the midst,As if itself a sun, so dazzling brightWith its refulgence of reflected beams;While, round about, the warder mountains stand,Bathing their sacred brows in sacred light.Saul's heart distends immense with patriot's joy,Yet joy pierced through and through with patriot's pain."O beautiful for situation, thou,Jerusalem!" he fervently bursts forth."Peace be within thy walls, prosperityWithin thy palaces! Yea, yet again,Now for my brethren and companions' sakes,Say I, 'Within thee, peace!' Lo, my vow hear:For that the temple of the Lord my GodIs in thee, I henceforth thy good will seek.And Thou, Jehovah in the heavens! behold,Saul for himself that ancient promise claims:'Prosper shall he Jerusalem who loves.'For love not I Jerusalem, with loveTo anguish, for her anguish and her tears?Take pleasure in her stones, favor her dust,O God, my God! Is not the set time come?Do I not hear Thee say: 'Awake, awake,Put on thy strength, O Zion, long forlorn,And beautiful thy garments put thou on,Jerusalem! Henceforth no more shall comeThe uncircumcised into thee, nor the unclean!'""Amen!" Saul added, with a gush of tears,The light mercurial feeling in his heartLess to sad sinking, weighted down, than all,With fluent lapse, to pleasing pathos changed.Into that strain, so ardent and so true,Of patriot prayer, deeply had braided been,Half to himself unknown, a silent strandOf subtle self-regard, vague personal hopeThat would have spurned to be imprisoned in words:'The new Jerusalem that was to be,Should she not Saul her chief deliverer hail!'Musing, and praying, and beholding, so,Saul suddenly a sound of clanging hoofsHeard, and, his eyes quick thither turning, saw,Between hill Scopus, on whose top he stood,And the Damascus gate through which he came,Advancing toward him on the Roman road—Cemented solid with its rutted stones,Like an original stratum of the sphere—A turm of horse, large not, but formidable,Caparison and armor gleaming bright,And with a nameless air forerunning themOf wide-renownéd might invincibleExpressed in that momentous rhythmic treadFour-footed, underneath which from afarWith pulse on pulse now rock to iron rang.The cavalcade, by slow degrees more slow,Moved up the acclivity till, reached the brow,Sank to a walk their pace, when Saul perceivedAn arméd escort was convoying oneThereby betokened an ambassador,Somewhither posting on affair of state,Or haply citizen of high degreeHonored with ceremonious retinue.This man regarded Saul with curious lookRespectful, which almost admiring grew;And gravely, as their mutual glances met,The youthful Roman to the youthful JewInclined in distant salutation meantFor natural courtesy due from peer to peer.Saul, in like wise, his greeting gave him back;Whereon the Roman, reining to one sideHis horse, and halting, said: "Peace, but methinksI saw thee late, months since it may have been,Where that fanatic Stephen suffered deathWith stoning at your angry elders' hands.""I, in that act of punishment," said Saul,"As loyal Jew befitted, took my part.""Nay, but as now I read thy features nigh,"Sudden more earnest grown, the Roman said,"Labors my brain with yet a different thought.Somewhere we twain must earlier still have met.In Tarsus I some boyish seasons spent;I there, by chance full well-remembered, knewA Hebrew-Roman boy whose name was Saul.""Then Sergius Paulus is thy name," said Saul,"And Saul am I—and Saul to Sergius, peace!"Who but as man and man just now had metGreeted again in sense of comradeship."Thy face is toward Jerusalem," to SaulSaid Sergius; "but thy look is less of oneArriving, journey finished, than of oneForth setting on adventure planned abroad.""I journey to Damascus," Saul replied:"And thither also I," said Sergius.Damascus-ward turned Saul his horse's head,And slowly, with the Roman, now resumedHis onward way, while further Sergius said:"Having a brief apprenticeship at armsAccomplished, to Jerusalem I came,Centurion still, urged by desire to seeThy capital city, famed throughout the world.Since witnessing—by lucky hap it fellMy military duty to be there—Since witnessing that spectacle so strangeOf Stephen's stoning—strange to Roman eyes,Yet to eyes Jewish doubtless quite as strangeOur Roman fashion, hanging on the cross—All various ways of various tribes of menFrom clime to clime, delights me to observe—What comedy to the gods must we present!—Since I saw Stephen slain with stones, I say,Good fortune, and some interest made for meAt Rome, have given me this my welcome chanceTo travel and more widely see the world.Now to Damascus I as legate go.""And of our Sanhedrim as legate, I,"Said Saul, "if so without offence I mayFrom Jewish mode to Gentile dare my speechConform—legate, or hand executive,Say rather, in some certain officesDeemed needful, to consult my nation's weal."With mutual question asked and answered, veinOf old-time boyish reminiscence sharedBetween them as together on they rode—Their horses pricking each the other's speed—The two soon overtook their retinues,Who, seeing their chiefs adjoined in comradeship,Themselves in comradeship dissolved their senseOf race and race to mix as men and men.So all day long together, side by side,Riding, or resting in the noontide shade,Sergius and Saul, a frank companionship,Immixed their minds in speech of many things.Young life, young health, glad sense of fair emprise,High-hearted hope of boundless futures theirs,Delicious weather and blithe season bland,Blue cloudless heaven forever overhead—By the sole sun usurped his tabernacleWhence sovran virtue beaming into all—Sweet voice of singing-bird, sweet smile of flower,Sweet breath exhaled from tender-fruited vine,Joy, a full feast, through every flooded sense—And, heightening all, that billowy onward swayOf motion without effort on their steeds,Made, to those lord possessors of the world,Their talking like the coursing of their blood,Self-moved, or like the running of a brookThat laughs and sparkles on its downward way,As ceasing never from its hope to drainThe fountain, brimming ever, whence it flows.Of arms, of art, and of philosophy,They spoke, and letters; spoke, too, of the fameOf ancient Grecian masters of the mind,Who ruled, and rule, by charm of prose or verse.First, Homer, hoar with immemorial eld,Pouring his epics in that profluent streamWhich, like his ocean, wandered round the world;Bold Pindar, with his lyric ecstasies,On throbbing wings of exultation borneInto the empyrean, whence his songBroken descends in showers of melody;Father of history, Herodotus,"Half poet, epic, or idyllic, he"—So, Saul thereto assenting, Sergius said—"With his Ionic strain mellifluousOf wonder-loving artless narrative";Thucydides, the soul of energy;Æschylus, Titan; happy Sophocles;With soft Euripides unfortunate;Then Socrates, "Who wrote no books," said Saul,"Or wrote most living books in living men;Plato, the chiefest book of Socrates,Yet mind so large and so originalThat, in him reading what his teacher taught,One knows not whether Socrates it be,Or Socrates's pupil, that one reads"—"Knows not, and, for delight, cares not to know,Full-sated with the feast of such discourse,So wealthy, wise, urbane, harmonious!"—Stung to enthusiasm, thus Sergius,Continuing what from Saul ceased incomplete."Our Tully," added he, "from Plato's wellDeepest his draughts drank of philosophy,And, thence inspired, wrote such sweet dialogue,Latin half seemed delectable as Greek.""Yea, and a man of fine civilityIn manners as in mind, your Tully was,"Said Saul; "Cilicia keeps his memory greenFor virtues long in Roman rulers rare.His too a sounding, stately eloquence,And copious; but Greek DemosthenesPleases me better, with that stormy stressOf passion in him, reason on fire with loveOr hatred, that indignant vehemenceWhich overwhelms us like a torrent flood,Or, like a torrent flood, upon its breastLifts us, and tosses us, and bears us on!He is more like our Hebrew prophets raptAbove themselves in sympathy with God."In talk like this the livelong day was spent;Hardly the talkers heeding when they passedMeadows of flowers pied rich in colors gay,Poppy, anemone, convolvulus,Bright marigold wide yellowing belts of greenInto a vivid gold that dazed the eye;And heeding hardly if upsprang the larkFrom almost underneath their horses' hoofs,Startled to leave her humble hiding nest,And, soaring, better hide her otherwiseAmid the blinding lightnings of the sun;Such sights and sounds and glancing motions swiftScarce heeded—yet, as subtle influence,Admitted, each, to infuse insensiblyInto their mood an added joyousness—The afternoon declined into the eve.Passed now a fountain on the wayside cliff,Coyly, through ferny leafage, shedding downIts weeping waters shown in fresher green,Up a long glen they mounted to a crestOf hill where opened a soft grassy plain—Inviting, should one wish his tent to spread—And here they twain their double camp bid pitch.Supper soon ended, Saul and Sergius,Ere sleep they seek, a hill, not far, ascend,The highest neighboring seen, less thence to viewThe landscape round them in the deepening darkGlooming, or even the heavens above their headsBrightening each moment in the deepening dark,Than youth's unused excess of strength to easeWith exercise, and to achieve the highest.But there the splendors of the firmament,Enlarged so lustrous through that Syrian sky,Hailed such a storm of vertical starlightDownward upon their sense as through their senseInward into their soul beat, and a whileMute held them, hushed with wonder and with awe,Awe to the Hebrew, to the Roman, joy.Then said the Roman:"This is like that placeOf glorious Homer where he hangs the skyInnumerably bright with moon and starsOver the Trojan host and their camp-fires:'Holding high thoughts, they on the bridge of war'Sat all night long, and many blazed their fires.'As when in heaven stars round the glittering moon'Shine forth exceeding beautiful, and when'Breathlessly tranquil is the upper air,'And in their places all the stars are seen,'And glad at heart the watching shepherd is;'So many, 'twixt the ships and Xanthus' streams,'Shone fires by Trojans kindled fronting Troy.'""The spirit of Greece, with Greek simplicity,A nobleness all of Homer, there I feel,"Concession checking with reserve, said Saul;"Our Hebrew, to us Hebrews, rises higher.Homer, unconscious of sublimity,Down all its dreadful height above our sphereBrings the august encampment of the skies—To count the number of the Trojan fires!Our poet David otherwise beholdsThe brilliance of the nightly firmament,Seeing it mirror of the majestyOf Him who spread it arching over earth,And who yet stoops His awful thought to thinkKindly of us as Father to our race,Nay, kingdom gives us, glory, honor, power,And all things subjugates beneath our feet.Let me some echoes from that harp awakeTo which, with solemn touches, this his themeOur psalmist David chanted long ago:'Jehovah, our dread Sovereign, how Thy Name'Is excellent in glory through the earth!'Upon the heavens Thy glory hast Thou set;'The heart of babe and suckling reads it there,'And, raised to rapture, utters forth Thy praise,'That mute may be the adversary mouth'Which would the ever-living God gainsay.'When I survey Thy heavens, Thy handiwork,'The moon, the stars, Thou didst of old ordain,'Man, what is he? that Thou for him shouldst care,'The son of man, that Thou shouldst visit him.'For Thou hast made him hardly lower than God,'And dost with glory him and honor crown.'Dominion over all Thy works to wield'Thou madest him, and underneath his feet'Put'st all things, sheep and oxen, roaming beast,'And winging fowl, and swimming fish, and all'That passes through the pathways of the seas.'Jehovah, our dread Sovereign, how Thy Name'Is excellent in glory through the earth!'"Recited in slow solemn monotone,As with an inward voice muffled by awe,Those new and strange barbaric-sounding notesOf Hebrew music shut in measured wordsSmote on some deeper chord in Sergius' earThat, trembling, tranced him silent for a while.Then he said, rousing: "What a sombre strain!From the light-hearted Greek how different!""Sombre thou callest it, and solemn I,Who find in such solemnity a joy;But different, yea, from the light-thoughted Greek."Less as in converse than soliloquyDeep-musing so to Sergius Saul replied."Our bard Isaiah modulates the strainInto another mood less pastoral.He pours divine contempt on idol gods,On idol gods and on their worshippers;And then majestically hymns His praiseWho made yon host of heaven and leads them out.'To whom then will ye liken God?' he cries,'Or what similitude to Him compare?'The skilled artificer an image forms,'And this the goldsmith overlays with gold,'And tricks it smartly out with silver chains:'Or haply one too poor for cost like this'Chooseth him out a tree judged sound and good,'And seeks a cunning workman who shall thence'Grave him an image that may shift to stand!'But nay, ye foolish, have ye then not known?'Not heard have ye? You hath it not been told'From the remote beginning of the world?'From the foundations of the ancient earth'Have ye indeed so missed to understand?'He sits upon the circle of the earth'And they that dwell therein are grasshoppers;'He as a curtain doth the heavens outspread,'And makes a blue pavilion of the sky.'To whom then will ye liken Me? saith God;'Whom shall I equal? saith the Holy One.'Lift up your eyes on high, the heavens behold—'Who hath these things created? who their host'By number bringeth out, and all by names'Calls? By the greatness of His might, for that'So strong in power is He, not one star fails.'"The deep tones ceased, and once more silence fellBetween those two amid the silent night.But Sergius, lightly rallying soon to speech,Said, with a ready, easy sympathy:"There seems indeed to breathe in such a strainSome solemn joy, but the solemnityIs greater, and my spirit is oppressed.Not less your poets differ from the GreekIn matter than in manner, when they sing.How high you make your deity to be,Beyond the stature of the gods of Greece!Homer has Zeus compel the clouds, forth flashThe lightnings, and the thunderbolts down hurl;The mightiest meddler with the world, his Zeus,Yet of the world the mighty maker not.But your Jehovah reaches even to that,As with his fingers fashioning yonder heaven,And fixing in their station moon and stars.And he in human things concerns himself!The Epicurean gods are cold and calm;On high Olympus far withdrawn they sit,And smile, and either not at all regardOur case, or, if so be regarding, smileStill, unconcerned, our case however hard.Your Hebrew God is much more amiable,But much more probable that Olympian crew;Nay, probable not at all is either; dream,Fond dream, the fable of divinitiesWho either care, or care not, for our case.We are the creatures and the sport of chance,Puppets tossed hither and thither in idle play,A while, a little while, fooled to supposeWe do the dancing we are jerked to do—And then, resolved from our compacture briefInto the atoms which once on a timeTogether chanced and so were we, we dropPlumb down again into the great inaneAbyss, and recommence the eternal whirl!There is that Epicurean cosmogony,An endless cycle of evolution turnedUpon itself, in worlds forevermoreBecoming, out of worlds forevermoreMerging in their original elements:No god, or gods, to tangle worse the skeinInextricably tangled by blind chance!"Saul was affronted, but he held his peace,Brooding the while his jealousy for God.At length, with intense calm, he spoke and said:"The Hebrew spirit is severe and says,'The fool it is who in his secret heart,Rebelling, wills no God.' 'The Hebrew spirit,'Said I? Forget those unadviséd words;For to speak so is not the Hebrew spirit.God is a jealous God; His glory HeWill to another not divide; and GodHimself it is, the Living God, and notWhat, Gentile fashion, my rash lips miscalled'The Hebrew spirit,' that charges atheismWith folly. God His prophet psalmist badeWrite with a diamond pen on adamantThat stern damnation of the atheous soul:'The fool hath in his heart said, God is not.'This tell I thee my conscience so to cleanseOf sin in saying 'The Hebrew spirit' for God."With tolerant wonder, Sergius heard and said:"A strangely serious race you Hebrews are;I do not think I understand you yet.I shall be glad to-morrow, if so pleaseThee likewise, to renew this night's discourse."So they descended from the hill and slept.The herald Dawn, white-fingered, from the eastHad signalled to the stars, 'He comes! He comes!'And these, veiling themselves from view with light,Had all into the unapparent deepRetired, and left the hemisphere of heaven,Late glowing with their fixed or wandering fires,One crystal hollow of pure space made voidTo be a fit pavilion for the sun,When forth from their encampment rode the twain,Fresh as the morning from the baths of sleep,And keen with hunger for the forward road."The allotment of my tribe," said Saul—"my tribeIs Benjamin—in measure such, bare rockAnd rugged hill, hardly through age-long toilOf tilth so clothed as we have seen them clothed,In terrace above terrace of won soil,With verdure—that, we leave behind, to crossThis day the fatter fields of Ephraim."Then Saul to Sergius rehearsed in shortThe tale of Hebrew history, how God,Having his fathers out of Egypt brought,With sign and wonder thence delivering themAnd hither led them through the parted sea,And past the smoking top of Sinai—Touched by the finger of God to burn with fireAnd thunder and lighten more than man could bearTo see or hear, in sanction of His law—Had lastly parcelled out this land to themIn portions by their tribes to be their rest.While Saul to Sergius so discoursing spoke,Over their right the sun, long since uprisen,Climbed the steep slope of morning in the sky.And now the summit of a ridge those twainReach, whence, straightforward looking, they behold,In light so bright, through air so fair, a sceneOf the most choice the eye can rest upon.A wide and long champaign of fruitful green,On either side hemmed in with skirting hill,Stretches before them to the bounding sky,Where Hermon, scarce descried through distance dim,Silvers with frost each morn his crown of snows.Descended, they therein, through billowing wheatWind-swayed, might, to a watcher from the hill,Seem laboring like two swimmers in the surf,And hardly, in the fluctuation, wayMaking whither they went; yet swiftly borneWere they, and easily, onward. Soon Saul said—And therewith pointed to two mountain peaks,Seen towering on the left to lordly height,Twin warders of a lesser vale between,In stature twin and twin in symmetry—"Ebal and Gerizim yon mountains are,And these between the vale of Shechem lies,Theatre once of oath and sacramentEnacted by my nation with dread rite.'A strangely serious race', thou yesterdayCalledst us Hebrews, strangely frivolous raceSurely were we, if somewhat serious not,For we are heirs of serious history.Yon natural amphitheatre thou seest,Circled and sloped against those mountain sidesWith spacious interval of plain enclosed;There was the oath of our obedience sworn.On Ebal half our tribes, and half our tribesOn Gerizim, stood opposite, and midst,The tribe of Levi, God's peculiar tribe,Stood in the vale about the ark of God,Whence Joshua, our great captain, read the law—He and the Levites, ocean-like the sound—With blessing or with curse by God adjoinedAs disobedient or obedient we.This was when scarce our fathers had set footHitherside Jordan in the promised land;They from their stronghold camp came here expressTo swear such solemn covenant with God.Six hundred thousand souls of fighting-men,With women and with children fourfold more,Ranged on the one side or the other, joinedTo them that mustered in the middle vale,All heard the threatening or the gracious words,And all, in multitudinous answer, said'Amen!'—the tribes on Ebal to the curse,And to the blessing, those on Gerizim,Replying—choral imprecation direUpon themselves of every human ill,If disobedient found, of promised goodAcceptance at the price, acknowledged just,Of whole obedience to God's holy law.It was as if Jehovah had adjuredAll things, above, below, His witnesses,'Hear, O ye heavens, and thou, O earth, give ear,While thus My people covenant swear with Me.'The host of Israel, though such numbers, heard—These mountain-sides redouble so the voice.""Theatric sacramental rite most weird,"Said Sergius, "thou hast described to me.Sure never elsewhere did lawgiver yet,With ceremony such, a people swearTo obedience of his laws. The laws, I trow,Subscribed and sealed with signature so strange,Strange must have been. Example couldst thou give?""Of all those laws," said Saul, "doubtless the lawTo Gentile ears the strangest, is the first;That law it is which makes the Jew a Jew:'Other than Me no god shalt thou confess;'Image, resemblance, none, molten or carved,'Of whatsoever thing in heaven, or earth,'Or hidden region underneath the earth,'Fashion to thee shalt thou, or bow thee down'In service or in worship unto them;'For I the Lord thy God a jealous God'Am, and I visit the iniquity'Of fathers upon children, chastisement,'In long entail, on generation linked'To generation, following hard the line'Of such as hate Me, endless mercy shown'To such as love Me and observe My law.'Curséd be he who dares to disobey';And Ebal, with its countless multitude,Thundered to Gerizim a loud 'Amen!'While heaven above and the wide world aroundHearkened in witness of the dreadful oath."Saul ceased as mute with awe of memory;And something of a sympathetic sense,Communicated, also Sergius madeSilent in presence of such history.Not long, for, rousing from his reverie,And looking up before him nigh, he seesA city with its walls and roofs and towers."Neapolis!" exclaims the Roman voice,The Jewish, in tone different, "Sychar!" said."Neapolis! And here I halt," said Sergius;"Sychar! And forward through Samaria, I,Not pausing till this hateful soil be passed,"Said Saul; "perchance to-morrow met again,Beyond, we may together forward fare."So there they parted with such slight farewell;Nor after met, until, two morrows moreNow spent in separate travel, they had reachedThe bursting fountain of the Jordan, where,Forth from between the feet of Hermon bornForever—in the joy and anguish born,The certain anguish and the doubtful joyTumultuous of an everlasting birth—Leaps to the light of life that famous stream,Like many another child—from Adam sprung—To run his heedless, headlong, downward courseAnd lose himself at last in the Dead Sea!Here was what life, all-welcoming, lusty life,Doom of what deadly worse than death was there!A city here the tetrarch Philip built,Or raised to more magnificent, which then,In honor of dishonorable nameImperial, Tiberius Cæsar, heCalled Cæsarea, and Philippi tooEponymous therewith for surname joined;But Paneas, earlier name, clung to the place,As to this day it clings in Banias.
Not yet his fill of slaughter supped, though forthAfar the timorous flock of Jesus nowWere from before his restless, ravening, fierce,Rapacious sword out of Judæa fledTo alien lands remote, beyond the heightsOf Hermon with their everlasting snows,And farther to the islands of the sea—Not yet, even so, his fill of slaughter supped,Saul had from the high-priest commission soughtTo search among the Hebrew synagoguesOf Syrian Damascus, and thence bringBound to Jerusalem whomever found,Woman or man, confessing Jesus Christ.
The season was fresh flowering spring; the earthWas glad with universal green to greetThe sun once more, returned in his blue heavenAfter his winter's sojourn in the south.How blithe the welcome of the morning was,Forth looking from his east across the HillsOf Moab on the just awakening world!Saul met it with a sense as if of springAnd morning linking hand in hand for danceTogether in the courses of his blood,As, mounted on a palfrey fresh and fleet,With servitors attendant following him,He issued jocund from Damascus gate.The animal spirits of youth and health in him,The joy of new adventure, the fine pulseOf life felt in the buoyant, bounding stepWith which his steed advanced him on the road,The secret pleasure of release at last,Release and long secure removal, won,Through growing leagues of distance interposed,From the abhorred access of Shimei—These, with the season and the hour so bright,Brightened the darkling heart of Saul to cheer.He was a radiant aspect, fair to see,Fronting his future with that sanguine smile!
The acclivity surmounted of a hill,Whence downward dipped his road, declining north,And farewell glimpse gave of Jerusalem,Saul rein drew on his foamy-flankéd steed,And, about winding him, paused, looking back.His retinue, far otherwise than heMounted, part even on foot, with sumpter beastsBearing camp equipage, behind were fallen.These, presently come up, he lets pass onBefore him in the way, while still at gaze,There on the back of his indignant steedResentful to be curbed in mid-career—Companion hoofs heard leaving him behind—Saul sits, perusing, with an inner eye,Yet more than with his outer, what he sees.Half-shadow and half-light, JerusalemHe sees, smitten athwart her level roofsWith sunshine from the horizontal sun,The temple of Jehovah in the midst,As if itself a sun, so dazzling brightWith its refulgence of reflected beams;While, round about, the warder mountains stand,Bathing their sacred brows in sacred light.Saul's heart distends immense with patriot's joy,Yet joy pierced through and through with patriot's pain.
"O beautiful for situation, thou,Jerusalem!" he fervently bursts forth."Peace be within thy walls, prosperityWithin thy palaces! Yea, yet again,Now for my brethren and companions' sakes,Say I, 'Within thee, peace!' Lo, my vow hear:For that the temple of the Lord my GodIs in thee, I henceforth thy good will seek.And Thou, Jehovah in the heavens! behold,Saul for himself that ancient promise claims:'Prosper shall he Jerusalem who loves.'For love not I Jerusalem, with loveTo anguish, for her anguish and her tears?Take pleasure in her stones, favor her dust,O God, my God! Is not the set time come?Do I not hear Thee say: 'Awake, awake,Put on thy strength, O Zion, long forlorn,And beautiful thy garments put thou on,Jerusalem! Henceforth no more shall comeThe uncircumcised into thee, nor the unclean!'"
"Amen!" Saul added, with a gush of tears,The light mercurial feeling in his heartLess to sad sinking, weighted down, than all,With fluent lapse, to pleasing pathos changed.Into that strain, so ardent and so true,Of patriot prayer, deeply had braided been,Half to himself unknown, a silent strandOf subtle self-regard, vague personal hopeThat would have spurned to be imprisoned in words:'The new Jerusalem that was to be,Should she not Saul her chief deliverer hail!'
Musing, and praying, and beholding, so,Saul suddenly a sound of clanging hoofsHeard, and, his eyes quick thither turning, saw,Between hill Scopus, on whose top he stood,And the Damascus gate through which he came,Advancing toward him on the Roman road—Cemented solid with its rutted stones,Like an original stratum of the sphere—A turm of horse, large not, but formidable,Caparison and armor gleaming bright,And with a nameless air forerunning themOf wide-renownéd might invincibleExpressed in that momentous rhythmic treadFour-footed, underneath which from afarWith pulse on pulse now rock to iron rang.The cavalcade, by slow degrees more slow,Moved up the acclivity till, reached the brow,Sank to a walk their pace, when Saul perceivedAn arméd escort was convoying oneThereby betokened an ambassador,Somewhither posting on affair of state,Or haply citizen of high degreeHonored with ceremonious retinue.
This man regarded Saul with curious lookRespectful, which almost admiring grew;And gravely, as their mutual glances met,The youthful Roman to the youthful JewInclined in distant salutation meantFor natural courtesy due from peer to peer.Saul, in like wise, his greeting gave him back;Whereon the Roman, reining to one sideHis horse, and halting, said: "Peace, but methinksI saw thee late, months since it may have been,Where that fanatic Stephen suffered deathWith stoning at your angry elders' hands.""I, in that act of punishment," said Saul,"As loyal Jew befitted, took my part.""Nay, but as now I read thy features nigh,"Sudden more earnest grown, the Roman said,"Labors my brain with yet a different thought.Somewhere we twain must earlier still have met.In Tarsus I some boyish seasons spent;I there, by chance full well-remembered, knewA Hebrew-Roman boy whose name was Saul.""Then Sergius Paulus is thy name," said Saul,"And Saul am I—and Saul to Sergius, peace!"Who but as man and man just now had metGreeted again in sense of comradeship.
"Thy face is toward Jerusalem," to SaulSaid Sergius; "but thy look is less of oneArriving, journey finished, than of oneForth setting on adventure planned abroad.""I journey to Damascus," Saul replied:"And thither also I," said Sergius.Damascus-ward turned Saul his horse's head,And slowly, with the Roman, now resumedHis onward way, while further Sergius said:"Having a brief apprenticeship at armsAccomplished, to Jerusalem I came,Centurion still, urged by desire to seeThy capital city, famed throughout the world.Since witnessing—by lucky hap it fellMy military duty to be there—Since witnessing that spectacle so strangeOf Stephen's stoning—strange to Roman eyes,Yet to eyes Jewish doubtless quite as strangeOur Roman fashion, hanging on the cross—All various ways of various tribes of menFrom clime to clime, delights me to observe—What comedy to the gods must we present!—Since I saw Stephen slain with stones, I say,Good fortune, and some interest made for meAt Rome, have given me this my welcome chanceTo travel and more widely see the world.Now to Damascus I as legate go.""And of our Sanhedrim as legate, I,"Said Saul, "if so without offence I mayFrom Jewish mode to Gentile dare my speechConform—legate, or hand executive,Say rather, in some certain officesDeemed needful, to consult my nation's weal."
With mutual question asked and answered, veinOf old-time boyish reminiscence sharedBetween them as together on they rode—Their horses pricking each the other's speed—The two soon overtook their retinues,Who, seeing their chiefs adjoined in comradeship,Themselves in comradeship dissolved their senseOf race and race to mix as men and men.
So all day long together, side by side,Riding, or resting in the noontide shade,Sergius and Saul, a frank companionship,Immixed their minds in speech of many things.Young life, young health, glad sense of fair emprise,High-hearted hope of boundless futures theirs,Delicious weather and blithe season bland,Blue cloudless heaven forever overhead—By the sole sun usurped his tabernacleWhence sovran virtue beaming into all—Sweet voice of singing-bird, sweet smile of flower,Sweet breath exhaled from tender-fruited vine,Joy, a full feast, through every flooded sense—And, heightening all, that billowy onward swayOf motion without effort on their steeds,Made, to those lord possessors of the world,Their talking like the coursing of their blood,Self-moved, or like the running of a brookThat laughs and sparkles on its downward way,As ceasing never from its hope to drainThe fountain, brimming ever, whence it flows.
Of arms, of art, and of philosophy,They spoke, and letters; spoke, too, of the fameOf ancient Grecian masters of the mind,Who ruled, and rule, by charm of prose or verse.First, Homer, hoar with immemorial eld,Pouring his epics in that profluent streamWhich, like his ocean, wandered round the world;Bold Pindar, with his lyric ecstasies,On throbbing wings of exultation borneInto the empyrean, whence his songBroken descends in showers of melody;Father of history, Herodotus,"Half poet, epic, or idyllic, he"—So, Saul thereto assenting, Sergius said—"With his Ionic strain mellifluousOf wonder-loving artless narrative";Thucydides, the soul of energy;Æschylus, Titan; happy Sophocles;With soft Euripides unfortunate;Then Socrates, "Who wrote no books," said Saul,"Or wrote most living books in living men;Plato, the chiefest book of Socrates,Yet mind so large and so originalThat, in him reading what his teacher taught,One knows not whether Socrates it be,Or Socrates's pupil, that one reads"—"Knows not, and, for delight, cares not to know,Full-sated with the feast of such discourse,So wealthy, wise, urbane, harmonious!"—Stung to enthusiasm, thus Sergius,Continuing what from Saul ceased incomplete."Our Tully," added he, "from Plato's wellDeepest his draughts drank of philosophy,And, thence inspired, wrote such sweet dialogue,Latin half seemed delectable as Greek.""Yea, and a man of fine civilityIn manners as in mind, your Tully was,"Said Saul; "Cilicia keeps his memory greenFor virtues long in Roman rulers rare.His too a sounding, stately eloquence,And copious; but Greek DemosthenesPleases me better, with that stormy stressOf passion in him, reason on fire with loveOr hatred, that indignant vehemenceWhich overwhelms us like a torrent flood,Or, like a torrent flood, upon its breastLifts us, and tosses us, and bears us on!He is more like our Hebrew prophets raptAbove themselves in sympathy with God."
In talk like this the livelong day was spent;Hardly the talkers heeding when they passedMeadows of flowers pied rich in colors gay,Poppy, anemone, convolvulus,Bright marigold wide yellowing belts of greenInto a vivid gold that dazed the eye;And heeding hardly if upsprang the larkFrom almost underneath their horses' hoofs,Startled to leave her humble hiding nest,And, soaring, better hide her otherwiseAmid the blinding lightnings of the sun;Such sights and sounds and glancing motions swiftScarce heeded—yet, as subtle influence,Admitted, each, to infuse insensiblyInto their mood an added joyousness—The afternoon declined into the eve.Passed now a fountain on the wayside cliff,Coyly, through ferny leafage, shedding downIts weeping waters shown in fresher green,Up a long glen they mounted to a crestOf hill where opened a soft grassy plain—Inviting, should one wish his tent to spread—And here they twain their double camp bid pitch.
Supper soon ended, Saul and Sergius,Ere sleep they seek, a hill, not far, ascend,The highest neighboring seen, less thence to viewThe landscape round them in the deepening darkGlooming, or even the heavens above their headsBrightening each moment in the deepening dark,Than youth's unused excess of strength to easeWith exercise, and to achieve the highest.But there the splendors of the firmament,Enlarged so lustrous through that Syrian sky,Hailed such a storm of vertical starlightDownward upon their sense as through their senseInward into their soul beat, and a whileMute held them, hushed with wonder and with awe,Awe to the Hebrew, to the Roman, joy.Then said the Roman:"This is like that placeOf glorious Homer where he hangs the skyInnumerably bright with moon and starsOver the Trojan host and their camp-fires:
'Holding high thoughts, they on the bridge of war'Sat all night long, and many blazed their fires.'As when in heaven stars round the glittering moon'Shine forth exceeding beautiful, and when'Breathlessly tranquil is the upper air,'And in their places all the stars are seen,'And glad at heart the watching shepherd is;'So many, 'twixt the ships and Xanthus' streams,'Shone fires by Trojans kindled fronting Troy.'"
"The spirit of Greece, with Greek simplicity,A nobleness all of Homer, there I feel,"Concession checking with reserve, said Saul;"Our Hebrew, to us Hebrews, rises higher.Homer, unconscious of sublimity,Down all its dreadful height above our sphereBrings the august encampment of the skies—To count the number of the Trojan fires!Our poet David otherwise beholdsThe brilliance of the nightly firmament,Seeing it mirror of the majestyOf Him who spread it arching over earth,And who yet stoops His awful thought to thinkKindly of us as Father to our race,Nay, kingdom gives us, glory, honor, power,And all things subjugates beneath our feet.Let me some echoes from that harp awakeTo which, with solemn touches, this his themeOur psalmist David chanted long ago:'Jehovah, our dread Sovereign, how Thy Name'Is excellent in glory through the earth!'Upon the heavens Thy glory hast Thou set;'The heart of babe and suckling reads it there,'And, raised to rapture, utters forth Thy praise,'That mute may be the adversary mouth'Which would the ever-living God gainsay.'When I survey Thy heavens, Thy handiwork,'The moon, the stars, Thou didst of old ordain,'Man, what is he? that Thou for him shouldst care,'The son of man, that Thou shouldst visit him.'For Thou hast made him hardly lower than God,'And dost with glory him and honor crown.'Dominion over all Thy works to wield'Thou madest him, and underneath his feet'Put'st all things, sheep and oxen, roaming beast,'And winging fowl, and swimming fish, and all'That passes through the pathways of the seas.'Jehovah, our dread Sovereign, how Thy Name'Is excellent in glory through the earth!'"
Recited in slow solemn monotone,As with an inward voice muffled by awe,Those new and strange barbaric-sounding notesOf Hebrew music shut in measured wordsSmote on some deeper chord in Sergius' earThat, trembling, tranced him silent for a while.Then he said, rousing: "What a sombre strain!From the light-hearted Greek how different!"
"Sombre thou callest it, and solemn I,Who find in such solemnity a joy;But different, yea, from the light-thoughted Greek."Less as in converse than soliloquyDeep-musing so to Sergius Saul replied."Our bard Isaiah modulates the strainInto another mood less pastoral.He pours divine contempt on idol gods,On idol gods and on their worshippers;And then majestically hymns His praiseWho made yon host of heaven and leads them out.'To whom then will ye liken God?' he cries,'Or what similitude to Him compare?'The skilled artificer an image forms,'And this the goldsmith overlays with gold,'And tricks it smartly out with silver chains:'Or haply one too poor for cost like this'Chooseth him out a tree judged sound and good,'And seeks a cunning workman who shall thence'Grave him an image that may shift to stand!'But nay, ye foolish, have ye then not known?'Not heard have ye? You hath it not been told'From the remote beginning of the world?'From the foundations of the ancient earth'Have ye indeed so missed to understand?'He sits upon the circle of the earth'And they that dwell therein are grasshoppers;'He as a curtain doth the heavens outspread,'And makes a blue pavilion of the sky.'To whom then will ye liken Me? saith God;'Whom shall I equal? saith the Holy One.'Lift up your eyes on high, the heavens behold—'Who hath these things created? who their host'By number bringeth out, and all by names'Calls? By the greatness of His might, for that'So strong in power is He, not one star fails.'"
The deep tones ceased, and once more silence fellBetween those two amid the silent night.But Sergius, lightly rallying soon to speech,Said, with a ready, easy sympathy:"There seems indeed to breathe in such a strainSome solemn joy, but the solemnityIs greater, and my spirit is oppressed.Not less your poets differ from the GreekIn matter than in manner, when they sing.How high you make your deity to be,Beyond the stature of the gods of Greece!Homer has Zeus compel the clouds, forth flashThe lightnings, and the thunderbolts down hurl;The mightiest meddler with the world, his Zeus,Yet of the world the mighty maker not.But your Jehovah reaches even to that,As with his fingers fashioning yonder heaven,And fixing in their station moon and stars.And he in human things concerns himself!The Epicurean gods are cold and calm;On high Olympus far withdrawn they sit,And smile, and either not at all regardOur case, or, if so be regarding, smileStill, unconcerned, our case however hard.Your Hebrew God is much more amiable,But much more probable that Olympian crew;Nay, probable not at all is either; dream,Fond dream, the fable of divinitiesWho either care, or care not, for our case.We are the creatures and the sport of chance,Puppets tossed hither and thither in idle play,A while, a little while, fooled to supposeWe do the dancing we are jerked to do—And then, resolved from our compacture briefInto the atoms which once on a timeTogether chanced and so were we, we dropPlumb down again into the great inaneAbyss, and recommence the eternal whirl!There is that Epicurean cosmogony,An endless cycle of evolution turnedUpon itself, in worlds forevermoreBecoming, out of worlds forevermoreMerging in their original elements:No god, or gods, to tangle worse the skeinInextricably tangled by blind chance!"
Saul was affronted, but he held his peace,Brooding the while his jealousy for God.At length, with intense calm, he spoke and said:"The Hebrew spirit is severe and says,'The fool it is who in his secret heart,Rebelling, wills no God.' 'The Hebrew spirit,'Said I? Forget those unadviséd words;For to speak so is not the Hebrew spirit.God is a jealous God; His glory HeWill to another not divide; and GodHimself it is, the Living God, and notWhat, Gentile fashion, my rash lips miscalled'The Hebrew spirit,' that charges atheismWith folly. God His prophet psalmist badeWrite with a diamond pen on adamantThat stern damnation of the atheous soul:'The fool hath in his heart said, God is not.'This tell I thee my conscience so to cleanseOf sin in saying 'The Hebrew spirit' for God."
With tolerant wonder, Sergius heard and said:"A strangely serious race you Hebrews are;I do not think I understand you yet.I shall be glad to-morrow, if so pleaseThee likewise, to renew this night's discourse."So they descended from the hill and slept.
The herald Dawn, white-fingered, from the eastHad signalled to the stars, 'He comes! He comes!'And these, veiling themselves from view with light,Had all into the unapparent deepRetired, and left the hemisphere of heaven,Late glowing with their fixed or wandering fires,One crystal hollow of pure space made voidTo be a fit pavilion for the sun,When forth from their encampment rode the twain,Fresh as the morning from the baths of sleep,And keen with hunger for the forward road."The allotment of my tribe," said Saul—"my tribeIs Benjamin—in measure such, bare rockAnd rugged hill, hardly through age-long toilOf tilth so clothed as we have seen them clothed,In terrace above terrace of won soil,With verdure—that, we leave behind, to crossThis day the fatter fields of Ephraim."Then Saul to Sergius rehearsed in shortThe tale of Hebrew history, how God,Having his fathers out of Egypt brought,With sign and wonder thence delivering themAnd hither led them through the parted sea,And past the smoking top of Sinai—Touched by the finger of God to burn with fireAnd thunder and lighten more than man could bearTo see or hear, in sanction of His law—Had lastly parcelled out this land to themIn portions by their tribes to be their rest.
While Saul to Sergius so discoursing spoke,Over their right the sun, long since uprisen,Climbed the steep slope of morning in the sky.And now the summit of a ridge those twainReach, whence, straightforward looking, they behold,In light so bright, through air so fair, a sceneOf the most choice the eye can rest upon.A wide and long champaign of fruitful green,On either side hemmed in with skirting hill,Stretches before them to the bounding sky,Where Hermon, scarce descried through distance dim,Silvers with frost each morn his crown of snows.Descended, they therein, through billowing wheatWind-swayed, might, to a watcher from the hill,Seem laboring like two swimmers in the surf,And hardly, in the fluctuation, wayMaking whither they went; yet swiftly borneWere they, and easily, onward. Soon Saul said—And therewith pointed to two mountain peaks,Seen towering on the left to lordly height,Twin warders of a lesser vale between,In stature twin and twin in symmetry—"Ebal and Gerizim yon mountains are,And these between the vale of Shechem lies,Theatre once of oath and sacramentEnacted by my nation with dread rite.'A strangely serious race', thou yesterdayCalledst us Hebrews, strangely frivolous raceSurely were we, if somewhat serious not,For we are heirs of serious history.Yon natural amphitheatre thou seest,Circled and sloped against those mountain sidesWith spacious interval of plain enclosed;There was the oath of our obedience sworn.On Ebal half our tribes, and half our tribesOn Gerizim, stood opposite, and midst,The tribe of Levi, God's peculiar tribe,Stood in the vale about the ark of God,Whence Joshua, our great captain, read the law—He and the Levites, ocean-like the sound—With blessing or with curse by God adjoinedAs disobedient or obedient we.This was when scarce our fathers had set footHitherside Jordan in the promised land;They from their stronghold camp came here expressTo swear such solemn covenant with God.Six hundred thousand souls of fighting-men,With women and with children fourfold more,Ranged on the one side or the other, joinedTo them that mustered in the middle vale,All heard the threatening or the gracious words,And all, in multitudinous answer, said'Amen!'—the tribes on Ebal to the curse,And to the blessing, those on Gerizim,Replying—choral imprecation direUpon themselves of every human ill,If disobedient found, of promised goodAcceptance at the price, acknowledged just,Of whole obedience to God's holy law.It was as if Jehovah had adjuredAll things, above, below, His witnesses,'Hear, O ye heavens, and thou, O earth, give ear,While thus My people covenant swear with Me.'The host of Israel, though such numbers, heard—These mountain-sides redouble so the voice."
"Theatric sacramental rite most weird,"Said Sergius, "thou hast described to me.Sure never elsewhere did lawgiver yet,With ceremony such, a people swearTo obedience of his laws. The laws, I trow,Subscribed and sealed with signature so strange,Strange must have been. Example couldst thou give?"
"Of all those laws," said Saul, "doubtless the lawTo Gentile ears the strangest, is the first;That law it is which makes the Jew a Jew:'Other than Me no god shalt thou confess;'Image, resemblance, none, molten or carved,'Of whatsoever thing in heaven, or earth,'Or hidden region underneath the earth,'Fashion to thee shalt thou, or bow thee down'In service or in worship unto them;'For I the Lord thy God a jealous God'Am, and I visit the iniquity'Of fathers upon children, chastisement,'In long entail, on generation linked'To generation, following hard the line'Of such as hate Me, endless mercy shown'To such as love Me and observe My law.'Curséd be he who dares to disobey';And Ebal, with its countless multitude,Thundered to Gerizim a loud 'Amen!'While heaven above and the wide world aroundHearkened in witness of the dreadful oath."
Saul ceased as mute with awe of memory;And something of a sympathetic sense,Communicated, also Sergius madeSilent in presence of such history.Not long, for, rousing from his reverie,And looking up before him nigh, he seesA city with its walls and roofs and towers."Neapolis!" exclaims the Roman voice,The Jewish, in tone different, "Sychar!" said."Neapolis! And here I halt," said Sergius;"Sychar! And forward through Samaria, I,Not pausing till this hateful soil be passed,"Said Saul; "perchance to-morrow met again,Beyond, we may together forward fare."
So there they parted with such slight farewell;Nor after met, until, two morrows moreNow spent in separate travel, they had reachedThe bursting fountain of the Jordan, where,Forth from between the feet of Hermon bornForever—in the joy and anguish born,The certain anguish and the doubtful joyTumultuous of an everlasting birth—Leaps to the light of life that famous stream,Like many another child—from Adam sprung—To run his heedless, headlong, downward courseAnd lose himself at last in the Dead Sea!Here was what life, all-welcoming, lusty life,Doom of what deadly worse than death was there!
A city here the tetrarch Philip built,Or raised to more magnificent, which then,In honor of dishonorable nameImperial, Tiberius Cæsar, heCalled Cæsarea, and Philippi tooEponymous therewith for surname joined;But Paneas, earlier name, clung to the place,As to this day it clings in Banias.