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 This is No. 
 
JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWARD HENRY PEMBER 
 
 LONDON 
 
 PRINTED AT THE CHISWICK PRESS 
 
 FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION 
 
 1904 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Jephthah's Daughter, a Tragedy ... . i 
 
 Written TO A Tyrolese Melody . . . .105 
 
 Notes in Travel : 1904 . ... . . 107 
 
 The Deathbed of Leonardo da Vinci . . . 137 
 
 To A Nightingale IN June .... 158 
 
 Blotted Lives 161 
 
 Old Age ... ... . . . . 181 
 
 Songs : 
 
 A Cradle Song 189 
 
 Evening .... 192 
 
 Mobile e DifPicile 194 
 
 Eyes 196 
 
 The Wasp 197 
 
 Love's Day . . . 199 
 
 Deserted .... . . ... 200 
 
 A Dream . . 201 
 
 ^ Farewell to the Wetterau ... . . 202 
 
 The Singer's Mission . 206 
 
 Sub Fine Laborum 
 
 207 
 
JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER, 
 
 A 
 
 -TRAGEDY 
 
 IN THREE ACTS. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 If any one were to object to this play on the ground that no 
 modern dramatist ought to take a subject from the Scriptures, 
 I should content myself with saying that such a prohibition 
 would be too broad. It is not applicable alike to all the 
 Jewish Chronicles, and least of all to a mythic story which is 
 to be referred to times when the religion of the Hebrews was 
 in a rudimentary condition, and when the effects of the effort 
 made by Abraham and Moses to lift the Theistic conceptions 
 of their countrymen on to a higher plane had wellnigh died 
 away. Jahveh or Jehovah was little more to Jephthah and 
 the Gileadites than a tribal God of Battles, such as Milcom 
 and Chemosh were to Moab and Ammon. By the time we 
 come to the days of the Prophets, when God had become 
 the universal Creator, the boundless Being whose attributes, 
 besides omnipotence, were love, mercy, pity, forgiveness and 
 fatherhood, who was at once the touchstone and sanction 
 for all hope, desire, and mental outlook, the whole case is 
 altered; then and onwards the literature of the Jews, bound 
 up with their religion, and hardly less with ours, becomes 
 sacrosanct and not to be touched. I have for the foregoing 
 reasons deemed myself at full liberty to deal as I pleased with 
 the story of Jephthah's daughter. I have preserved the main 
 incidents in all their naked cruelt)', but I have not scrupled 
 to weave around them the details of a romantic drama. I 
 have allowed myself absolute freedom in my work, and I trust 
 especially that no traces of archaism are to be found, either 
 
4 Argument. 
 
 in the diction, or in my treatment of the subject. Nor have 
 I affected to make in the various characters any presentation 
 of the Oriental type. The personages are simply human be- 
 ings in vfhom the unquestioning superstition of a God supposed 
 to delight in bloody and human sacrifice is taken for granted 
 as a supreme and overmastering motive. I accept the Hebrew 
 story in good faith, just as I have accepted before now the 
 legends of ancient Greece. Jephthah, an illegitimate scion 
 of the House of Gilead, itself a branch of one of the Half 
 Tribes of Ephraim and Manasseh, probably of the former, 
 finds his claim to a share in his father's heritage refused by 
 his kindred and by the Elders of his tribe. He has retired 
 to the mountain valleys between the territoriA of Gilead and 
 Ammon, and, having established himself there as a robber 
 chief, has attained a position of some consequence. His 
 military reputation has induced the Gileadites, who have re- 
 solved to claim from Ammon the lands lying between the 
 rivers Arnon and Jabbok, to recall him, and place their 
 government in his hands. At this moment the poem opens. 
 After some demur, Jephthah accepts their "Judgeship," and 
 prepares for war. Before starting on the campaign, he makes 
 that vow to Jahveh, the purport of which and its tragic con- 
 sequences form one of the pathetic inheritances of mankind. 
 He is a widower, and has only one daughter, named Thyrzah, 
 who has just reached a marriageable age. Her he has reared 
 in his hill fastness above Mizpah, and for companion has given 
 her a captive maiden called Zipporah, of a good family among 
 the Ammonites of Kabbah. These two have grown up as 
 sisters, and are tenderly attached. Jephthah, so far as has 
 been compatible with his position as a predatory chieftain, 
 has contrived to keep upon friendly terms with the Ammon- 
 ites, and so Zipporah from time to time has paid visits to her 
 kindred in her native city. There she has made acquaintance 
 with a young noble named Magdiel, the bosom friend of 
 
A rgument. 5 
 
 Nahasli, Crown Prince of Ammon. Magdiel has conceived an 
 unrequited love for Zipporah, who in her turn has nourished 
 for the Crown Prince a passion as hopeless as it was unsus- 
 pected either by its object or by those about her. He, on the 
 other hand, has had his imagination powerfully excited by 
 Magdiel's account of the beauty and accomplishments of 
 Thyrzah. The two young men, each secretly in pursuit of 
 his own desires, have wandered together during a summer 
 excursion into the neighbourhood of Mizpah. They have 
 seated themselves to rest in a patch of rocky woodland, 
 and while they are there discussing their several hopes and 
 dreams, and especially while Magdiel is rebuking Nahash 
 on the subject of his infatuation for an alien maid, they are 
 overheard by Thyrzah and Zipporah, who have been gather- 
 ing wild fruits and flowers in the same wood. Thyrzah thus 
 becomes acquainted with the aspirations of the Prince, and 
 straightway determines, more from womanly curiosity at first 
 than from any other feeling, to accord him that chance of an 
 interview which she has thus learned that he is seeking to 
 obtain. She feels herself impregnable in her own pride of 
 race, but Zipporah is correspondingly timid, and foresees 
 catastrophe to herself as well as danger for Thyrzah ; she is, 
 however, unable to hinder her friend's resolve. Two meetings 
 accordingly take place; one, between Magdiel and Zipporah, 
 in which, without betraying herself, Zipporah informs her 
 lover of the impending war between Gilead and Ammon, and 
 the consequent danger to Thyrzah should she allow her 
 thoughts and hopes to centre upon Nahash; the other, be- 
 tween Nahash and Thyrzah, in which the Prince discloses his 
 love, and Thyrzah listens with growing favour to his story. 
 The two last named part under a reciprocal conviction that 
 they have met at once too soon and too late, and must recoil 
 before the barrier, or at all events await the issue, of the war 
 that has broken out between their respective houses. The 
 
6 Argument. 
 
 campaign proceeds, and, as its results develop, Jephthah be- 
 comes more and more dismayed by the dreadful chances 
 attendant upon his vow; but, for all that, he does not waver 
 in his determination not to palter with Jahveh. He encounters 
 Nahash in the final battle, and challenges him to single com- 
 bat, hoping therein to solve the terrible problem before him 
 either by his own death or capture. But Nahash, obedient to 
 an injunction of Thyrzah that he should not raise his hand 
 against her father, avoids the invitation, and even allows 
 Jephthah to believe that his refusal arises from personal fear. 
 He is subsequently overpowered by a company of Gileadite 
 soldiers, and brought in as a prisoner. Terms of peace are 
 discussed ; among them is one, proposed by Nahash in words 
 of almost reverential diffidence, that he should marry Thyrzah, 
 and receive back part of his lost territories with her, as her 
 dower. To this Jephthah is disposed to accede, but states 
 frankly the intervening peril which confronts them all. The 
 arrangement itself provokes the fury of Jair, a Gileadite Lord, 
 who has been a suitor for the hand of Thyrzah, but has by her 
 been somewhat peremptorily rejected. Jair retires to plot 
 vengeance. He unfortunately meets a youth named Ithamar, 
 Jephthah's armour-bearer, and the foster-brother of Thyrzah. 
 Ithamar has discovered the fact and purport of Jephthah's 
 vow, and has determined to go off independently to warn 
 Thyrzah, and either by persuasion or force to prevent her 
 from coming out to meet her father. He innocently imparts 
 his design to Jair, who proceeds to thwart it. Jair starts before 
 Ithamar, lies in wait for him in a mountain pass, and kills him, 
 as he supposes, with an arrow. Meantime Jephthah and 
 Nahash proceed towards Mizpah. As they approach the town, 
 sounds of harps, tabrets, and cymbals are heard, and a 
 choric song, in which the voice of Thyrzah is conspicuous. 
 The dreaded catastrophe of the meeting takes place, and 
 Thyrzah is told of the vow, and accepts her fate. The historic 
 
Argtiment. 7 
 
 respite of two months is supposed to have been accorded to 
 her. Whatever efforts Nahash may have made during that 
 interval to undermine her spiritual constancy, he makes none 
 in a final interview which takes place between them on the 
 evening before she is to suffer. He declares that he will die 
 with her, and she accepts his devotion. They part to meet on 
 the fatal morrow. The terrible ceremonial antecedent to sacri- 
 fice has been completed, and the Priest is just stepping forward 
 to address the people, when Ithamar rushes in. He denounces 
 Jair, and tells how he has himself been found and tended by 
 some wandering Ammonites, and restored, but too late to 
 save his foster-sister. The proof of Jair's treachery is condign ; 
 he even avows his deed, and glories in it. He is ordered for 
 execution, but before he can be seized, he springs back, plucks 
 the da^er from the belt of Nahash (all the Hebrews, as 
 engaged upon a religious rite, being unarmed), and stabs him. 
 He is hurried off the stage, followed by Ithamar, who has 
 picked up the dagger which the murderer has flung down. 
 Nahash dies in Thyrzah's arms. She covers his body with her 
 veil, and after a gentle word or two to Ithamar, who comes 
 back to say that he has dealt justice upon Jair, she turns to 
 the Priest. As the latter moves forward to take her hand, the 
 curtain falls. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 *Jephthah, Captain and Judge of Gilead. 
 
 *Jair, a Gileadite Lord. 
 
 Ithamar, Armourbearer tojephthah, and Foster- Brother oj 
 
 Thyrzah, 
 An Elder of Gilead. 
 A Priest of *Jahveh. 
 Nahash, Prince of Amnion. 
 Magdiel, an Ammonite Lord. 
 An Officer of Jephthah's Guard. 
 Thyrzah, Daughter ofjephthah. 
 
 Zipporah, an Ammonite captive and friend of Thyrzah. 
 Three Gileadite Soldiers. 
 Three Ammonite Soldiers. 
 Gileadite Youths, Maidens, and Populace. 
 
 * The letter "J" as in "Jahveh" to be pronounced like 
 'Y." 
 
JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 For " sprang " read " sprung ", page 1 50. 
 i^?r "life — love" r^a^ " lifelove ", page 166. 
 In the second line of the last stanza upon page igS, /or 
 " Alas, alas," read " Call up again " 
 
 And shoulder quarrels that are none of mine, 
 But yours alone. Why should I do this thing? 
 An Elder. To help us share the peace thou dost 
 enjoy. 
 Thou art a captain of renown; thy birth, 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 *Jephthah, Captain and Judge of Gilead. 
 *Jair, a Gilmdite Lord. 
 
JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 An open space in the town of Gilead. 
 
 Jephthah and the Elders of Gilead seated under a 
 group of trees. 
 
 Jephthah. 
 TV T OW to this business; ye have brought me 
 ^ ^ here, 
 
 Elders of Gilead, and ye, kinsmen mine, 
 Out of that pleasant valley which I won 
 By sword and bow, and where I dwell at peace 
 With you and Ammon ; ye would have me change 
 My hardwon rest for wilful hazardous war, 
 And shoulder quarrels that are none of mine, 
 But yours alone. Why should I do this thing? 
 An Elder. To help us share the peace thou dost 
 enjoy. 
 Thou art a captain of renown ; thy birth, 
 
I o JephthaJis Daughter. 
 
 And thine unportioned manhood — for thy sire 
 
 Gave thee no heritage among his sons — 
 
 Have made thee what thou art, wily and strong; 
 
 Thy soul hath grown attuned to war, as pines 
 
 Draw forth their music from the mountain storms; 
 
 And thou hast culled a sheaf of freebooters 
 
 Out of the hills, as hardy as thyself 
 
 And thine by discontent and turbulence 
 
 Of spirit like thine own ; a common fear 
 
 Of them and thee hath won that peace thou namest 
 
 From Moab and from Ammon and from us. 
 
 There standeth none among us like to thee : 
 
 We are thy kin; come home to us, and help us. 
 
 Jephth. When I was little in your eyes, ye helped 
 My father's sons to drive me forth, as one 
 Unworthy of that kinship ye now claim. 
 They said, forsooth, I was a harlot's child 
 Not fit for heritage; they lied, and ye 
 Echoed the lie; now ye would make of me 
 Your tool, your ploughshare wherewithal to break 
 A stubborn furrow, and that done, a thing 
 Left out to rust upon the wayside. No: 
 It likes me not. Fight your own Ammonites. 
 I take mine honest and impartial toll 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 1 1 
 
 Of all the travellers who come my way, 
 Be they the sons of Abraham or Lot, 
 Jacob or Esau. 
 
 Elder. Is it then thy boast 
 
 To live by plunder? 
 
 Jephth. No, good friend, my fate; 
 
 The fate whereto my kindred set their seal; 
 Ill-usage makes the robber; he but pays 
 His makers for his making, and they take 
 Their wages from the one mint to his hand. 
 Had ye but bidden these my brethren share 
 Their father's heritage with me their brother — 
 A dole of justice that had cost you nothing — 
 I had stayed peaceable and poor, grown up 
 A hedgerow sapling with you all; as 'tis, 
 Ye have transmuted me to metal, brazed 
 In your own furnace, welded, hardened, wrought. 
 By hammers ye set going, now, of fibre 
 Too tough for you to fashion, and — once more — 
 Too rare to do your tillage with. Farewell; 
 I know I am a costly terror; yet 
 I bear nor hate nor malice, though I laugh — 
 And, look you, these same monies, which you pay 
 To buy the safety of your hill-pastures, 
 
1 2 JephthaJis Daughter. 
 
 Have been withheld, unwittingly, I doubt not; 
 Weigh out the shekels, of your courtesy; 
 Young Ithamar shall give you quittance due. 
 
 \Going. 
 
 Elder. Nay, stay; we do repent; seems it so mean 
 To say, we wronged thee once, and would avenge 
 Thee on ourselves — if that thou deem'st it vengeance 
 To own thy worth, and take thee for our ruler? 
 
 Jephth. Till I have slaughtered Ammon! But 
 what then? 
 
 Elder. Jahveh shall be our witness; lead us 
 forth— 
 We'll do our best to quit ourselves like men — 
 And should he favour us, and thou return 
 In peace to Mizpah, thou shalt be our judge. 
 Obeyed as Gideon, Othniel, Deborah, 
 Nay, Joshua himself 
 
 Jephth. [After a pause.] Will ye swear this? 
 
 Elder. In all good faith. 
 
 Jephth. In face of Jahveh's altar? 
 
 And for all Gilead no less than yourselves? 
 
 Elder. E'en now : th' occasion presses, and delay 
 Might cool thy will. 
 .Jephth. Lead on, then ; I will follow. \Exeimt^ 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 1 3 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 On an eminence outside the town of Gilead. 
 
 Before a rude altar of turf. The Elders and 
 People of Gilead assembled; Jephthah an 
 followers. 
 
 A burnt offering still smoking upon the altar. 
 
 Jephthah. 
 "\ ~\ TELL, ye have sworn, and Jahveh hath borne 
 
 • * witness; 
 
 And so, I swear. Hear me. Almighty One, 
 Thou who hast led the Hebrews into battle, 
 Whene'er they served and trusted thee aright; 
 If I have never lifted hand in prayer 
 To Milcom or to Chemosh, but have kept 
 My heart for thee, befriend me in this chance ! 
 And, if thou fail me not, but wilt bestow 
 The hosts of Ammon into these my hands, 
 I vow a vow to thee, that whatsoe'er, 
 
14 JephthalUs Daughter. 
 
 When I return victorious, shall be first 
 
 To cross the threshold of my house to meet me, 
 
 However precious, I will make it thine, 
 
 And it shall bleed in face of this thine altar. 
 
 And so do thou to me, and more besides, 
 
 If I prove false to this my vow. 
 
 \Music and song heard approaching. 
 What 's that? 
 
 Elder. The maids and youths of Gilead, at their 
 head 
 Thy daughter, Thyrzah, come to grace our pact 
 With song and dance. 
 
 Jephth. [Aside.] My daughter at their head ! 
 
 'Tis well I have not fought; my little Thyrzah, 
 Only to think how it had been with thee 
 If I had fought, and thou hadst come with song 
 To greet me thus on my return ! 
 
 Elder. How now? 
 
 What aileth thee? Thy brows grow dark; thine air 
 Is as of one who broods over a doubt. 
 Dost thou repent? 
 
 Jephth. Nay, nay. 
 
 \Aside?[ Oh, the mere thought! 
 
 It is as though the sun had dropped from heaven! 
 
Jephthalis Daughter. 1 5 
 
 Enter the singers, playing harps and beating tabrets. 
 Thyrzah, at their head, dashing her cymbals. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Tabret and harp for Jahveh the Mighty ! 
 
 Song and cymbal his praises tell ; 
 Hear ye a lay of his servant Moses 
 
 Working wonders for Israel ! 
 
 Thyrzah. \Clashes lur cymbals and sings.\ 
 Lord Moses walked in the King's chambers, 
 
 Pharaoh the King was he fain to see ; 
 When to him spake a chamberlain, 
 
 " Wouldst thou, perchance, have speech of me? ' 
 
 " Nay, not to thee, nor such as thee. 
 The message that I come to bring; 
 
 'Tis mine to do before thy master 
 The bidding of a mightier King." 
 
 " And who is he, thy mightier one, 
 
 Whose servant goeth with head so high? ' 
 
 " He dwelleth in the Heaven of Heavens, 
 And sitteth, throned, upon Sinai." 
 
1 6 JephthaJis Daughter. 
 
 Loud laughed King Pharaoh's chamberlain, 
 " Well, thou shall in, and tell thy tale; 
 
 But I would not dare the doom thou darest 
 For half the wealth of the Nile's vale." 
 
 \Clashes her cymbals. 
 
 Chor. [ With harp, tabret, and cymbals i\ 
 Tabret and harp for Jahveh the Mighty ! 
 
 Ah, but he loveth his people well; 
 Hear ye the lay of the many marvels 
 
 Wrought upon Egypt for Israel ! 
 
 Thyrzah. [Clashing her cymbals.^ 
 Through twelve fair rooms of the King's palace 
 
 They two passed onward, one by one, 
 Until they stayed in the last and fairest, 
 
 Where Pharaoh sat on a golden throne. 
 
 " And who is this," cried Pharaoh the King, 
 " Thou bringest here unbidden of me? " 
 
 Full lowly bowed the chamberlain, 
 "Sir King, himself shall answer thee. 
 
 " For he saith he serveth one more mighty 
 Than thou on this thy seat so high, 
 
Jephtkalis Daughter, 1 7 
 
 One who dwelleth above the Heavens, 
 And sitteth throned upon Sinai." 
 
 " Say what thou hast," said Pharaoh the King, 
 
 " But see thou sayest it warily; 
 And anger me not," quoth the King Pharaoh, 
 
 " For an thou dost, thou shalt surely die." 
 
 \Clashes her cymbals. 
 
 Ckor. [With harps, etc.] 
 Tabret and harp for Jahveh the Mighty ! 
 
 Praise him, praise him, he loves us well; 
 Hear ye the lay of the lesson of Egypt, 
 
 Taught for his chosen of Israel ! 
 
 Thyrz. [Clashing her cymbals.^ 
 Then boldly spake our good Lord Moses, 
 
 " I am not careful to answer thee, 
 For the God I serve, but whom ye know not. 
 
 Will do his pleasure concerning me. 
 
 " He bade me say unto thee, O King, 
 
 ' Mine eyes have looked on my people's tears, 
 
 Out of the burden of their great bondage. 
 
 The sound of their crying hath reached mine 
 
 ears. 
 
 c 
 
1 8 Jephthahs Daughter - 
 
 " ' 'Tis time that thou shouldst let them go 
 
 From underneath thy heavy hand, 
 With flocks and herds and wives and children, 
 
 To worship me in their fathers' land.' " 
 
 Loud laughed the Lords of the Court of Pharaoh, 
 Loud laughed the King on his golden throne; 
 
 And all made mock of our good Lord Moses, 
 With " Begone, thou Hebrew slave, begone." 
 
 \Clashes her cymbals. 
 
 Chor. [ With harps, etc?\ 
 Tabret and harp for Jahveh the Mighty ! 
 
 Shawm and trumpet his praises swell ; 
 Hear ye the lay of the plagues of Egypt, 
 
 Sent for the love of his Israel! 
 
 Thyrz. \Clashing her cymbals?^ 
 His rod he raised, and blood for water 
 Filled all their rivers up to the brim. 
 And men and herds went dry with loathing; 
 But still they mocked and derided him. 
 
 \Cymbals. 
 His rod he raised, and frogs in thousands 
 Crawled everywhere in the filth and mire, 
 
JephthaHs Daughter. 1 9 
 
 And flies, and lice, and locusts wasted 
 Field, and palace, and farm, and byre. 
 
 \Cymbals. 
 
 His rod he raised, and blains and murrain 
 Fell anon upon beasts and men, 
 
 And hail he brought, and a triple darkness ; 
 Few, I ween, were the mockers then ! 
 
 [ Cymbals. 
 
 His rod he raised, and thrice again, 
 At morn, at noon, and at eventide. 
 
 And every first-born child of a woman 
 In all the borders of Egypt, died. 
 
 Chor. \As before i\ 
 Tabret and harp for Jahveh the Mighty ! 
 
 God of Gods, he doth all excel; 
 Hear ye the lay of our mighty leader, 
 
 Leading the armies of Israel! 
 
 Thyrz. [Clashing her cymbals.^ 
 Forth we went with their spoils upon us, 
 
 Jahveh guided our outward way, 
 Guided and guarded in light and darkness, 
 
 Fire by night, and a cloud by day. 
 
 [Cymbals. 
 
20 JephthaHs Daughter. 
 
 Brought us whither the winds, his servants, 
 
 Held the floods upon either hand. 
 Held them parted till we passed over, 
 
 Dryshod, as upon dry land. 
 
 After us ever the hosts of Pharaoh, 
 
 Horsemen, footmen, chariots, sped. 
 Between the toppling walls of water, 
 
 Down to the deeps of the ocean's bed. 
 
 Spake our God to the winds, his servants. 
 
 Bade them suffer the floods to flow, 
 Then full soon did the hosts of Pharaoh 
 
 Perish in one wide overthrow. 
 
 Waves went rocking and breakers rolling, 
 
 All was as it was wont to be; 
 But every mocker of our Lord Moses, 
 
 Drank of the salt of the Red Sea. 
 
 \Cymbals. 
 
 Chor. [ With karps, eU.] 
 Tabret and harp for Jahveh the Mighty ! 
 Song, shawm, trumpet, and cymbal, swell; 
 
Jephthah's Daughter. 2 1 
 
 This is the lay of the doom of Pharaoh, 
 
 Wrought for the Fathers of Israel ! 
 
 \Final crash of instruments. 
 
 Elder. Thus is our solemn compact sealed, and 
 graced 
 With sacrifice, and sacred dance and song. 
 Hearken to me, oh ye of Gilead, 
 Old men and youths, mothers and maidens, all ! 
 Henceforth we put away the worship strange 
 Of Milcom, Chemosh, Baal, Ashtaroth, 
 With all abominations such as moved 
 Our Jahveh in times past, and now hath stirred 
 His wrath to vex us with these Ammonites 
 From Jabbok unto Arnon; Ve are sworn 
 To pay our homage unto him alone. 
 Obedient to the ancient manner shown 
 By him and by his servant Moses. More; 
 We have all sworn that Jephthah is henceforth 
 Captain, and judge, and ruler over us. 
 This ye all know, and are content? 
 
 All. Content ! 
 
 Elder. Then get you gonej and each man arm 
 himself 
 With sword and spear, and due provision make 
 
2 2 Jephthah's Daughter. 
 
 For march and battle; and may he who rolled 
 Before our fathers' eyes the hosts of Pharaoh, 
 Like pebbles, 'neath the rush of the Red Sea, 
 Give Ammon to the slaughter ! And for thee. 
 Our kinsman reconciled, and trusty leader. 
 We leave thee to thy counsels; we are thine 
 To follow and obey; we wait thy call. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Jephthah. 
 Jepth. \Solus.'\ Terror hath seized me; not the 
 fear of fight, 
 Or dread of rule ; with both am I well pleased ; 
 And, filled with joy and pride in this day's work, 
 I could set out exultant, and could smite 
 These Ammonites from river unto river. 
 But for this vow: I spake it with my hand 
 Laid on his altar; I am sworn to him 
 To war, and pay the cost of victory, 
 Whate'er it be; and victory I shall have; 
 I feel his will within me work a might 
 That shall not fail; so that mine oath stands forth 
 A term inevitable, as is night 
 Waiting on day : I dare not swerve, nor palter. 
 Nor play at shifts with him. I dare not speak. 
 To bid her that she come not forth to greet me. 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 23 
 
 As she came now. What if I saw her then, 
 As in this hour, with cymbal and with song 
 Heading her maidens! Yet a hint, a breath, 
 Would bring down devastation on us all, 
 Gilead and her, not me alone. My girl. 
 The choicest jewel of our tribe; my star. 
 My moon of Mizpah; my chief joy in exile; 
 Mine only solace since her mother died ; 
 My little Thyrzah ! 
 
 Thyrz. [^Re-entering.'\ See ! Thy little Thyrzah ! 
 Did father call for her because he loved her? 
 
 Jephth. [Embracing her.] Love thee! I cannot 
 bear to leave thee, sweet. 
 E'en for this lordship over Gilead; 
 Love thee I Oh, tell me to forego these wars. 
 And we will back to Mizpah, even now, 
 Ere this first morning that hath hatched our greatness. 
 Hath brooded it till noon; and leave them all, 
 Gilead and Ammon, to make war alone ; 
 While we stay in our valley, thou and I ; 
 Where I will hold thee safe against the world; 
 Alone, if so thou wilt, or thou shalt wed 
 Some worthy man of thine own choosing, sweet; 
 I care not whom — Hebrew or Ammonite, 
 
24 JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 From Moab or from Edom — 
 
 Thyrz. Oh, my father! 
 
 Wouldst let me bring thee home an alien love? 
 Jephth. Ay, wheresoe'er begotten; so thou love 
 him. 
 Then will I love him; Lot and Abraham 
 Came of one stock, and Moab, Ammon, Edom, 
 And we of Jacob's race, are we not sprung 
 From one or th' other? Little we two owe 
 To those who drave us forth. So choose for me; 
 Peace and thy love, or war with all its chance? 
 Thyrz. How canst thou doubt? I know thou 
 dost not doubt; 
 Thy vow is made. 
 Jephth. What vo w ? Thou heardest none ! 
 
 Thyrz. Nay, but I know it all unheard. 
 Jephth. [Aside.] Is'tso? 
 
 Then am I safe perchance. 
 
 Thyrz. Why break thy vow? 
 
 Jephth. [Aside.] She knows it, and will spare her- 
 self and me. 
 Thyrz. Think'st thou that I would let thy love 
 or mine 
 Outcry the call that lifts thee to this hazard? 
 A daughter of the seed of Israel, 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 25 
 
 A princess of the house of Ephraim, 
 
 The darling of the Lord of Gilead, 
 
 Giveth her voice for honour, and for war 
 
 With all its chance! No more; set forth, my father, 
 
 One kiss, and so I go. [Embracing Aim.] 
 
 This is the last. 
 Till Jahveh brings thee home again in peace, 
 And Death lets loose his vultures over Ammon. 
 
 [S/ie goes off, clashing her cymbals and singing. 
 Fire and sword for Jahveh the Mighty ! 
 
 Death to the heathen with whom we dwell; 
 Howl, oh Moab, and wail, oh Ammon, 
 Here be the armies of Israel ! 
 Jefhth. [Looking after her.] I half believe because 
 I would believe. 
 She may have learned; may Jahveh grant she hath; 
 Perchance his mind is to absolve me thus. 
 If not — Oh, I will smite these Ammonites 
 From Minnith unto Aroer, hip and thigh; 
 No town will I leave standing, not a soul, 
 Man, woman, child, shall live; then, if she dies, 
 She dies avenged already. 
 
 [To his attendants, who enter from the back of 
 the stage. 
 
 Follow me! 
 
26 JephthaJis Daughter. 
 
 ACT I. 
 Scene III. 
 
 A ROCKY Woodland near the town of Mizpah. 
 
 Enter Nahash and Magdiel. 
 
 Thyrzah and Zipporah are seen for a tnoment at 
 the back of the stage. They have baskets in their 
 hands containing flowers and fruit. 
 
 Magdiel. 
 
 AND so thou lovest, Prince, this stranger maid, 
 This daughter of the Hebrew freebooter; 
 Albeit thou hast ne'er had speech of her. 
 Nor even looked on her ! 
 
 Nahash. True, oh my friend; 
 
 I have not seen her yet; but time for that ! 
 For beauty is a lesson lightly conned, 
 A glance, and we have got its page by heart, 
 And there it stays. But I have heard from thee. 
 Enough for love's incitement, of her grace. 
 
JephthaKs Datighter. 27 
 
 Her goodness, and her innocence; her gifts 
 Of delicate handicraft; how she can weave 
 Songs that her fellow damsels, and the youths 
 Of Gilead, love to chaunt at festivals 
 To harp and tabret; as thou know'st, her sire 
 Was driven out to these valleys by his kin, 
 And in his exile has as often warred 
 For us as with us. 
 
 Magd. Ay, but ever keeps 
 
 Apart in time of peace. As I have told thee, 
 She is his only child, and held by him 
 Too precious for communion ; she herself 
 Casts pride of race into his jealous scale. 
 And lives secluded. 
 
 Nah. But how comes it then 
 
 That thou shouldst know her beauty and her worth, 
 Yet neither fire thee? 
 
 Magd. Ah, my fires have fed 
 
 On other fuel ! For sole company 
 She hath that daughter of our race, whom he 
 Made captive and hath reared along with her 
 But would long since have freed, had not the souls 
 Of these two maids by their long solitude 
 Been knit with so much virgin tenderness 
 
28 Jephthalis Daughter. 
 
 That they are closer sisters than by blood. 
 
 Nah. How know'st thou this? 
 
 Magd. How know it? Well, my Prince, 
 
 I'll wed a trust to thine j this Zipporah 
 Comes down at whiles to sojourn with her kin — 
 On whom the light captivity she loves 
 Has ceased to throw the shadow of a shame — 
 And I have seen and loved her. 
 
 Nah. Ah! And she? 
 
 Magd. Protests the gentle Thyrzah hath oft vowed 
 To die, ere she would wed out of her kin. 
 With her, I hold it well to match with kind; 
 And so dost thou ; thou warrest with thyself 
 Through all thy dreaming; I have heard thee sing 
 Songs stuffed with strange and bootless images 
 Of yearnings against nature, pine for palm, 
 And mountain briar for the lowland rose, 
 And other wild phantastic garniture 
 Wherein you singers would make folly fine : 
 Such talk is tell-tale of self-blame, my lord. 
 Cannot a prince of Ammon find a mate 
 Among his country's daughters? 
 
 Nah. Grandam yet 
 
 Never gave wiser counsel; fair enough 
 
Jephthah's Daughter. 29 
 
 Is every maid of Atnmon; Thyrzah proud; 
 And all my dreams are vain ; yet still I dream, 
 And love to sing the songs thou deem'st so wild. 
 
 S^Thyrzah and Zipporah again momentarily 
 show themselves to the audience, but 
 again conceal themselves. 
 
 Nahash sings. 
 The west wind wooeth the mountain pine, 
 
 And wingeth her way to him over the sea, 
 He heareth her whisper, and feeleth her twine, 
 And daintily whispereth, twineth she; 
 But he bends down to the valley. 
 
 For making a crown in the haze he spies 
 A fair young palm of the golden plain. 
 
 And he and the sea-wind mingle their sighs. 
 But vain are the murmurs of each of the twain; 
 The palm hears nought in the valley. 
 
 The ivy loveth the eglantine, 
 
 And stealeth her way with a crafty grace, 
 But she vouchsafeth him never a sign. 
 
 As she leaneth over the gray rock-face; 
 And she too yearns for the valley. 
 
30 Jephthah's Daughter. 
 
 For down in a garden she marketh a rose, 
 
 And up from its heart, while the soft wind stirs, 
 
 The breath of a careless perfume blows; 
 
 It blendeth its sweets with her own, but hers 
 Ne'er reach to the rose in the valley. 
 
 Alas for the spirits that strange loves fire, 
 The pine, and the wind, and the ivy spray, 
 
 And sad little heart of the simple briar; 
 Each flingeth its treasure of pain away ; • 
 No answer comes from the valley. 
 
 For the valley is far and fair and proud 
 And spurneth us of the mountain side, 
 
 With our winter of snow and summer of cloud ; 
 So one more sigh for her beauty and pride, 
 And then farewell to the valley. 
 
 Magd. These are but flowers of thy self-deceit ; 
 Light forgeries wherewith thy mind would strive 
 To cloak its own beguilement; tricksy feats 
 Of song, sung idly for the sake of singing; 
 They are but pretty fooling, and no plea : 
 Were all the pines in love with all the palms. 
 
Jephthafis Daughter. 31 
 
 And every sea-wind sighing for some pine, 
 Prince Nahash still were wayward, and his quest 
 Perverse. 
 
 Nah. As thou wilt have it ! Tell me, though, 
 Good sage, upon what errand wast thou bent 
 When thou didst lure me hitherward to-day? 
 1 know thee; thou didst think, after some shift 
 That rid thee of me, to explore yon path 
 That leads down to the Hebrew's hold. Well, come, 
 I'm for thee ! Thou shalt see thy Zipporah ; 
 And thou and she together shall win speech 
 For me of this proud Thyrzah — if 'tis true 
 That she be proud, for in her Hebrew tongue 
 Her name doth stand for gentle comeliness — 
 But proud or gentle, whatsoe'er her shows 
 Of humour on the hearing, she shall hear 
 All that is in my heart, nay e'en perchance 
 This very song that thou deridest. Come ! 
 
 \Exeu7it. 
 Enter Thyrzah and Zipporah. 
 
 Thyrz. Nay ! She has heard ! Who told him I was 
 proud? 
 And is it true? Am I proud, Zipporah? 
 I cannot set at naught my birth; I am 
 
32 Jephthah's Daughter. 
 
 A daughter of the house of Israel, 
 Our Jahveh's chosen people, for whose sake 
 He overwhelmed the Pharoah, and laid low 
 The necks of seven nations, making room 
 To plant us in. Proud, said he? Well, I am; 
 Yet would not he so deemed me. Zipporah, 
 Speak, child! Art thou gone mute? 
 
 Zi^p. Oh Thyrzah mine, 
 
 I would we had not listened ! I misdoubt 
 The issue of this chance : let us haste home, 
 Close door and casement; let them get themselves. 
 Without or sight, or speech, or good of us. 
 Back unto Rabbah ! 
 
 Thyrz. Then my Zipporah 
 
 Would miss her meeting with her Magdiel. No ! 
 Sweet sister mine, we will not thwart thy friend. 
 As for the other Ammonite — a prince, 
 Saidst thou? My father's daughter need not shirk 
 Encounter with ten princes, while she keeps 
 That pride wherewith they dower her. Besides, 
 If he be worthy of the name of prince. 
 He'll take more foiling than the sullen fence 
 Of bolts and bars can give ; repulsed to-day, 
 He would force Time to open his shut fist, 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 33 
 
 And thereout shake an hour to tell his tale in. 
 Away, then, Zipporah ! We'll dare the chance ! 
 If lonely Jael in her Kenite's tent 
 Could deal with Sisera, a foe and armed. 
 Shall we lack all we need to hold our own, 
 And cope with these two stingless visitants? 
 Bethink thee; we surprised them in their talk; 
 It was all honest. 
 
 Zipp. Honest, yes; and yet 
 
 Thyrz. What yet? 
 
 Zipp. I scarce know how to answer thee; 
 
 My Thyrzah, there are moments in our lives 
 That stir and start us, but disquiet not, 
 Finding and leaving calm; as breezes spring. 
 Whereof we feel that they will breathe and pass. 
 And work no mischief in the summer woods ; 
 While others in their earliest sigh betray 
 The sough of coming tempest ere it come; 
 Such as these last are moments that rise charged 
 With thrills of nameless portent, menacing 
 Like those mute unfamiliar forms that point 
 Lean hands to fright us in our dreams; I feel 
 That this is of their kind. 
 
 Thyrz. What fearest thou? 
 
 D 
 
34 JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 Zipp. Nought for myself, nor ought I know for 
 thee. 
 
 Thyrz. And yet thou lookest as a heifer, child, 
 Might look, who saw the sacrificial knife, 
 And seeing, knew it. Courage, httle fool; 
 There is no knife. 
 
 Zipp. Ah, so thought Balaam; 
 
 No angel stood before him in the path. 
 And yet the ass was right. 
 
 Thyrz. Well, so he was; 
 
 But I'm still stubborn. Howsoe'er it end, 
 'Tis I shall be the victim ! Come then, bind 
 A chaplet on my brows for sacrifice. 
 And lead me to the altar. Let 's begone. \Exeunt. 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 35 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 a spot outside the village of mizpah. 
 Time, Evening. 
 
 Zipporah and Magdiel. 
 
 Zipporah. \Alone?\ 
 
 OH barbed with truth was that quick shaft of 
 fear 
 Which struck into my heart when we two first 
 Surprised them in their brotherly debate. 
 I knew them; 'twas with sense of coming ill, 
 No girlish dread, that, had she not constrained me, 
 I would have fled at once; long ere we heard 
 Those fatal words, " And so thou lovest. Prince, 
 This daughter of the Hebrew freebooter? " 
 Twas over then; she rushed on fresh disclosure, 
 With all the rashness of her haughty soul, 
 As on a peril. Oh, the chance, the chance! 
 
36 JephthaJts Daughter. 
 
 Ten times more fatal than our own worst fault, 
 And far more ruthless than our deadliest foe, 
 Is chance ! We two start to pick bramble-berries. 
 This morning of all others, and they two 
 Choose this one, out of all in the wide year, 
 To wander hitherward, and hold their talk. 
 Which we must needs encounter and o'erhear. 
 Hence stand I here to meet a man I love not. 
 And leave my friend the while to pin her heart 
 On his for whom mine hungers — She no less 
 As innocent of all deceit to me. 
 As I will strive to be of hate to her 
 When she hath grown to love him, as she will. 
 As surely as he too will dote on her. 
 
 Ente7' Magdiel. 
 
 But here comes Magdiel. 
 
 Magd. Oh Zipporah, 
 
 Doth this sweet challenge to a meeting hint 
 That love upheaves the surface of thy heart. 
 As lihes lift the meadow turf in spring? 
 Or, say we, that its mellow glories cast 
 A richness on the border of thy soul, 
 As yonder rising moon e'en now doth spread 
 
Jephthah's Daughter. 37 
 
 Her first shy beams over the roofs of Mizpah? 
 
 Zipp. Magdiel, nay; misthink me not! I sent 
 To warn thee and the Prince, thy friend ; to-day 
 Thyrzah and I were gathering wood- berries, 
 And, as we plucked, we overheard you both ; 
 Thee chiding him for dreams of her, and him 
 Singing wild songs of strange and wayward loves ; 
 Graceful, ah well, so call we things of nought. 
 When they have nought beneath them; but not 
 
 these; 
 Rank blossoms these of poisonous phantasy. 
 Oh, Magdiel, there is peril for us all ; 
 The Gileadites are arming against Ammon, 
 With Jephthah for their captain. 
 
 Magd. Jephthah! War! 
 
 'Tis for the Jordan Valley ! 
 
 Zipp. More than that; 
 
 Lord Jair hath asked Thyrzah of her sire; 
 And Jephthah leans to him, nor is he one 
 Whom fathers care to thwart — 
 
 Magd. Well, in the names 
 
 Of Milcom, Chemosh, and Jahveh, all three, 
 May the man wed with her ! 
 
 Zipp. Jair is rich, 
 
38 Jephthalis Daughter. 
 
 Brave, comely, and he cometh of a house 
 
 Of good repute in Gilead; fierce of will 
 
 Is he, and as a leopard in his craft. 
 
 I dread his wrath and guile should Thyrzah turn 
 
 From him to our Prince Nahash : 
 
 Magd. Told like this, 
 
 Thy news is of the sort that e'en avails 
 To harry Love from his own citadel. 
 And hold the place awhile. Nahash e'en now 
 Is striving to gain speech of Thyrzah. 
 
 Zipp. Yes ; 
 
 I know that too, and therefore 'twas I sent 
 To bid thee meet me ; for I cannot love thee 
 As thou wouldst have me love thee, Magdiel. 
 
 Magd. Then woe to me! 
 
 Zipp. Nor less to me. 
 
 Magd. To thee! 
 
 Thou wilt not tell me thou hast flung thy heart 
 To some wild outlaw of the Hebrew's band? 
 
 Zipp. No; Zipporah the Ammonite will wed 
 With none out of her people. Trust to that. 
 
 Magd. And that is much; to whom, if not to me. 
 Of all the sons of Ammon, could I fear 
 That gentle Zipporah would stoop her head; 
 
Jephthah's Daughter. 39 
 
 Unless it were my Nahash; he with song 
 And valorous grace might draw forth every heart 
 From Jabbok unto Arnon; but, farewell: 
 His name recalls me. I must take thy news 
 With all the speed I may; farewell, again; 
 I will not cease to hope; once more, farewell. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
40 JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 The outside of Jephthah's House. 
 
 Nahash below, Thyrzah at an open casement. 
 
 Nahash. 
 /^~^HILD of a race mine holds for enemy, 
 ^ — ' And none the less for being kin — for oft, 
 As our long years of war have taught us all, 
 Kinship is but a whetstone to make keen 
 The tip of quarrel's spear — beautiful maid, 
 Whom I should loathe, but needs must love, forgive 
 A son of Ammon who hath ventured here. 
 Unarmed, amid the sheepcotes of thy sire, 
 To tell thee that he loves thee, and then go. 
 
 Thyrz. Then, sir, farewell; and — 'twere but 
 courtesy 
 To thank thee for thy pains in coming here. 
 
JephthaKs Daughie?'. 41 
 
 Nah. Am I dismissed so briefly? Can the sun 
 Repent him of his rising, and sink back 
 Behind the eastern hills ? 
 
 Thyrz. Ay, if the sun 
 
 Go back of his own choice. Thou saidst thyself, 
 Thou earnest but to tell me of thy love, 
 And then to go; and so I said farewell. 
 To speed thy pleasure; were it maidenly 
 To jest with thee, might I not say that thou 
 Art as thy sun would be, did he but rise 
 To tell men that he came to show himself. 
 And straightway set again. 
 
 Nah. Nay, thou dost twist 
 
 Words that but meant submission to thy will. 
 
 Thyrz. I take the words as were the words; thy 
 tale 
 Was short, and plain, and honest; as it was, 
 So should the grace of thy departure be; 
 I would not stay thee; thou didst ask no answer. 
 Nor, had thou asked one, have I aught to give. 
 And so, fair sun, whose day hath been so brief, 
 Briefer than dawn itself, once more, farewell. 
 
 Nah. Thou art not wroth with me? 
 
 Thyrz. Had I been wroth. 
 
42 JephthaJis Daughter. 
 
 Thou hadst been dead; I had come down to thee, 
 And slain thee where thou standest.'^ Jephthah's 
 
 daughter \ ■ 
 
 Hath but one remedy for wrong, and that 
 She weareth at her girdle ! Hearken, Prince ; 
 For Prince thou art; young Zipporah and I 
 O'erheard you in the wood. Nay, start not, sir; 
 We were no purposed eavesdroppers; 'twas chance; 
 Ye came within earshot of us, the while 
 We gathered berries. Zipporah had fled. 
 But I o'ermastered her; we stayed and listened. 
 
 Nah. And I still live and so may hope? 
 
 Thyrz. , Fair Prince, 
 
 I heard both thee and Magdiel call me proud : 
 Perchance I am, as all should be, whose veins 
 Are ruddy with the sacred stream that flows 
 From Abraham, our Jahveh's chosen friend. 
 Ye folks of Moab, Ammon, Edom, Seir, 
 Spring from less honoured scions of the stock 
 Whence our sire sprang. How can we help ourselves, 
 If we be proud? 
 
 JVah. And yet we are of kin; 
 
 Why stand aloof? Listen to me, sweet maid; 
 To win the right to love and cherish thee, 
 
J ephthaK s Daughter. 43 
 
 I will swear now to be thy father's friend 
 
 In peace and war, for life or death ; my home 
 
 Shall rest in thine election; from this day 
 
 I am no Ammonite, but a plain son 
 
 Of Lot, the son of Haran, son of Terah, 
 
 Thine Abraham's sire; I claim to say to thee, 
 
 Thy people are my people, and I vow 
 
 To make thy God my God. I love thee, maid, 
 
 As our earth loves the sun, the royal orb 
 
 Who gives her light andwarmth, as thou hast given 
 
 New light and warmth to me; thou couldst not 
 
 speak 
 The word that shall be death to my resolve; 
 It lives while I live; if it anger thee. 
 There is one only way to rid thee of it, 
 Come forth and slay me ! 
 
 Thyrz. \Throwing down her dagger to Aim.] Take 
 this dagger. Prince; 
 'Tis the best pledge that Thyrzah can bestow 
 For token that thou hast not angered her. 
 But yet, thou must not swear. Thou knowest not 
 That war hath wakened up in Gilead 
 Upon thy tribe, and that his countrymen 
 Have chosen Jephthah's self to lead them forth 
 
44 Jephthalis Daughter. 
 
 Against thy father's house; and thou, fair lord, 
 Must war upon my sire, as he on thine : 
 I can but hold thee as his foe; nay, more; 
 When he was wavering, after he had sworn 
 To be the crown and champion of this quarrel, 
 'Twas I who held him to his vow. Alas ! 
 I knew thee not, and knew not what I did; 
 What know I even now, save this alone. 
 That all my pride falls from me ! Oh, farewell ! 
 There is no hope ; we are too late ; too late. 
 Albeit but by a day. Thou and my sire 
 Must meet as foemen. 
 
 Nail. Thyrzah, hark to me ! 
 
 If this be true, we are indeed too late, 
 To plight our troth yet for a little while; 
 But wars will end, and if I live, I'll make 
 One term of peace 'twixt Gilead and Ammon, 
 That we two wed. 
 
 Thyrz. There is no hope, fair Prince; 
 
 A chill falls on me, like cold autumn dews 
 That make the grasses shudder. Go, farewell, 
 I will not have thee stay; 'twere perilous — 
 My tide hath fallen to so low an ebb, 
 I dare not see thee face a peril — Go ! 
 
JephthaJis Daughter. 45 
 
 Nay, yet one little word; take up yon knife, 
 And wear it in thy belt through all this war; 
 But use it not, save of necessity; 
 And whatsoe'er the chance of fight may be, 
 Raise not thy hand against my sire. And, Prince ; 
 Think of proud Thyrzah, that thou heard'st her say, 
 The lowland palm hath seen the mountain pine. 
 And sighed him back his sigh from out her valley. 
 Farewell, farewell. 
 
 \^She closes the casement. 
 
 Nah. Nay, one more glance ! 
 
 Thyrz. {Reopening the casement^ Farewell. 
 
 {Scene closes.) 
 
46 JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 In Jephthah's House. 
 
 Thyrzah and Jephthah. 
 
 Thyrzah. [A/one.] 
 / \H this is love indeed! it doth amaze me 
 ^-^ To think how soon I have been overwhelmed ; 
 No mountain river ever rose so fast 
 After one downpour. Zipporah was right; 
 That moment in the wood was one of portent, 
 And I the fool who braved it. Where is now 
 The rash, audacious girl who deemed her heart 
 Mailed for encounter with ten princes? One 
 Came tripping 'neath my window, and forthwith 
 My pride fell like the walls of Jericho ; 
 With no more battering ! Oh the shame, the shame. 
 Vexation, and confusion, and rebuke ! 
 Thus to be laid bare at the first assault ! 
 
JephthaKs Dmighter. 47 
 
 "Child of a race mine holds for enemy" — 
 
 So he began ; and ere the words were out, 
 
 I held his so no more — " Beautiful maid, 
 
 Whom I should loathe, but needs must love " — 
 
 Fair sir, 
 That one touch painted both of us — " Forgive 
 A son of Ammon " — Oh my halfway heart, 
 Before his crime was told it was forgiven — 
 " A son of Ammon who hath ventured here 
 Unarmed among the sheepcotes of thy sire 
 To tell thee that he loves thee, and then go '' — 
 Nay, this is past all bearing; I recall 
 His very words, as though they had been scored 
 Into my heart, like patterns on a plank, 
 With a hot bodkin. And on all this comes 
 My father with his tale of Jair's love, 
 And I am bound to answer him. No, no; 
 Nahash or none; so far I know myself 
 And as for Jair, I would bathe in slime 
 Ere I would take him. 
 
 Enter Jephthah. 
 
 Ah, here is my father : 
 Father, I'll have no Jairs ; tell him so. 
 
48 JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 These are no times for wedlock; Jephthah's child 
 Goes forth in heart to war; her spirit dwells 
 From this day forward in her father's camp; 
 Tuned to the blare of trumpets, clash of spears, 
 And rattle of the arrows in the quiver. 
 And shouts of arming men ; it hath no place 
 For softer questionings till he comes home. 
 [Aside.] That 's my first lie to him, and love's first 
 
 fruit! 
 Jephth. Peace, little gabbler! thou shalt not be 
 
 pressed. , 
 
 Let that content thee; but for Jair, child, 
 He is of mark in Gilead ; should I fall. 
 As fall I may, I know of no man's arm 
 More able to protect thee. May I tell him 
 That after battle won — 
 
 Thyrz. There liveth none 
 
 Who hath so little chance with me; say that. 
 And, oh my father, talk not of thy death; 
 Thou wilt not die ; but if thou died'st, and I 
 Were put in peril, what 's my dagger for? 
 Ah me, my dagger — I remind myself — 
 I dropt it gathering berries in the wood; 
 Give me another. 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 49 
 
 \Aside.\ That's my second lie J 
 
 Two in a minute. 
 
 Jephth. \Giving her his own.] There, my child, 
 take this; 
 Young Nahash, of the royal house of Ammon, 
 Gave it to me at the last truce. 
 
 Thyrz. Young Nahash? 
 
 Of Ammon's royal house, said'st thou? And thou, 
 Didst thou swear friendship to him? No? 
 
 Jephth. We swore 
 
 To be good friends until we fought again. 
 
 Thyrz. What is he like? [Aside.] Is that a third? 
 
 fephth. What like? 
 
 I think I must not tell thee, Uttle girl. 
 Or I shall have thee giving me in good sooth 
 An Ammonite for son-in-law. 
 
 Thyrz. Nay, speak j 
 
 Have I not often told thee I shall wed 
 Among my kin alone ? 
 
 Jephth. Well, fairly then; 
 
 Were he of us, I do not know the man 
 On whom I would as lief bestow my girl ; 
 Young, brave, and true, and beautiful to boot; 
 And such a harper! 
 
50 J^hthaKs Daughter. 
 
 Thyrz. Bring him home in chains, 
 
 I do beseech thee, father; and I swear 
 To knock them off and wed him ! 
 
 Jephth. Little rogue, 
 
 I ought to beat thee! Here's a kiss instead; 
 
 \Kissing her. 
 And here 's another. 
 
 Thyrz. Father, hear one word : 
 
 Trust not too much to Jair; he is fierce. 
 Subtle, and — so a hundred voices say — 
 As false as a tame panther. 
 
 Jephth. Hah! They say— 
 
 Who says it? 
 
 Thyrz. Half thy band; the other half 
 
 Take gifts of him. 
 
 Jephth. I do remember me, 
 
 That priest of Gilead too bade me beware, 
 With gravest mien, of one I trusted. 
 
 Enter a soldier. 
 
 Sold. Lord, 
 
 A messenger hath come to summon thee 
 To council at the camp. 
 
 Jephth. So then, farewell, 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 5 1 
 
 My life's one joy, until I come again, 
 Victorious over Ammon. 
 
 Thyrz. With their Prince 
 
 In chains; remember that! 
 
 Jephth. Thou saucy wretch. 
 
 How I do love thee! Such thy mother was; 
 And because thou art like her, here 's a third ! 
 
 \Kisses her. 
 {Scene doses.) 
 
52 Jephthahs Daughter. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 The Camp of the Gileadites. Outside the 
 Tent of Jephthah. 
 
 Jephthah and fair seated. Time, Night. 
 
 /air. 
 
 AND now, mine honoured lord, I fain would 
 ask 
 What saith the Lady Thyrzah to my suit? 
 Thou knowest my fortunes; three and twenty towns 
 Throughout the land of Gilead own me lord. 
 Hezron, my grandsire, who achieved them all — 
 What need to tell thee? — wedded in his age 
 Thy father's sister; so we are akin. 
 
 Jephth. Ay, and to make the matter closer still, 
 After thy grandsire's death, my father took 
 Abiah, his chief widow, for a wife. 
 But let that be, albeit 'tis well : know thou, 
 Thrice three and twenty cities shall not buy 
 
Jephthafis Daughter. 53 
 
 My little Thyrzah, till her own sweet will 
 
 Avows the purdiase. Jair, list to me; 
 
 My daughter's heart were harder won than mine; 
 
 It goes but where her trust goes; and for that, 
 
 Mine goes the lightlier; understand me, friend; 
 
 'Twere idle that we two should talk of wedlock, 
 
 And I were false to bid thee hope. But, Jair, 
 
 If we be just appraisers of our goods, 
 
 The honest faith that merits woman's trust 
 
 Is a most rich and honourable dower. 
 
 Worth ten times all thy towns; 'tis our own star, 
 
 To light our being from within, and make 
 
 Our lives all lustrous, e'en though Love should turn. 
 
 As yon belated moon in heaven turns hers, 
 
 His waning shoulders from us. 
 
 Enter a soldier. 
 
 What's thy news? 
 Soldier. Not any, lord, the camp is very still. 
 And all things orderly. 
 
 Jephth. Go with him, Jair, 
 
 And make the rounds. And, Jair, whate'er comes, 
 Be true, as I to thee. Good night to both! 
 
 [Exeunt Jair and soldier. 
 
54 JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 [Atone.] " The camp is still, and all things orderly " : 
 It saddens me who never yet had rest, 
 To hear them talk of stillness; none the less 
 I dare be sworn that all these thousands lie — 
 Save for some scores of drowsy sentinels — 
 Snoring like oxen in a summer mead. 
 Secure because I watch; e'en as my kine 
 Have grown into a sleek and sleepy breed, 
 Under the guard of herdsmen and their dogs, 
 And dream not of the wolf. But, save for these, 
 Man's common sort, who do depend on us. 
 As their own flocks and herds depend on them, 
 It seems to me that in this visible world 
 There is no stillness; yonder moon moves on. 
 And light clouds cross her, fleeter e'en than she; 
 The constellations change their place in heaven. 
 With statelier march than earthly monarchs know; 
 The murmur of the distant cataract, 
 That reacheth hither faint and faltering. 
 Helped like a cripple on the night-wind's arm, 
 I know is as the roar of herded lions 
 To him who standeth by its banks; for me. 
 E'en when I am alone, where no sound is, 
 That comes within the compass of mine ear, 
 
Jephthah's Daughter. 55 
 
 I feel the universal silence quiver, 
 As if the Earth, the cradle of all things, 
 Though her whole progeny should sleep, at touch 
 Of some unresting foot, went rocking still. 
 And such are we who rule; our hours of peace 
 Are but a recollection and a prelude 
 Of gone and coming storm ; spent memories 
 Of fears that have been blend with timely qualms 
 Of those that shall be; when we sleep we dream. 
 And like the anxious hare who dreads the pounce 
 Of some night-prowling lynx, and in her form 
 Still pricks her ears, and bares her backward eyes. 
 We lay us down, and plot, and plan, and make 
 Of bed and pillow a lone council chamber. 
 And our own wakeful souls its councillors. 
 But though this be so, still, we fight to-morrow. 
 The moon is in the west, and I must sleep. 
 
 \Goes into the tent. 
 
56 JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 The Battle of Aroer. 
 
 Jephthah and Ithamar. 
 
 Jephthah. 
 'TT^HESE Ammonites fought well; nor do I think 
 
 -*■ Young Nahash planned their battle with less 
 skill; 
 And they outnumbered us; yet they are beaten. 
 It was decreed; Jahveh hath willed it so; 
 And with the victory, once more that dread, 
 Which the long labours of this war had banished, 
 Returns upon me. Oh, young Ithamar, 
 Beyond all follies that thy boyish blood 
 May prompt thee to — wine, quarrel, love, all else — 
 Beware of a rash oath. 
 
 Itham. What oath, my lord, 
 
 Spoken by thee provokes thee to this warning? 
 
JephtliaKs Daughter. 57 
 
 Jephth. That which I swore upon the altar sods; 
 That whatsoever first should welcome me 
 Triumphing on the threshold of my home, 
 Howe'er 'twere precious in mine eyes, should die, 
 A bloody offering for victory, 
 
 Itham. What then? What gift would pious Jeph- 
 thah grudge 
 Unto the God of Battles? 
 
 Jephth. Oh, thou fool. 
 
 Thy foster-sister! 
 
 Itham. What! My foster-sister! 
 
 By Heaven, I am a miserable wretch; 
 I saw it not. Is there no stay of this? 
 
 Jephth. None, none! I may not palter with 
 Jahveh — 
 Nor, were I ready for the coward breach, 
 Would Thyrzah suffer it. 
 
 Enter Nahash with companions. 
 
 Who Cometh here? 
 Young Nahash! Oh thou light of Ammon, come; 
 Lay on, my princely foeman ! Though thy cause 
 Be lost this day, revenge should still be sweet. 
 And I, methinks, were worthy food for it. 
 
58 JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 Lay on, and take it; I will ply thee hard, 
 
 For honour's sake; but know, thou noble youth, 
 
 Seek high or low, thou couldst not find a man 
 
 In all the hosts of Israel, nay, not one. 
 
 Who underneath thy spear would gladUer bleed. 
 
 Nah. Not so, great lord; I will not fight with thee. 
 Dost thou claim double triumph over me, 
 To beat me in the field and slay me too? 
 
 Jephth. Dost fear? 
 
 Nah. Believe it; there 's one only man 
 
 I fear to fight, and thou art he. 
 
 Jephth. That's strange; 
 
 I thought thee brave. 
 
 Nah. I am; there breatheth none. 
 
 Save thou, should fling that doubt at me, and Uve. 
 
 Jephth. Then take me for thy prisoner, gentle 
 Prince; 
 See, ye are four, and I have him alone; 
 
 {Pointing to Ithamar. 
 I yield me to thy grace. 
 
 Nah. My Ammonites 
 
 Would show thee none, if I should carry thee 
 In bonds to Rabbah. Fare thee well; we go 
 To wreak our spite on fortune, and to take 
 
Jephthafis Daughter. 59 
 
 Some vengeance yet for failure, ere we fly. 
 
 \Exeunt Nahash and companions. 
 Itham. Why wouldst thou yield thyself, great 
 
 lord? 
 Jephth. Peace, child! 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
6o JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 Another part of the Battlefield. 
 
 Enter Hebrew Soldiers with Prince Nahash bound. 
 
 First Soldier. 
 ■\ Tl 7" HERE shall we find our captain? 
 
 * " Second Soldier. Here it was 
 
 He ordered that his camp be set; for sure 
 He will be here anon. 
 
 Third Soldier. Lo, here he comes. 
 
 Enter Jephthah with followers. 
 
 Jephth. Ha! What is this? Nahash in bonds? 
 
 First Soldier. Ay, lord ; 
 
 'Tis Nahash, Prince of Ammon j such fair spoil. 
 We would not slay him. 
 
 Jephth. Did he yield himself? 
 
 Second Soldier. Nay, we o'erbore him; he had 
 slain us all, 
 
JepkthaKs Dmighter. 6 1 
 
 So fierce the fury of fight in him, but we, 
 Seeking to pleasure thee, dared all his rage, 
 Flung ourselves on him, and so dragged him down. 
 And bound him thus. 
 
 Jephth. Could ye not slay him? 
 
 Third Soldier. Ay, 
 
 And e'en perchance had done it, but for one 
 Who came, and said he saw him spare thee. 
 
 Jephth. Me! 
 
 Now, by th' unhallowed names of every God 
 These heathen worship ! Did he too avouch 
 That lie? 
 
 First Soldier. Nay: more, he railed on him who 
 spake. 
 And swore he had refused to fight with thee. 
 
 Jephth. That's true. Cut through those cords: 
 give him his spear. 
 \To Nahashi\ And now, fair sir, come, seat thee by 
 my side. 
 
 Enter Jair. 
 
 Jair. Captain, a messenger from Ammon's king. 
 Thy prisoner's father — for I know the state 
 And favour of the Prince who sits by thee — 
 Craves audience, offering humbly terms of peace. 
 
62 Jephthahs Daughter. 
 
 Jephth. Bid him come here. 
 
 Nah. No need, so please your grace. 
 
 My sire and I this morning, ere we parted 
 To take our separate stations in the field, 
 Agreed what each should offer, should defeat. 
 So oft endured, on this our latest stake 
 O'ershadow Ammon, and or he or I 
 Meet death or capture. Hear them then from me. 
 Those lands that lie from Arnon unto Jabbok, 
 We fought for them, have lost them, they are thine; 
 We cede them in all honour. 'Tis for thee 
 To say hereafter what thou wilt restore, 
 If one act, yet unmentioned, crown our peace. 
 
 Jephth. And what is this unpleaded article? 
 
 Nah. Swear to me by thy God, that thou wilt hear 
 In patience what I reverently tell; 
 Then will I speak; for, let who else will gibe, 
 There must be courtesy 'twixt thee and me. 
 
 Jephth. Bid me not swear; I have had oaths 
 enough. 
 As Jahveh knoweth ; but, say on, in surety. 
 
 Nah. I love the Lady Thyrzah, and would make 
 Our marriage the main article of peace; 
 Her dowry to be such of these same lands 
 
Jephthah's Daughter. 63 
 
 As it may please thee to bestow with her, 
 Which else I cede to thee. What sayest thou ? 
 
 Jephth. [Leaping up, and aside.] God of my 
 fathers, spare — nay, strike me dead ! 
 That would save all. [Reseating himself. 
 
 Tell me in honour. Prince; 
 How knowest thou my daughter? 
 
 fair. My good lord, 
 
 Slay him at once whose impious hands have dared, 
 If not, then his contaminating will. 
 To tamper with a maid of Israel! 
 
 Jephth. Silence, thou panther; all are not like 
 thee! 
 One more such slanderous hint, and by the throne — 
 Nay, no more vows! But get thee from my sight; 
 Thy face is ah offence to me. Now, Prince. 
 
 Nah. My lord, thou hast a little captive girl, 
 Borne off from Rabbah in some early raid, 
 One Zipporah, the Lady Thyrzah's friend, 
 And they are close as sisters in their love, 
 As thou well knowest. Zipporah comes at whiles 
 To sojourn with her kin, and Magdiel, 
 To whom my soul is knit, who is to me 
 As Zipporah to Thyrzah, loveth her. 
 
64 JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 And Magdiel hath brought from her to me 
 Such tales of Thyrzah's beauty, and her gifts 
 Of nature and of teaching, as have fired 
 My soul with love for her. While war was hatched, 
 Ay, 'twas the very day we heard the news 
 
 Jephth. While I was gathering head in Gilead, 
 And so my house lay open and unwatched. 
 
 Nah. Magdiel and I had wandered o'er the ridge 
 That sunders Ammonite and Hebrew lands. 
 And in a pinewood, resting for the noon. 
 We sat comparing each our loves and pains; 
 He sick for Zipporah, and I at odds 
 With fate and nature, in that I did yearn 
 Past hope and bearing for a stranger maid. 
 
 Jephth. [To /air.] Jair, cease playing with thy 
 dagger there; 
 Or I'll strike off the hand that plays with it ! 
 
 JVah. We plotted in all honesty, my lord; 
 He to gain speech of Zipporah, and I 
 To feast mine eyes once on thy daughter's face, 
 E'en should I buy the banquet with my blood. 
 For we went down to Mizpah all unarmed. 
 And, once espied, had died like common thieves — 
 
 /air. And thieves ye were! 
 
Jephthalts Daughter. 65 
 
 Jephth. Silence, Gomorrah's spawn ! 
 
 I bade thee leave us once ! Off with thee now, 
 While yet thy venomous head is on thy trunk ! 
 
 \^Exit Jair. 
 
 Nah. I stood below the Lady Thyrzah's window. 
 Imploring pardon for the alien 
 Who came to tell her of his love ; I found 
 She knew it all; for she and Zipporah 
 Had lighted on us, in some girlish quest, 
 Among the thickets over Mizpah; more. 
 Had listened to my foolish songs, and so 
 Had learned my love, my worship, and despair 
 At that fine pride wherewith fame dowered her. 
 For a brief while, how brief, how sweet to me, 
 Thou well may'st guess, we stood in colloquy; 
 She at her casement, I below; great sir, 
 'Twere treason, did I dare to hint that she 
 Heard passion's echo in that virgin clearance 
 Of her pure soul. One thing I fain would say; 
 She knew I was unarmed, and flung me this. 
 With no ill-will. 
 
 Jephth. {^Looking at the dagger. ^ The little bag- 
 gage told me 
 She let it fall. 
 
66 Jephthafis Daughter. 
 
 Nah. She bade me use it not 
 
 Save in some dire necessity; and then 
 She charged me with a sweet solemnity, 
 I dared not, e'en for honour, disobey, 
 Never to raise my hand against her sire. 
 
 Jephth. Sweet wretch, all men obey her, even I ! 
 
 Nah. I left her then. Lord, I have told thee all ; 
 Take me a willing captive at thy side; 
 If she confirm my hope, and thy mind lean 
 To seal so blessed and so large a league 
 Between our kindred peoples, well. If not, 
 Slay me, I shall be little loth to die; 
 Or send me home ransomed by misery. 
 For misery will be mine for evermore. 
 
 Jephth. Strange though this be, it rings like flaw- 
 less bronze 
 Upon an armourer's ear. Nahash, young friend. 
 There breathes no man, Hebrew or alien. 
 To whom as gladly would I give my girl. 
 As unto thee; but 'twixt us and the gift 
 There yawns a peril, vast and pitiless, 
 Like a black chasm riving a mountain side, 
 That must be met and passed, ere you and I 
 Can further talk. 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 67 
 
 ■N'ah. There is no peri], lord, 
 
 I would not share with thee; and surely none 
 Which thou and I together could not meet 
 And master too. 
 
 Jephth. Hearken, and pity me. 
 
 Ere I set out upon this fatal war, 
 I, fronting my God's altar, vowed a vow, 
 Should he go forth before me, and bestow 
 The hosts of Ammon into these my hands, 
 As he hath done it, that whatever first 
 Should cross the threshold of my house to meet me. 
 However precious, I would make it his. 
 And it should bleed, ay, bleed, upon his altar ; 
 Then I called on him to do so to me 
 And more, if I proved false to that my vow. 
 
 Nah. Ay, as thou said'st, the chasm is black 
 enough ! 
 
 Jephth. Scarce had the words died out on my rash 
 lips. 
 Ere Thyrzah came leading a company 
 Of youths and maids, with tabret, cymbal, harp. 
 And choric dance and song; the sight of her 
 Smote me with such a terror as he feels, 
 And he alone — and there be few such men — 
 
68 Jephthalis Daughter. 
 
 In whom the phantom of a giant fault 
 Rises to taunt him with his own undoing. 
 Since then, whenever through the day hath come 
 A lull in the war's work, or by some chance 
 My soldier's sleep hath failed me in the night, 
 I think on her, and quake, yes quake. 
 
 Nah. Alas ! 
 
 Is there no remedy? 
 
 Jephth. Nay, none, save hope, 
 
 And that the slenderest; she may not come forth: 
 But little is that chance, she loves me so, 
 So eager is she, and so proud of me; 
 Me, who for paltry fame have risked her, me. 
 Who have thus played her like a gambler's stake. 
 Against thy father's kingdom, e'en 't may be. 
 Have bought her lover's capture with her blood. 
 
 Nah. Jephthah, the cattle on a thousand hills 
 Were dross to one drop of that priceless stream ; 
 But we will sweep the herds of every tribe 
 From Jordan to Euphrates, and build up 
 On every hill top, and along all plains, 
 A myriad smoking mounds of sacrifice 
 To pacify thy God. 
 
 Jephth. 'Twere all in vain ; 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 69 
 
 His jealousy stalks, like his power, supreme; 
 
 Aflame with living furies of his ire; 
 
 Nor will it brook to be assuaged with aught 
 
 Save the performance of my forfeit bond. 
 
 Yet would I dare to face it, could I know 
 
 His vengeful bolt would light on me alone, 
 
 And to a concourse of devouring winds 
 
 Would fling abroad these charred and splintered 
 
 limbs; 
 Or that the earth would gape and swallow me, 
 Me only, and, content, close up again. 
 But we have heard our hoary grandsires tell 
 How many blameless thousands died the death 
 When Korah, Dathan, and Abiram sinned. 
 Or, with the murmurers at Taberah, 
 Or, in that direst plague by Phineas stayed. 
 If she come out, then must I offer her, 
 Nor may I stir a hand to warn her back. 
 I have one hope; he ordered Abraham 
 To offer Isaac; when the child was laid 
 Blindfold along the faggots, and his sire 
 Had taken up the knife to slay his son. 
 He stayed his hand, and spared them both. Per- 
 chance, 
 
70 JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 One way or other, he may spare us now. 
 
 \He rises, and puts his arm round the neck 
 of Nahash. 
 Let us away together. 
 
 Nah. Nay, not so; 
 
 I will not go with thee; no force, no prayer, 
 Shall stir me ; neither for thy love nor fear 
 Will I with shameful meekness stoop to tread 
 A downward path, where every step I took 
 Would ring out my dishonour through the gloom 
 Of mine own soul. I swear she shall not die. 
 Till I lie dead; what, live, and know her slain. 
 And not have died to save her? Never! 
 Nature would curse me with ten thousand tongues; 
 The very winds would howl into mine ears 
 " Coward and Recreant " ; the contemptuous pines 
 Would mutter through their gray beards o'er mine 
 
 head 
 " Coward and Recreant "; and the injured hills 
 Would tune their thunders to the self-same cry, 
 " Coward and Recreant." Hearken, I stand here 
 Thy captive, thine to ransom or to slay; 
 Slay me; or ransom me and let me go. 
 Without or pledge or question. What to me 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 7 1 
 
 Thy Jahveh, with his thirst for innocent blood? 
 I know him for thy God of Battles pro»ed 
 Mightier than Chemosh ; unto me nought else ; 
 I may brave any save my country's gods; 
 And stauncher they perchance may prove for me 
 In this new need; if not, thou couldst not name 
 The thing I would not dare! So, answer me; 
 My death or ransom? 
 
 Jephth. Neither, gallant foe; 
 
 Thy death were shame, thy ransom, as 'tis asked. 
 Would work, as I have shown thee, widespread 
 
 wrath 
 And havoc on my people and my land. 
 
 Nah. [Aside.] There is no other way. Then, 
 
 Thyrzah, pardon! 
 [Aloud.] Lord, thou didst honour me a while 
 
 ago. 
 And wouldst have set the issue of this war 
 Upon our lives; I put aside thy grace. 
 Thou knowest why; I beg it of thee now. 
 If thou shouldst fall, I take my woeful way. 
 Mine honour and her life alike made sure; 
 And if I fall, then, dying, she shall know 
 How I too died for her. 
 
72 Jephikak's Daughter. 
 
 Jephth. [After a pause.] So be it, then ; 
 And, if I die, she lives; and if thou diest, 
 And Jahveh hath decreed that she must bleed. 
 She scarce will curse me for the death that frees 
 Her spirit to seek thine. 
 [Aside.] He shall not die; 
 
 But they shall live to pity me. 
 [Aloud.] Ho, there! 
 
 See to the Prince's armour. Ithamar, 
 Bring me my spear and shield. Where is the 
 
 lad? 
 A Soldier. 'Tis but a moment since I came on 
 
 him, 
 Girt for a journey, with his staff and scrip; 
 No weapon save the knife within his belt; 
 I called him, but he answered, " Stay me not, 
 I go on my lord's business ! " 
 
 Jephth. [Exciiedly.] Nahash! Son! 
 
 We have no need to fight with one another, 
 Nor thou to break thy pledge to little Thyrzah! 
 There 's hope in that same boy ! I sent him not. 
 But, if I do divine aright, he 's gone 
 To work us our redemption; oh, I'll crown him 
 King over Gilead, if he'll bear her off. 
 
J^hthaKs Daughter. 73 
 
 Ay, gag her, blind her, bind her hand and foot. 
 Impound her in the wilderness, till we 
 Are safely housed in Mizpah ! Ah, mj' soul. 
 This is almost like peace ! I^t us away. \Exeunt. 
 
74 Jephthafis Daughter. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene V. 
 A Pass in the hill country between Gilead 
 
 AND AmMON. 
 
 Enter Jair. 
 
 fair. 
 T F I be worthy to achieve revenge, 
 
 Here is the method to my hand, and this 
 The moment. Ithamar must pass this way, 
 And stay to rest him here; poor fool, to pick 
 Me out of all the host of Gilead 
 With whom to trust thy secret, so well schemed, 
 So simple too, as all good counsels are ! 
 Had he won safe to Mizpah, found the slut. 
 And told her all, — her father's vow and fear. 
 His loyalty to Jahveh, her own peril, 
 Her minion's capture, and the half-made pact 
 To leave our Jephthah Lord of Gilead, 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 75 
 
 And her mistress of Ammon, dowered with half 
 Those spoils the outlaw wins for Israel — 
 She would have fled into the nether darkness, 
 Ere she came forth. Intolerable jade, 
 Who flouts the lord of three and twenty towns ; 
 Forsooth, she hath not learned to trust him yet ! 
 Who asked her trust? I asked for herj but she 
 Must not be bought, so saith her upstart sire. 
 He called me " Panther " — learned of her, that 
 
 name — 
 Well, panther will I prove: " Gomorrah's spawn '' — 
 That was his own, that stank of him — for that 
 If for nought else, she dies ; far worse that sting. 
 E'en than my suit disdained. I know full well 
 Maidens would flock to me in troops, if once 
 I stood and beckoned, with my back to her. 
 
 [Ifears footsteps. 
 But hark, the feet of one who runs; 'tis he; 
 Poor lout, he must die too; or else — to think 
 That from the simple pottage of my hate 
 Such savour of great issues should steam up — 
 If he escaped, her father would outplay 
 Great Jahveh's self, Gilead lose half its due, 
 And one whom he hath called my kinswoman 
 
7 6 JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 Be yielded to a heathen's arms. Oh Jair, 
 Wrought in the course of such high consequence, 
 Thy vengeance is but as a wild fruit plucked 
 Along the path of duty, and the death 
 Of this poor bungling peasant, Ithamar, 
 Another wayside incident. Enough; 
 Now to conceal me. 
 
 \He strings his bow, and draws an arrow 
 from the quiver. 
 Nay; but this is strange: 
 I do believe he dressed this shaft for me, 
 One night in camp. Well, tis his fate, not mine. 
 
 \_Exit. 
 
 Enter Ithamar. 
 
 Itham. This is the spring; here will I rest and 
 
 eat. 
 I've gained some hours, e'en should impatience 
 
 push 
 My lord and Nahash to outstrip the host. 
 Yet must I hasten still : I might not find her 
 At my first search; she may need suasion too; 
 And I would win full time to bear her off 
 Out of harm's way. \Opens his wallet. 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 77 
 
 'Tis well I filled my bag; 
 I shall lie one more night beneath the moon, 
 And I have found sleep in the open air 
 Makes over-hungry waking. Plump they are, 
 These kids of Ammon, and these barley cakes 
 The heathen maidens knead, surpassing sweet. 
 Now for a drink. 
 
 \As he kneels at the spring, the twang of a 
 bowstring is heard. He leaps up, shriek- 
 ing, staggers round and catches sight of 
 fair. 
 
 Jair! Oh, treachery! 
 
 {Falls senseless. 
 {Shortly after his fall a group of Ammonites 
 rush in and find him.\ 
 First Ammonite. But who lies here? 'Tis not 
 the man we chased; 
 He was far older, and more gaily dight. 
 Who killed this one? 
 
 Second Amm. He breatheth; bear him off. 
 
 He may be worth a ransom. 
 
 Third Amm. Draw the shaft. 
 
 First Amm. Nay, he will bleed to death. 
 Third Amm. Then bleed he must ; 
 
7 8 Jephthah's Daughter. 
 
 We cannot bear him far with this in him. 
 
 \_IIe draws out the arrow. 
 Here, take my kerchief, plug the wound with it. 
 
 \Looking at the arrcnv. 
 'Tis a good shaft enough; 'twill do its ofifice, 
 Perchance, more surely the next time. 
 
 \Puts it in his own quiver. 
 
 You there. 
 
 Bring branches for a litter. \They bring them. 
 
 So; 'tis well. 
 He is well clad, and may prove plunder yet. 
 
 [Exeunt, carrying off Ithamar. 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 79 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene VI. 
 
 In the Pass above Mizpah. 
 
 Enter Nahash, Jephthah, and followers. 
 
 Jephthah. 
 ' I ""HUS far, and nought hath happened; in an 
 
 hour 
 We shall look down on Mizpah close at hand. 
 Oh Nahash, never have I waited battle 
 Against ten times my numbers — as I have 
 Many a time and oft — as I wait this. 
 Now know I what it is to listen bound 
 For those dread words, " Carry him out." I think, 
 If I 'scape this, no captive from to-day 
 Shall take death at my order. Hark, what 's that? 
 In pity tell me! Hearest thou? 
 
 Nah. I hear 
 
8o JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 The sound of pipe and tabret mounting up 
 As from the town. 
 
 Jephth. Jahveh, have mercy ! Yield, 
 
 Or slay me now ! \The sounds approach. 
 
 'Tis drawing very near. 
 Hark, hark, a song ! It is her voice, it rings 
 Like a mad shriek within me! Nay, not that; 
 It is most musical; though there be death in it, 
 Yet will I listen. 'Tis for the last time. 
 
 \Sinks down upon a rock. 
 
 \Choral song to accompaniment of flutes and 
 harps, with rhythmic heating of tabrets 
 and cymbals. ThyrzaKs voice is distinctly 
 heard. 
 Our foemen have fallen, have fallen, have fallen ; 
 The Star of the Hebrews is Lord of the Day ! 
 As dew upon Hermon, or frost over Ebal, 
 The hosts of the heathen have faded away. 
 
 The shafts of the righteous were swifter than eagles. 
 Like lightning the spears in the hands of the just ; 
 
 Oh woe to you, woe, ye false children of Ammon, 
 Your arrows were fledglings, your weapons as rust. 
 
 \Nahash starts. 
 
Jephthah's Daughter. 8 1 
 
 Jephth. Patience! She knows not that I have 
 thee here. 
 
 On high over Rabbah the summer sun seeth 
 No harvests that mellow, no cattle at feed; 
 Their herds are all dead in the smoke of the home- 
 stead, 
 Their husbandmen stark in their blood on the 
 mead. 
 
 Yet bright were the valleys from Arnon to Jabbok, 
 And bright shall they be when we plough them 
 again; 
 Though now there be sighing, and crying, and 
 wailing, ' 
 
 And all else be still in the homes of the Plain. 
 
 Nah. If only she will come and be their sun ! 
 
 Oh tremble, ye Gods, before Jahveh the Mighty, 
 As Milcom hath fallen, so Chemosh shall fall. 
 
 And Dagon, and Ashtaroth, Moloch, and Baal, 
 The wrath of his arm is uplifted on all. 
 G 
 
82 JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 The oath that he sware unto Abraham standeth; 
 
 Our numbers shall grow as the sand of the sea; 
 The heathen shall fail before Israel's children; 
 
 The fairest of earth shall our heritage be. 
 
 Oh heir to his promise, oh Jacob his chosen, 
 The stars in their courses sang loud at thy birth, 
 
 " Lo thou and thy seed shall be lords of the nations, 
 To carry his name to the ends of the earth." 
 
 He cometh, the day-star of Mizpah, he cometh — 
 
 \Thyrzah and her companions appear at the 
 
 side of the stage. They see the attitude of 
 
 Jephthah, Nahash and the rest, and 
 
 break off the song abruptly. 
 
 Jephth. [Rushing forward.'] My daughter ! Thyr- 
 
 zah ! Where 's young Ithamar? 
 Tkyrz. Is he not with thee? 
 Jephth. Nay. But where? He left 
 
 To warn thee; he is lost; some wandering band 
 Of Ammonites have met him on his way; 
 And we are all lost too; thou, Nahash, I; 
 Uncharged by me, he thought to save us all; 
 But, as a whirlwind brushing a poor breeze 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 83 
 
 Out of a tempest's track, Jahveh hath baulked 
 The loving purpose of the hapless boy ! 
 
 Thyrz. But why? Why lost? Who talks of loss 
 to-day? 
 Save the Prince Nahash, and for him — 
 
 Jephth. My child, 
 
 That day which saw me lord of Gilead, 
 I did let loose this thrice-accursed tongue, 
 And vowed a vow — I cannot now go back — 
 
 Thyrz. A vow ! That vow which frighted thee ? 
 whereto 
 I held thee? Is it me whom thou hast vowed? 
 
 Jephth. Ay, thee, ay, thee! 
 
 Thyrz. \Looking heavenwards, and letting her 
 cymbals fall.'\ Then, if it be thy will. 
 
 Thou mighty one, whose presence in our host 
 Hath wrought us this salvation, to redeem 
 Thy people by my death, take me, I die. 
 Jephthah for this had died a thousand deaths, 
 And shall his Thyrzah flinch before one knife ! 
 I can but echo mine old utterance, 
 The daughter of the lord of Gilead 
 Shall die as it becomes her. Ere he went, 
 I gave my voice for honour and for war, 
 
84 JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 With all its chance. The chance hath come. No 
 
 more. 
 \To Jephthah, who gives signs of speaking.'] Nay, 
 
 not a word, my father ! 'Twould undo me ! 
 Let none come near me; I must stand alone. 
 [7b Nahask, who makes as though he would ap- 
 proach her.] Back, Nahash, back! Jahveh hath 
 
 sundered us. 
 
 {Scene closes.) 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 85 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 In the house of Jephthah. 
 
 Jephthah, Nahash, the Priest of Jahveh, and officers 
 and attendants. 
 
 Nahash. 
 
 MAY I not see her once again? The term 
 Of her vain respite draweth to a close ; 
 All hope is dead within me, whether bred 
 Of thy resolve or hersj my prayers have beat 
 Like winds against a mountain crest; I know 
 That she and I must die, and do but ask 
 This bitter boon of farewell. 
 
 Priest. Oh, young Prince, 
 
 If 'tis so bitter, and 'tis all, why ask it? 
 
 Nah. 'Tis bitter, barren bitter, and 'tis all; 
 Sir Priest. 
 \To Jephthah.'] I ask it, lord, because she knows not 
 
86 JephthaHs Daughter. 
 
 That I have sworn to perish at her side, 
 
 And this is torture to me, as the doubt 
 
 And fever of not knowing are to her. 
 
 Listen; ere yet thy present posts were set, 
 
 When first she and her maidens were withdrawn 
 
 Into their mountain sohtude, I forced 
 
 My way into her presence, and essayed 
 
 To storm her fortitude; but found it firm, 
 
 As on that blissful evening when she closed 
 
 Her casement on the first words of our love. 
 
 I turned and left her, as a baffled wolf 
 
 Might slink at dawn from some high homestead wall 
 
 After a bootless night. 
 
 Priest. We knew all that. 
 
 And hence the guards; we will not trust again 
 The wolf thou stand'st proclaimed. 
 \To JephthahP[ Beware, my lord; 
 
 Thou hast endured thus far; to grant his prayer 
 Were but to flout Jahveh at last, and leave 
 Israel to pay thy forfeit. 
 
 Nah. Oh, thou Priest, 
 
 How like art thou to all thy cursed tribe ! 
 Ye, to whom lies are as the breath of life. 
 For without lies there would be none of you ! 
 
JephthaJis Daughter. 87 
 
 When will ye learn that men may still be true 
 
 Though truth be mother unto death? Three days 
 
 Are left to me and her, the fourth and all 
 
 Which follow it are thine; for thou it is 
 
 Who warped and bowed and bound his soul so low, 
 
 Like some crook'd apple in a garden plot, 
 
 Which else had sprung to freedom; may the curse 
 
 Of all good men and women eat its way 
 
 Through flesh and bone and marrow, till thou rot 
 
 Like a dog's carcase by a river side ! 
 
 {To Jephthah?\ Oh pardon, good my lord, that thus 
 
 I rail; 
 'Twere fitter in a woman. Let me go : 
 Neither by word nor act will I play false. 
 But on that dreadful morning, with drawn blade, 
 Will walk beside her litter to your doors. 
 As though thine oath were mine. 
 
 Jephth. Thou noble youth. 
 
 Whether I die or live it matters not; 
 Many or few, my days are cursed; but thou 
 A month ago stood'st flooded with the dawn; 
 Alas for thee that thy young sun should set, 
 As in a lake of blood, before his hour. 
 I cannot bear this longer. \He weeps. 
 
88 JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 Think no shame; 
 These tears are but for thee and her. Now, go; 
 I trust her to thine honour. 
 
 \To the Priest, who rushes forwardi\ Let him pass : 
 And stay thou here; for thee I do not trust. 
 \To Nahash^ Son, Nahash— so to call thee is to 
 
 pour 
 Balm into this torn heart, which clings to thee 
 As a wrecked pine, with all its crown reversed, 
 And roots upwrenched, in ruin, loops an arm 
 About some neighbour trunk — I pity thee. 
 He knows I pity thee, and for myself 
 Am past both hope and dread. I could gulp down 
 Damnation like a mess of doctor's stuff, 
 Would that cure all ! Dear lad, I hardly know 
 Whose fate 'tis, hers or thine, that most doth swell 
 The main flood of my misery; for she 
 Was part of me, with me to rise or fall; 
 To stride the ridge whereto my valour clomb, 
 And share my folly's plunge into the abysm: 
 Thou wast not born for this; thy clash with us 
 Hath shattered thee. 
 
 Nah. Father, — nay, shudder not; 
 
 Didst thou not call me son? — My life was set, 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 89 
 
 When but a fountain bubbling at its birth, 
 Towards confluence with thine; the twain have 
 
 made, 
 Though late, one stream. When first I pledged my 
 
 vows 
 To our sweet Thyrzah, I renounced my land, 
 My people and their Gods, and clothed my soul 
 With her and hers; my will is hers, to die 
 With her, and thine, to let her die. Nay, nay, 
 
 \_Jephthah weeps. 
 No tears for me ! My happiness blazed forth 
 In splendour all too sudden and too close; 
 All looked so near — the throne that she should share. 
 The home that she should grace, the plenty, peace. 
 The ancient feud 'twixt Gilead and Ammon 
 In our alliance quelled — alas, alas ! 
 I was well warned how perilous 'twas, it struck 
 My spirit as on some still afternoon. 
 While Nature puts on her deceitful calm. 
 Strikes on the wary shepherd's long-trained eyes 
 That clearness of the hills which bodeth storm. 
 I go; give me a body-guard, and, if thou wilt, 
 A watch. I would not now that I were slain. 
 By Jair or another — if there be 
 
go JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 Ought else like him in Gilead — until all 
 Be over. 
 Jephth. [To an Officer.^ Go with him forthwith, 
 and take 
 Some fifty with thee staunch as thou. 
 
 Officer. Our lives 
 
 On his safe conduct. 
 Jephth. Thanks — farewell, farewell. 
 
 \Exeunt Nahash and officer. 
 
 {Scene closes.) 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 91 
 
 ACT III. 
 Scene II. 
 
 A SECLUDED SPOT IN THE MOUNTAINS OF GiLEAD. 
 
 Thyrzah and Zipporah. 
 
 Thyrzah. 
 C^ O have we come to my last eventide; 
 *^-^ I shall behold the sun go down no more. 
 How dark the stretch of purple mountains shows 
 Below the tawny gold and crimson fires 
 The great orb leaves behind him : their deep shades 
 Befit the veil wherein mine early death 
 Enshrouds the lot that had been mine, if fate 
 Had out of my sequestered maidenhood 
 Borne me through wedlock's defiles. Night falls fast. 
 
 Zipp. Alas, how fast ! 
 
 Thyrz. Not faster than have fallen 
 
 The days, one after other, in these months 
 
92 JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 I madly asked. How hath it profited 
 To wander with a weeping company, 
 And multiply my death a hundred fold? 
 For day by day I die; and every night 
 In dreams I see the altar, feel the knife. 
 And wake, only to stare into the dark, 
 And murmur shivering, " It is still to come." 
 Well, 'twill have come to-morrow. 
 
 Zipp. Thyrzah, Thyrzah, 
 
 My sister, more than sister, list to me! 
 Let me die for thee; I would gladly die; 
 'Tis true; I would right gladly die. Bethink thee; 
 We both went forth to meet them ; I will swear 
 Thou stayed'st to fetch thy cymbals, and so I 
 Stept o'er the threshold first. Let me go down. 
 And tell them this ! Thy father will believe it. 
 The priests, the people, will rejoice to take 
 An Ammonite for victim, to set free 
 A daughter of their race, and bring back peace 
 To their great captain's heart. Nay, let me go; 
 I shall die joyfully; and all being o'er, 
 They shall come here, and fetch thee home; thy 
 
 sire. 
 Prince Nahash, and all Gilead. 
 
JephthaJis Daughter. 93 
 
 Thyrz. Sweet girl, 
 
 Thy wish itself is balm, but it is vain : 
 Thou'rt not my father's. 
 
 Zipp. Am I not his thrall? 
 
 Thyrz. His thrall, but not his own, bone of his 
 bone. 
 Flesh of his flesh, his love, his joy, his pride. 
 The jewel of his home, as I have been. 
 This were to palter with his vow, not pay it. 
 And how could'st thou believe that I who am 
 Thy sister, save in blood, would see thee bleed? 
 
 Zipp. I do beseech thee, let me go; I swear 
 By thy God, as by mine, I fain would die; 
 Death were a boon to me. 
 
 Thyrz. Devoted child ! 
 
 Think upon Magdiel, and the happiness 
 That waits you both together. 
 
 Zipp. Magdiel ! 
 
 Oh name him not; I love him not; I love — 
 
 Thyrz. Whom? 
 
 Zipp. \Kneeling^ But to show why 'tis I long 
 to die, 
 I'll tell thee : misery, and the one hope 
 Still mine, that I may save thee, wring it from me. 
 
94 Jephthah's Daughter. 
 
 I love the Prince of Ammon ! 
 
 Thyrz. What ! rash girl, 
 
 How dared'st thou tell me? Ere we came up here 
 I should have slain thee on thy knees; as 'tis, 
 •Thy words — not that I stumbled — have made firm 
 The feet of my resolve. Unhappy one ! 
 I can but pity those who love and suffer. 
 Go thou within ; for though I feel for thee, 
 Wellnigh as might a mother for a child 
 Smitten by hopeless passion long concealed, 
 So much have I of this life left in me, 
 I could not, while I breathe, behold thee turn 
 On mine affianced lover hungering eyes. 
 However hopeless were the famine in them. 
 
 \Exit Zipporah. 
 
 Thyrz. [A/one.] And now he comes; were 't well 
 to have repulsed 
 His plea for some few moments of farewell? 
 I know myself, and know I shall not yield. 
 Can I trust him? Oh, Jahveh, hear me swear — 
 And no less surely than my father swore — 
 That should an instant come, of fear supreme. 
 That he should seize and bear me hence, this dagger 
 
 [Half drawing it. 
 
Jephthah's Daughter. 95 
 
 Shall thwart him ; and do thou accept my deed, 
 
 As though it were the sacrificial blade 
 
 That let my life out by a priestly hand; 
 
 And so may we, my father and his child, 
 
 With all thy servants, stand absolved of thee. 
 
 Then, if the soul of this young Ammonite 
 
 Be a fit mate for mine, as I fall down, 
 
 Ere yet mine eyes have grown too dim to see him. 
 
 He'll make my blade to do its work again ; 
 
 If not — I shall die knowing him for one 
 
 On whom my life and love were flung away : 
 
 And he may live, and wed with Zipporah. 
 
 Enter Nahash. 
 
 Nah. Art thou alone? 
 
 Thyrz. Alone with my resolve; 
 
 And thou? 
 
 Nah. As thou art, love, alone with mine. 
 
 Thyrz. And what is thine? 
 
 Nah. [^Showing his dagger.^ My Thyrzah, I but 
 live 
 To die with thee. I do but wait the chance 
 Of failure in thy father at the last. 
 Or else some marvel such as that, he says, 
 
9^ \ Jephthah's Daughter. 
 
 Befell thy grandsire Abraham in like case; 
 If nought avail, no sooner shall the Priest 
 Uplift his murderous hand, than I raise mine; 
 Two blades shall flash before th' unflinching sun, 
 And so thy Jahveh, if he loveth blood. 
 Shall quaff a double stream. 
 
 Thyrz. Oh Nahash, Nahash, 
 
 My lion-hearted love, an hour ago 
 I could have bidden thee do thy will, and die 
 On the same stroke of Time with me; that so 
 We two, without a farewell, might become 
 A part of things beyond, whate'er they be. 
 But now — 
 
 Nah. And why not now? 
 
 Thyrz. Question me not; 
 
 Mine answer lieth in a casket locked, 
 Aud other hands than mine must turn the key. 
 Perchance one day, when thou and Zipporah 
 Have grown to think and talk of me, as one 
 Of that mute company beneath the mould. 
 Thou shalt tell her, or she tell thee, or both 
 May light on it together. 
 
 Nah. Thyrzah, Thyrzah, 
 
 Our lives before we love are but as preludes 
 
JephthaKs Daughter. 97 
 
 Unto the life which cometh when we love; 
 Love is life's melody, and when it ceaseth, 
 It leaveth but one echo, misery. 
 Our meeting showed a bright cause for the days 
 That went before; our parting would leave Time 
 A purposeless succession of vain hours. 
 How canst thou ask me to live after thee ! 
 We travelled on two flowery paths that led 
 Each to the summit where we met; could one 
 Turn back, and tread the withered ways alone? 
 
 Thyrz. [Aside.] He loves so well, my hint 
 glanced off from him 
 Like a foiled arrow from a fortress wall. 
 [Aloud.'] Oh how I love! My soul soars up; it gazes. 
 Proud as an eagle, down on all this world, 
 Far, far below ! I need no more of life. 
 This moment is enough ! Now could we pass 
 
 [Drawing her dagger. 
 With one swift plunge out into vastness! Say; 
 What if I bade thee draw thy knife, and strike 
 Home to thy heart, while I struck home to mine? 
 Wouldst do it? 
 
 Nah. [Rushing forward with his dagger uplifted.] 
 Do it! Say but "Strike," my queen! 
 
 H 
 
98 JephthaKs Daughter. 
 
 One word, and we lie dead together ! Speak ! 
 
 Thyrz. [Lowering her arm.] Nay, not e'en this 
 
 may be ! The vow, his vow, 
 Fronts us where'er we turn ; all else is forfeit ! 
 I am o'erwrought: go; but not far away: 
 I fain would know through my last hours of vigil, 
 That thou art near. Good night; 'tis but good 
 
 night. 
 And then, good morrow; and the rest all ours! 
 Good night, beloved. Life were nought apart, 
 And Death is nought together. Die with me! 
 NaA. Die with thee, love! I will outwatch this 
 
 night, 
 As though its hours made the last day that lingered 
 Before our bridal evening ! Die with thee ! 
 I would it were to-morrow, and all done ! 
 
 {S(ene doses.) 
 
JephthaKs Daughter, 99 
 
 ACT III. 
 Scene III. 
 
 A Public Place in Gile.^d, 
 
 A great altar of turf erected in the midst. 
 
 A Priest, and a large concourse of people assembled. 
 
 Jephthah seated in an attitude of great dejection. 
 
 Near him stand Nahash and Jair. Below the 
 
 altar stands Thyrzah deeply veiled; her maidens 
 
 are grouped about her. 
 The sacrificial knife is laid upon the altar. 
 All, except Nahash, who wears the dagger given to 
 
 him by Thyrzah, are unarmed. 
 The Priest advances with the intention of addressing 
 
 the assemblage ; but, ere he can do so, Jthamar 
 
 mshes in. 
 
 H 
 
 Ithamar. 
 OLD! Treason, treachery! 
 
 Jephth. {^Springing to his feet.'] What! 
 Ithamar ! 
 
I oo JephthaHs Daughter. 
 
 Whence comest thou? 
 
 \Thyrzah and her maids throw back their veils. 
 Itham. Ask him, yon traitor there ! 
 
 ^Pointing to fair. 
 After thy victory at Aroer, 
 Dear lord, I left the camp, that self-same night; 
 So dire a dread thy words had raised in me 
 For my sweet foster-sister. My intent 
 Was, all unknown to thee, to bear her news 
 Of this impending peril, and to pray her 
 To fly with me out of the way of harm. 
 Had she refused, I knew a band of youths 
 Who, at my call, had lent me loving force, 
 And borne her off. By most unhappy chance 
 I told yon villain of my purpose. He 
 Outstarted me, and by a well-known spring, 
 Where travellers stay for water and for shade. 
 Lay waiting me; and while I knelt to drink. 
 In coward fashion drew his bow on me. 
 I rose and turned, and saw him as he fled, 
 Called him by name, and fell. I must have stayed 
 Long senseless, for I woke to find myself 
 Tended among a kindly company 
 Of wandering Ammonites. My wound hath healed, 
 
Jephthah's Daughter. loi 
 
 And I am here too late to save her, not 
 Too late to call for instant death on him, 
 Who would have slain me, and whose malice fell 
 Hath wrought the havoc of this woeful day. 
 
 Jephth. [To/atr.] What sayest thou to this? 
 
 Jatr. The slave hath lied ; 
 
 I know not why, nor care. 
 
 Jephth. Yet thou didst quit 
 
 My camp when I rebuked thy slanderous hints 
 About my Thyrzah and Prince Nahash here. 
 Say, whither wen test thou? 
 
 Jair. I took my band 
 
 In quest of scattered foes, and, if thou wilt. 
 Of plunder. Trust thy yapping foster-cub, 
 If so it please thee. [Turning away. 
 
 Itham. Stay! What meaneth this? 
 
 The shaft which he who tended me drew forth 
 Out of my side, and which I know for mine ; 
 Dressed by these fingers; giv'n, great lord, to him 
 On that last evening ere the fight ! 
 
 Jair. \_After a pause.] No more: 
 
 I do avow the deed; were 't still to do, 
 I'd do it. But for me, this busy fool 
 Had baulked great Jahveh, making cheap to thee 
 
I o 2 Jephthah s Daughter. 
 
 The glib devotion of thine upstart tongue; 
 And she, whom I, a prince of Gilead, 
 Had deigned to ask in marriage, had been made 
 The harlot of yon mincing Ammonite. 
 Jephth. Can murderous treachery flaunt itself so 
 loud! 
 Seize him, and bear him out, and strangle him 
 Forthwith, lest I be tempted to the deed ! 
 
 [Several of those present rush forward, but 
 before they can reach fair, he springs back, 
 plucks the dagger from the belt ofNahash, 
 and stabs him. JVahash falls. 
 fair. [Flings down the dagger.] I was in time; 
 now seize me, if ye will. 
 My vengeance is achieved : nay, this same boy 
 Hath brought it to a head; I know not else 
 How I had slain the Ammonite. [Ife is borne off. 
 [Ithamar picks up the dagger and rushes off 
 the stage. 
 Thyrz. [ Who has thrown herself down by the side 
 of JVahash, and has his head upon her knee.] 
 
 Sweet love. 
 Is the pain great ? 
 
 JVah. [Faintly.] Alas, he struck too soon 
 
Jephthah's Daughter. 103 
 
 For us to die together : lay thy lips 
 One moment upon mine. 
 
 {She does so; Nahash dies. 
 Thyrz. {^Laying him down.] Dead, dead, yes. 
 dead! 
 We did not look for it like this, my love. 
 I would it had been by thine own dear hand 
 And not that traitor's. 
 
 Re-enter Ithamar ; he throws himself at the feet of 
 Thyrzah. 
 
 Itham. He is dead ! I slew him ! 
 
 And with this knife ; I cannot call it cursed 
 Now it hath drunk his blood. 
 
 Thyrz. [After spreading her veil over the body oj 
 Nahash.] My Ithamar, 
 
 I may not thank thee for thy deed; but this 
 
 [Kissing him. 
 Is for the loving heart that would have saved me. 
 Father, farewell; Nahash, I come. 
 
 [Reaching out her left hand. 
 Now, Priest. 
 [As the Priest moves towards her the curtain 
 falls. 
 
WRITTEN TO A TYROLESE 
 MELODY. 
 
 ^^ O then, farewell; they came and went, 
 ^^ Those few choice hours of sweet content, 
 How slowly reached, how swiftly spent. 
 
 From dawn to noon and gloaming ! 
 We heard the skylark's opening strain, 
 Felt the rich heat through lime and plane, 
 And smitten deep with sunset's pain. 
 
 Marked happy wild birds homing. 
 
 With lingering steps we brushed the dew. 
 
 Heart-tempered to the twilight hue, 
 
 Our sighs like false notes breathing through 
 
 The lute of summer gladness : 
 The moon had risen against the sun. 
 The nightingale her plaint begun, 
 Her olden griefs were all outdone. 
 
 By our unspoken sadness. 
 
d6 Written to a Tyrolese Melody. 
 
 What cared we for the pale moon's ray ! 
 
 'Twas but a phantom of our day; 
 
 The stars crept forth, but what were they 
 
 To us who had no morrow? 
 The moon seemed as in mockery set, 
 Her beams a gibe, " Go ye, forget ! " 
 The stars but teardrops of regret 
 
 On the broad face of Sorrow. 
 
NOTES IN TRAVEL: 
 
 1904. 
 
NOTES IN TRAVEL: 1904. 
 
 ROME. 
 
 " I ''HEY came, they were sweet, they are over, 
 
 Those days that we dreamed of so long 
 In the lands for whose chaplets are blended 
 Love, liberty, sunlight, and song. 
 
 To Rome, as of old, and as ever 
 We shall while our hearts still beat, 
 
 Reclaiming a joy and a duty, 
 We hurried with eager feet; 
 
 Like swallows, their long flight ended. 
 Who light on a well-known scene, 
 
 And welcome the smoke-wreath curling 
 From roofs where their nests have been. 
 
tio Notes in Travel: 1904. 
 
 Albeit the hours there garnered 
 
 Were straitened, they were not in vain, 
 
 For even the sense of their losing 
 Grows faint in a fragrance of gain. 
 
 We chafed at the zeal of her Sages 
 
 Who vex the Imperial Shade, 
 Half roused from her slumber of ages 
 
 By the stroke of their mattock and spade; 
 
 We lingered in cloister and garden. 
 In the shadow of pillared fanes, 
 
 Looked forth on the fair hills bounding 
 The sweep of the mystic plains ; 
 
 And mingled, like charms in a potion, 
 Palm, colonnade, cypress, and dome — 
 
 The chalice of magical odours 
 
 That breathe from the Rose of Old Rome. 
 
 Unaging enchantress of ages. 
 
 Whose philtres we know for divine 
 
 In the surge of our answering pulses 
 That heave to the measures of thine ! 
 
Notes in Travel: 1904. 11 1 
 
 Roma, Amor, twin names of one framing, 
 For ever, though playfully, knit; 
 
 They shall write and re-write one another 
 AVhile either remains to be writ ! 
 
 Then pardon us, Roma, beloved, 
 
 Nor deem it a treason of soul 
 That makes thee a portal of travel 
 
 Instead of its haven and goal. 
 
1 1 2 Notes in Travel: 1 904. 
 
 SICILY. 
 
 I. 
 
 "X 7"E gay Sicilian Muses, 
 
 -■- Whose measures our Marc sang, 
 From whom into rhythmical fullness 
 The bright " Idyllion " sprang, 
 
 Of a surety your songs, oh Muses, 
 Were songs of your sun and your soil, 
 
 With sparks of the fires of Etna, 
 
 And a smack of the wine, and the oil. 
 
 Wild garlic, and thyme, and parsley, 
 Rude savour, and swarthy glow, 
 
 From the caper of goats on your hillsides 
 To the loves of your peasants below. 
 
 But why did ye fail of the softness 
 That lies like a bloom on your land, 
 
 The white foam-curl of the waters 
 As they stretch out a lip to the sand, 
 
Notes in Travel: 1904. 113 
 
 And the down of the pine and the olive 
 
 That softens the mountain side, 
 But leaves to the kiss of the sunlight 
 
 The swell of the uplands wide? 
 
 And why are ye mute, why sing not 
 
 The debt ye have owed to man 
 Since the reign of the cactus, and aloes, 
 
 The orange, and maize, began? 
 
 Shall never a son, ye Muses, 
 
 Of the Theocritean mould 
 Arise at your call, and worship 
 
 With more than his force of old. 
 
 To sing Trinacria's story, 
 
 The blend of the Grecian blood, 
 
 The Carthaginian pirates. 
 The rise of the Roman flood. 
 
 And swift in the wake of its ebbing 
 
 The flash of the Vandal sword, 
 The Saracen's fiery sojourn. 
 
 And swoop of the Norman horde ; 
 
114 Notes in Travel: 1904. 
 
 With tears for the wreck and the ruin, 
 And the sigh of a loving rhyme, 
 
 For the sun of that civic beauty 
 
 That hath sunk in the waves of Time! 
 
 Selinus and Agrigentum, 
 
 Panormus and Syracuse, 
 Egesta and Tauromenium, 
 
 Are themes for the poet's use; 
 
 And Etna, the crown of your island. 
 Queen-model of mountain piles. 
 
 With bastion shoulders spreading 
 To her base of a hundred miles, 
 
 With kirtle of vineyard and cornland, 
 
 And girdle of forests wide, 
 And wimple of snows, and steam-wreath 
 
 Bewraying her heart of pride, 
 
 That prisoneth deep in her vastness 
 The throes of her mother Earth, 
 
 Like some great polity curbing 
 The passions that gave it birth. 
 
Notes in Travel: 1904. 115 
 
 /■ake then, ye slumbering Muses, 
 
 Relive in the life of your land, 
 for leave Trinacria's harp-strings 
 
 To be plucked by an alien hand. 
 
1 1 6 Notes in Travel: 1 904. 
 
 SICILY. 
 
 II. 
 
 /'~\ H still-born fane of Egesta, 
 ^~^ That never wast tenanted, 
 Where never an altar smouldered, 
 And never a victim bled, 
 
 Or ever thy roof was o'er thee. 
 Or the floor of thy " Cella " laid, 
 
 The hands and the hearts that reared thee 
 Were stilled in the Punic raid. 
 
 'Tis ours but to gaze and to wonder, 
 And leave thee alone to thy gloom 
 
 In the circlet of desolate mountains 
 That are to thy death as a tomb; 
 
 And to turn to the comely Girgenti, 
 A hoyden who dwelleth at ease 
 
 With the wind in her olive tresses. 
 And her feet in the fawning seas, 
 
Notes in Travel: 1 904. 1 1 7 
 
 Who, decked with her temples for trinkets 
 
 That make even ruin gay, 
 Lies couched in a languorous beauty 
 
 And toys with her own decay. 
 
 We glance and we waft her our farewell, 
 
 A kiss from a careless hand, 
 And come with a soberer greeting 
 
 To the Queen of the southern strand. 
 
 From the height of that mute theatre. 
 
 Whose porches and colonnade 
 Heard Aeschylus read " Agamemnon,^'' 
 
 And saw " Eumenides " played. 
 
 We gazed on the noble haven 
 
 Where Freedom with stern set brows. 
 
 And eyes Uke the eyes of Medusa, 
 Abashed the Athenian prows, 
 
 And gave to confusion and slaughter. 
 
 As hounds of a recreant breed, 
 The sons of the heroes who won her 
 
 From the grasp of the tyrant Mede. 
 
ii8 Notes in Travel: 1904. 
 
 And we haunted the murderous quarries, 
 Where, bending her head for shame 
 
 Of the Furies that call her Mother, 
 
 And the deeds that are done in her name, 
 
 The Goddess, who dyed her pinions 
 In Marathon's mead blood-red. 
 
 Now folded them stained and shattered 
 O'er the flower of her Athens dead. 
 
 In the spot where they sank by thousands. 
 The shambles where no blood flowed. 
 
 That mercy their foe denied them 
 Hath generous Nature showed. 
 
 There roses climb to the sunlight, 
 
 And ivy trails in the shade 
 Of the cypress, and orange, and olive 
 
 Of their own Cephisian glade; 
 
 While ever from branch and blossom 
 The chaunt of the bird and the bee, 
 
 With the incense of many a perfume 
 Unite in a liturgy; 
 
Notes in Travel: 1904. 119 
 
 And the pitiless crags, whose echoes 
 
 Rang wild to their groans and their cries, 
 
 Are as aisles of a vast cathedral 
 Laid bare to the hope of the skies. 
 
 Where Nature, abiding a priestess, 
 
 Bids all her acolytes raise 
 Fresh anthems of love and of sorrow 
 
 Through the long south summer days. 
 
 Farewell, Sicilian Muses! 
 
 And thou, most favoured of isles ! 
 From the height of thy calm Taormina 
 
 We basked in thy latest smiles; 
 
 Taormina, who offereth nothing 
 To be felt, to be told, to be known. 
 
 Content, like a soulless woman 
 To rule by her charms alone ; 
 
 And thence by Charybdis and Scylla, 
 Less cruel, 'twould seem, than of yore, 
 
 We passed, looking back on thy beauty. 
 To thine Italy's parent shore. 
 
I20 Notes in Travel: 1904. 
 
 GREECE. 
 
 I. The Ionian Isjlands. 
 
 I "'ROM the deck of an Austrian steamer, 
 ■'- In the haven of happy Corfu, 
 To Italy's elder sister 
 
 We offered our homage due; 
 
 And thought of Corcyra's story. 
 
 The slaughter and civic rage, 
 That curdle and flame for ever 
 
 On the grim Athenian's page; 
 
 Nor failed of the gentler vision 
 That told how Odysseus of yore. 
 
 Fulfilling the wrath of Poseidon, 
 Lay wrecked on Phaeacia's shore; 
 
 And we sighed for the royal maiden 
 
 Whose heart, like a fated thing 
 That stretches its arms to ruin, 
 
 Went out to the hero king; 
 
Notes in Travel: 1904. 121 
 
 While he, with a godlike purpose, 
 
 Held fast to another doom, 
 To the hands and the hope undying 
 
 That wrought at the endless loom ; 
 
 And vain was the delicate longing, 
 
 The ruth of the Gods above. 
 The courtesy higher than regal. 
 
 And frankness as noble as love. 
 
 Oh Odyssee, poem of poets. 
 
 Unsullied, eternally true. 
 First epic of love, and the loveliest 
 
 That ever a master drew, 
 
 There is none in the sheaf of thy pages 
 That is wrought with a hand more sure 
 
 Than the sweet Nausicaa's story, 
 So gentle and sad and pure! 
 
 By scant Albanian woodlands. 
 
 Whose fringes the foam-flakes fret. 
 
 We sailed, with our souls still clouded 
 In a haze of unnamed regret; 
 
12 2 Notes in Travel: 1 904. 
 
 And coasted by Ithaca's mountains, 
 Rude Ithaca, term of the song, 
 
 And hearth of the hero's longing, 
 That held not her hero long; 
 
 For he, with his heart of a rover, 
 Grown sated of home and of ease, 
 
 In quest of the lost Atlantis 
 Went sailing the western seas. 
 
 So w^e, by that headland of Leucas, 
 Renamed " Of our Lady of Woes," 
 
 Which every poet has sung of, 
 And every lover knows, 
 
 And best, for her lone sad ending. 
 Tenth star of Apollo's quire. 
 
 The fairest of all fair women 
 
 That have wasted in passion's fire ; 
 
 Who, flinging their worth to the worthless. 
 In a barter of gold for dross, 
 
 Have turned unto death as a haven 
 From fever and tears and loss. 
 
Notes in Travel: 1904. 123 
 
 We strained our eyes through the sunset 
 To the rocks where they shelved to the glow, 
 
 And dreamed that we saw her totter 
 Ere she plunged to the waves below, 
 
 And marked as she met the waters 
 The beat of the long white plume. 
 
 That told of a late found mercy 
 
 In the goddess who wrought her doom, 
 
 And we prayed that those winnowing pinions 
 
 Might bear her away to her rest, 
 In some fortunate isle of beauty 
 
 Deepset in the boundless west. 
 
124 Notes in Travel: 1904. 
 
 GREECE. 
 
 II. Olympia and Delphi. 
 
 FROM the islands of myth and of love-theme, 
 Where history dozed in her dawn, 
 We turned to the Dorian homeland, 
 Chief nurse of the nymph and the faun; 
 
 Where Life sat playing her preludes, 
 
 And Time like a melody ran, 
 And meadow, and grove, and hillside 
 
 Flung flowers to the capers of Pan. 
 
 We marked where the white Erymanthus 
 
 Keeps ward o'er Achaean towns, 
 Saw Arcady's circlet of mountains, 
 
 And those Cyllenian downs, 
 
 Where Hermes, a waif of Olympus, 
 
 At ease among thymy rocks. 
 For love of his sunbrown Dryope 
 
 Piped to her father's flocks. 
 
Notes in Travel: 1904. 125 
 
 We threaded Olympia's " Altis," 
 
 Through many a holy site; 
 Fulfilled of his fragrance and sunlight, 
 
 We clomb up Cronium's height; 
 
 Where the breath of the pine and the myrtle, 
 The scents of the bush and the weed, 
 
 The hum of the bees, and the bird-songs, 
 Were as hymns of an outworn creed. 
 
 And again it was ours, that worship, 
 While we mused upon Delphi's crest, 
 
 Of the dead faith, mother of beauty. 
 Who lay with her fanes at rest, 
 
 O'erwatched by the gray Parnassus, 
 
 With Castaly bending near. 
 To pour for the lone sad mountain 
 
 His gift of a living tear. 
 
 Oh dead faith, mother of beauty ! 
 
 But why do we talk of thy death. 
 While hearts who have learned and love thee 
 
 Still flush with the glow of thy breath? 
 
126 Notes in Travel: 1904. 
 
 It may be thy temples moulder, 
 
 Thine altars in fragments lie, 
 That thy groves have fall'n to the spoiler. 
 
 And their fountains are choked and dry; 
 
 That cymbal and flute are silent. 
 And hushed is the sacred song, 
 
 And dryad and faun no longer 
 Peep out on the dancing throng, 
 
 As it winds under ilex and myrtle, 
 
 Or covert of holy pine. 
 While the breeze is swaying the garlands 
 
 On the doors of the ready shrine. 
 
 But still is thy spirit upon us. 
 
 And still what our childhood knew, 
 
 In the grasp of a deeper meaning. 
 Our manhood may hold for true; 
 
 And Here, and Zeus, and Phoebus, 
 
 Athene, and Artemis, 
 Pan, Hermes, and Aphrodite, 
 
 Shall reign as divinities, 
 
Notes in Travel: 1904. 127 
 
 So long as our yearnings for worship 
 Take shape at the sight of a shrine, 
 
 And Nature within and without us 
 Shall seem to our souls divine. 
 
128 Notes in Travel: 1904. 
 
 GREECE. 
 
 III. Athens. 
 
 /'^H gray Corinthian waters, 
 ^^-^ Made dark by a moody sky, 
 Ye grudged us a sight of your borders, 
 Sweet Phocis and Arcady, 
 
 Till night, in a league with the heavens, 
 Hid all from our loyal gaze, 
 
 Crowned Salamis, lone Aegina, 
 And a necklace of purple bays. 
 
 And dark lay the cloven isthmus. 
 And scarce could Peiraeus show 
 
 His welcome of lamp and beacon, 
 That blinked in a fitful row; 
 
 And long was the wearisome landing. 
 
 And longer the jolting ride 
 O'er the grave of the " Macra Teiche " 
 
 First-born of imperial pride ; 
 
Notes in Travel: 1904. 129 
 
 Ere jaded, and sore, and aching, 
 
 Our eyes overcome of sleep, 
 We were borne, unaroused, unwitting, 
 
 By the foot of the Sacred Steep. 
 
 Athenae, our sunlit Athenae, 
 
 Our queen of the violet wreath, 
 With thy marble diadem o'er thee. 
 
 And thy carpet of flowers beneath! 
 
 Alas for thy slopes of Hymettus 
 Laid bare by Mussulman hands. 
 
 And the whispering breadths of Ilissus 
 That are lost in the sun-dried sands; 
 
 Alas for thy groves of Colonus, 
 Where Oedipus moaned his wrong 
 
 In the thickets of olive and myrtle 
 
 That thrilled to the nightingale's song; 
 
 But what if the bird be wanting, 
 
 And what if the hill be bare. 
 The words of the poet haunt us 
 
 And the spirit of song is there. 
 
130 Notes An Travel: 1904. 
 
 And neither the axe nor the hammer, 
 Nor smooth-paced malice of Time, 
 
 Arch-hater of all things human — 
 To whom man's punier crime 
 
 Is less than a babe to a giant, 
 Than a torch to the noontide rays — 
 
 Can rob thee of Marathon's marshes 
 And thy day of a million days, 
 
 That day when thy handful of heroes, 
 Grim mowers with fields to mow, 
 
 Swept down through the wondering gorges 
 On a no less wondering foe ; 
 
 And fattened the feathering fennel 
 
 With choicest of Persian gore. 
 Made solid the swamp with corpses, 
 
 And cumbered the curve of the shore. 
 
 So too with thy mute Eleusis; 
 
 Who treadeth the sacred way 
 Through the smooth pine-sprinkled hillsides 
 
 To the marge of her lonely bay. 
 
Notes in Travel: 1904. i 
 
 But sees, as with eyes of her mystics, 
 
 The serious cavalcade wind 
 To the shrines and the bloodless altars 
 
 Of the creed of the nobler mind, 
 
 And sends back a sigh through the ages 
 For the hopes that must ever be, 
 
 The cloud, and the doubt, and the dreamers 
 That have dreamed and will dream as he ! 
 
 Farewell to thee, pearl among cities, 
 
 Sweet Poesy's stateliest home. 
 Why cannot a poet love thee 
 
 With a love like his love of Rome? 
 
 Perchance it is true, oh Athenae, 
 
 Whilst thou in thy widowhood 
 Dost glister as cold as marble. 
 
 She glows as with flesh and blood, 
 
 And holdeth the hearts that she captured 
 
 Or ever we came to thee. 
 Invincible, sure, a Calypso 
 
 Who brooks no Penelope. 
 
132 Notes in Travel: 1904. 
 
 GREECE. 
 
 IV. Corinth. 
 
 /'^NCE more to the Peloponnesus 
 ^—^ We turned us, with heart and eyes, 
 Like sated revellers, weary 
 Of our banquet of memories ; 
 
 And so, beneath Acro-Corinthus, 
 
 As we crouched in the nameless fane, 
 
 We prated of wind on the summit, 
 And cloud over mountain and plain ; 
 
 But, frank as a conclave of augurs. 
 We knew that our plea was "rest''; 
 
 And we laughed with our singer singing 
 In a doggrel of shallow jest, 
 
 " My bones are the bones of the lazy. 
 My limbs are the limbs of the limp, 
 I'm an oyster whose hinges are crazy. 
 Or a loose-coated, faint-footed shrimp! " 
 
Notes in Travel: 1904. 133 
 
 So flung we aside the longing 
 
 To gaze, as the eagles gaze, 
 On the delicate neck of the isthmus 
 
 That sunders the sister bays. 
 
 And holds, as a stalk, Morea, 
 
 Her " Leaf of the Mulberry tree," 
 
 To the land that hath wellnigh left her 
 Adrift in the southern sea. 
 
 Thus back from the wrecks of Corinth 
 To the hovels that bear her name 
 
 We drove, through the mocking sunset. 
 In a silence that brooded a shame. 
 
1 34 Notes in Travel: 1 904. 
 
 GREECE. 
 
 V. Mycenae and Epidaurus. 
 
 A ROUSED from our one day of languor, 
 -^^- With a touch of Tragedy's wand, 
 As we stood by the gate of Mycenae, 
 We snapped the ignoble bond; 
 
 And peered through the vacant portal, 
 
 Whereover the lions bend, 
 At the cave where the fated Orestes 
 
 Held parle with his warder friend, 
 
 Saw the postern that speeded him flying 
 From the Furies — his murder done — 
 
 Who hounded the mother-slayer. 
 Albeit th' avenging son; 
 
 And we trod with the sad Electra 
 Her path to her father's tomb. 
 
 Where Nemesis heaped on Atreides 
 The guerdon of Ilion's doom ; 
 
Notes in Travel: 1904. 135 
 
 Then turned from the House of Pelops, 
 With its record of lust and blood, 
 
 To bathe our hearts in the sweetness 
 Of Greece in her sweetest mood. 
 
 Epidaurus, ay, sweet Epidaurus, 
 
 Our latest of memory's claims ; 
 For Nauplia hath but her beauty, 
 
 And Argos and Tiryns are names. 
 
 But round about sweet Epidaurus 
 
 A goodlier effluence clings 
 Than the torture of tragic Furies 
 
 And the stories of murdered kings ; 
 
 On the breeze of her flowery borders 
 
 Still floateth a holy wraith, 
 The Angel of health and mercy 
 
 Of the bland Asclepian faith, 
 
 To breathe over slab and pillar. 
 As she bendeth her viewless head, 
 
 A kiss and a sigh to the record 
 Of the vows of a thousand dead. 
 
136 Notes in Travel: 1904. 
 
 We stood in the stately theatre, 
 
 In the first of the evening glow, 
 You perched on the topmost benches, 
 
 And I in the " Scend" below; 
 
 And there did I waken its echoes 
 
 To a touch of their antique use. 
 With fragments of Theban story. 
 
 And snatches of Byron's muse. 
 
 Then silently, sadly, we lifted 
 
 Our eyes to the sinking sun, 
 And we knew when we left Epidaurus 
 
 That the days we had dreamed of were done. 
 
THE DEATHBED 
 
 OF 
 
 LEONARDO DA VINCI. 
 
139 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 T T 7"AS it the soul of the man I heard, 
 » • Living in him through that autumn day, 
 
 Just when the first of the woods were blurred. 
 Just when the first of the lawns were gray? 
 
 Mild, irresolute, dweller apart. 
 
 Lover of all that he never knew. 
 Squandering wealth of science and art, 
 
 Scorner of all that a man might do ; 
 
 Shorn of solace in love and fame. 
 
 Exile, dying an old man lone — 
 Was it from him that the spirit came 
 
 Down into words that I knew for my own? 
 
 " Songs that never a sea-wind sang, 
 Ripples that never a sea-breast rode. 
 
 Answers of echoes that never rang. 
 Glories a sunset never showed. 
 
1 40 Prologue. 
 
 " Chords that never a lute-string stirred, 
 Lilt of a line that was never penned, 
 
 Melodies never in tone or word, 
 Flashes of thought that had never an end, 
 
 " Perfume never on leaf or flower. 
 Tears that never a sorrow bred. 
 
 Memory cradled in never an hour. 
 Raptures never alive or dead, 
 
 "Dreams that never the dreamer knew. 
 Shapes that never a vision wrought, 
 
 Breaking of lights that never brake through. 
 Sea-spoils never to surface brought, 
 
 " Splendour of eyes that never could shine, 
 Sighs of a passion that never could be — 
 
 These, and a host of their kin divine, 
 Ever were better than truths to me." 
 
HI 
 
 THE DEATHBED 
 OF LEONARDO DA VINCI. 
 
 A BOWSHOT out of Amboise upon Loire, 
 -^ ^ Girdled three sides by chestnut, oak, and elm, 
 But open southward to a lawn, that spreads 
 Its fringe of hazel-alleys and dipt yew 
 Between a tall belt and a quiet stream, 
 Still stands the little towered house of Cloux. 
 
 A gift it was by royal Francis made 
 To one who surely was himself a king, 
 Supreme in art, albeit he hath bequeathed 
 Too little to that world wherein he reigned. 
 For scant, no less than sovereign in kind, 
 His work uplifts a voice imperious, 
 Claiming its crown, as 'twere an appanage 
 By right divine, but proffering us withal 
 Few gifts in largesse for our homage given. 
 There, in a chamber opening to the west. 
 Lay he, this Leonardo, dying; none 
 
1 4 2 The Deathbed of 
 
 Of all that group whom he had loved and taught, 
 
 Save one, had followed him to exile; gone 
 
 Beltraffio the unstable, in whose soul 
 
 The coward qualms of monkish training bred 
 
 Had stamped out love and reverence at the last; 
 
 Gone too Salai, bearing plundered sheaves 
 
 Of delicate conceptions, priceless notes 
 
 Of brush and pencil, to construct therefromi 
 
 With facile hand and heart well mated, works 
 
 Goodly enough, but rising unavowed 
 
 On stolen foundations of the master's mind. 
 
 Gone too the others, meaner underlings 
 
 And trencher-students, since the stream of gains, 
 
 That fed his never-tiring bounty, failed; 
 
 And one alone, the last, a Milanese, 
 
 The young Francesco Melzi, now was left 
 
 To note his latest utterance : and I, 
 
 A twentieth-century lover of the man. 
 
 His meekness, sadness, virgin purity. 
 
 And timorous spirit of wide wavering power. 
 
 Have grown, as I have pondered, half to dream 
 
 I saw it all, the house, the scene, his form 
 
 Wasted and old, the thin long-bearded face. 
 
 And lean clenched hands, the lad beside the bed 
 
Leonardo Da Vinci. 143 
 
 Filling his faithful tablets; nay, at whiles, 
 So near and clear the vision draws itself, 
 I could wellnigh persuade me that I heard 
 The very words, and but restore them thus : 
 
 " My work is done ; this left hand that could trace 
 With one sure sweep, and rapid as a hawk 
 Falls plumb upon a partridge out of heaven, 
 A flawless circle, so that compasses 
 Could find nor dent nor bulge in its true line. 
 Now wavers and betrays me; yesterday 
 I all but marred my John the Baptist's smile, 
 And wrenched the delicate curve of light that lay 
 Along a tress of Dionysus' hair. 
 Thank God and Christ, whom I have loved and 
 
 served, 
 I have not touched through these my failing years 
 My Monna Lisa; she remains; her death 
 Stayed us; and as it left her, and left me. 
 So doth her portrait stand; enough, perchance, 
 Attained of what was unattainable, 
 Enough drawn forth from the pellucid depths 
 Of that abysmal nature I half knew, 
 Like sea spoils lifted in a diver's hand, 
 
144 The Deathbed of 
 
 To show what treasures lay ungarnered there. 
 
 " To brush and pencil, then, a long farewell ; 
 Nor less to those, my rival dreams, the half. 
 Perchance e'en more, of this my cumbered soul ; 
 Schemes, visions, as in giant pictures seen, 
 Of mighty seas conjoined, and distant streams 
 Given wedlock, for the service of mankind 
 And fame immortal of far-sighted kings : 
 Nay more, of days when men, caparisoned 
 For flight contemptuous of the eagle's range. 
 Should compass sea and land, and make the bounds 
 Of our engirdled planet neighbourly 
 As Florence and Fiesole. 
 
 Last night 
 I woke, and to me waking all seemed clear; 
 I stared into the dark, and cried, ' I hold 
 The terms of the long problem; 'tis achieved! 
 Mankind shall have the pinions, that shall raise 
 His race to meet the angels, and shall owe 
 The measureless advancement unto me.' 
 
 " I rose, and lit the lamp, and seized the pen; 
 But straightway all was blurred; the figures danced 
 Like momes upon the sheet before me; soon 
 My head fell forward, and I saw no more. 
 
Leonardo da Vinci. 145 
 
 So then, ye joint possessors of my soul, 
 Science and Painting, both of you, farewell ; 
 The seats wherein ye sat are yours no more. 
 The halls that ye have held are empty now, 
 And, swept and garnished after you, they wait 
 The coming of their last incomer. Death ! 
 
 " I am a man about whom men have lied 
 More largely than their wont is; I have borne 
 The hate of many, gained the love of few. 
 Yet gave I never hate for hate, or lie 
 For lie; but love for hate, and truth for lies, 
 Were ever my one answer and sole balm. 
 But, for I held the secret of mine Art 
 A mystery, and wrought, by means unguessed, 
 For consummation loftier than their own, 
 Nor loved to clog and cumber with strong meats 
 And fiery drinks that body, which I deemed 
 The casket of my soul, and would subject 
 To temperance, and light and cleanly fare; 
 Nay more, because I lived in solitude 
 Loving fair Nature and the face of Night, 
 And at a table in an oriel set, 
 Making my lamp the comrade of her stars, 
 Would work and gaze from twilight unto dawn, 
 
 L 
 
146 The Deathbed of 
 
 Keeping no noisy company, they dowered 
 
 God's enemy with His good gifts to me; 
 
 Proclaimed me sorcerer, calUng all to dread 
 
 Contagion from the renegade, and loathe 
 
 The outcast who had made his pact with Hell. 
 
 Then, for I no less loved sweet Purity, 
 
 Nor breathed there woman of the wanton breed 
 
 Could claim to call me hers, or lard men's tongues 
 
 With tales of me, they did not spare to throw 
 
 Bespattering hints of nameless infamy 
 
 On the poor few who loved me and whom I loved. 
 
 Yet hath God shielded me, and flung their spite 
 
 Back from me like the spume of baffled seas; 
 
 Nor ever Pope, or Pope's Inquisitor, 
 
 How deft soe'er the instigation poured 
 
 Into their cruel and compliant ears, 
 
 Hath dared the crime of laying a hand on me. 
 
 "Thus have I lived on with so much of peace 
 As they have who have surely learned the truth 
 That he alone who lives alone can live 
 Sole warder of his soul ; but he, being such, 
 Doth hold, as God's Vicegerent, under sway 
 A region broader than the broadest realm. 
 And happier than the happiest, so its space 
 
Leonardo da Vinci. 147 
 
 Be barred to pride, and open to that love 
 Which neither takes infection from without, 
 Nor limitation from the countless frowns 
 Of many-browed malevolence, but sits 
 Changeless, serene, and unprovokable. 
 As knowing that to barter enmities 
 Savours revenge, whereunto he who stoops, 
 Walks of his own free will debased, and bound 
 E'en to his chariot wheels who injured him. 
 
 " Yet, ere I turn mine eyes from this bright world. 
 And step from my last sunset into night, 
 I will not pause, nor leave the truth half told. 
 I felt the sting of Buonarotti's hate, 
 Young Raphael's neglect. Pope Leo's slights. 
 And cold dismissal of the Roman folk, 
 And Soderini's flouts which I deserved; 
 He hit the fault within mej I have lived 
 O'er much in mine own life; played fast and loose 
 With custom, and too timorous of the end, 
 Have hung between conception and its goal. 
 Refusing to acknowledge in due time 
 The touch that should have seemed, and been, the 
 
 last. 
 Perchance I was not fated to achieve. 
 
1 48 The Deathbed of 
 
 Because I was not faithful to fulfil, 
 
 And could not bring a fretful soul to treat 
 
 My covenanted work as other men 
 
 Hold to a bargain sealed ; yet not the less 
 
 Gave I far more than any covenant 
 
 Could claim for answer. Still, I fall, half-famed, 
 
 'Twixt what I did and what I did not. Nought, 
 
 Or little else than nought, will last of him 
 
 To keep the sinking Leonardo's head 
 
 On the sleek surface of the seas of Time. 
 
 " Bellini, Botticelli, and the rest, 
 Vannucti, and Carpaccio, even he 
 Who taught me, old Verrocchio, all wrought 
 With honest purpose in the bounds of knowledge, 
 Contented not to dream; their sturdy works 
 Shall show a goodly company, and live. 
 Fair warrant of their fame, while mine e'en now 
 Are perishing with him who wrought on them. 
 My " Cena " rots upon that reeking wall 
 Of the Maria delle Grazie; 
 The clay of my "Colossus" is no more; 
 Ere I could stamp it in eternal bronze. 
 It made the horse-play of those rabble French 
 Who drove my Ludovico out of Milan; 
 
Leonardo da Vinci. 149 
 
 What they of Florence may have left to show 
 My rendering of their fight at Anghiari, 
 I ne'er shall know; perchance Gonzaga yet 
 Hangs my presentment of his Isabel 
 In Mantua; thanks to Dame Margherite, 
 Who bent her royal brother's mocking heart 
 To her sweet way, I have my " Baptist " still, 
 And " Bacchus," those twin shadows of one type, 
 \Vherein the world's old worship meets the new ; 
 And into each of which perchance is wrought 
 Something, I scarce know what or how, of her 
 Who sits with Holy Mary up in Heaven, 
 And reigns with her within this broken heart. 
 Doubling religion to me. 'Twixt both those 
 She hangs, my saint, in that imperfect guise 
 She blessed, and so made perfect, when to me. 
 Who would have still thrust back the end, she said, 
 Laying a hand divine on this weak arm, 
 ' Nay, touch it not again, it needs no more.' 
 
 "Alas, that summer's afternoon, which closed 
 The three sweet years wherethrough I painted her; 
 And found from week to week, and month by month. 
 While I wrought on in joy and wonderment. 
 Some unexpected beauty to undo 
 
150 The Deathbed of 
 
 What I had done, abash content, and drive — 
 Albeit despair shook on my finger tips — 
 My painter's soul to phrenzy, and o'erwhelm 
 My man's heart in love's measureless abysm. 
 I was as one who on a mountain side 
 Climbing, point above point, pauses, and sees 
 Fresh loveliness ; new folding of the hills, 
 New cleavage of the sky by clustered pines, 
 Multiplied outlines of unlooked-for peaks, 
 Cataracts reframed, unwonted sunlights sweeping 
 Shades from the lower valleys; she sat there. 
 Gazing great-eyed far into the unseen, 
 As Nature's self incomprehensible, 
 With form and colour of perpetual change. 
 And deeps that change itself could never sound. 
 
 "Alas, that summer's afternoon; she came, 
 And that once only, to my house alone. 
 I worked in silence, for I knew one word 
 Had been a tempest that had rent apart 
 The veil that was between us, and I feared 
 To look into her eyes behind the veil. 
 Ah, what if I had spoken ! If the love, 
 The buried love in both of us, had burst 
 The wintry soil of silence, and sprang forth — 
 
Leonardo da Vinci. 1 5 1 
 
 As sprang Athene from the brows of Zeus — 
 No bud, but the full tree, stem, flower, and fruit, 
 Stem fair, flower fairer, bitter fruit perchance. 
 And poisonous in the plucking. Lisa, Lisa, 
 Could it be well to pay the fatal price. 
 And buy the right to call thee by thy name ! 
 
 "She rose; and I rose with her, took her hand. 
 Outstretched for parting; over it I bowed. 
 Bowed low and kissed it; while it shook, I felt 
 Her lips, like rose-leaves lighting, touch my hair. 
 So stayed I till the shock had ceased in me; 
 Then I looked up, but she was gone. 
 
 That night 
 I rode for Prate; and the morrow placed 
 The first gray fold of Apennine between 
 Mine eyes and that dead city, empty grown. 
 And worthless as a sea-shell on the shore. 
 Now she and I were gone; she south, I north; 
 She to Calabria and her death, and I 
 To wait for mine as I am waiting now. 
 Had she been free, my God, had she been free ! 
 E'en so, had it been well? Should I have died 
 As now, enshrouded in celestial light 
 Of her unsullied splendour, without taint 
 
152 The Deathbed of 
 
 Of time, unsmirched by custom, e'en perchance 
 By disillusion, such as hovereth 
 O'er passion's deathbed; glory undefiled 
 Streaming from Paradise; no sickly gleam 
 Such as our life might gender at its close, 
 Like fires that flit o'er stagnant marshes, bred 
 Of festering degradation and decay." 
 
 And here I have it that he ceased, and lay 
 Long time in silence with closed eyes, as though 
 He would recall the course of the mute love 
 That came so late into his lonely life; 
 The granite hardness of his great resolve, 
 Grown harder as he faced it, day by day, 
 And month by month, through those tempestuous 
 
 years; 
 The iteration of his self-constraint. 
 When rays of her unspoken love brake forth. 
 Disclosing glimpses of life's mountain peaks. 
 To leave its low-set plains more drear; and all 
 The desolation of his wifeless home. 
 Now worse than void, a haunted solitude, 
 A graveyard with a single ghost for tenant. 
 Where Duty with her stern and pallid brows, 
 
Leonardo da Vinci. 1 5 3 
 
 Confronting each monotonous return, 
 Sat ever by the chill unguarded hearth. 
 Such was his retrospect; no memories 
 Of joy; alternate longing and recoil, 
 A clash of flux and reflux, two fierce tides 
 In conflict without sequel to the end. 
 
 So passed the hours until the sun's full orb 
 Showed at the central window; the strong light 
 Beat in upon the current of his thought, 
 Like a great sound on silence; his dim eyes 
 He raised, and with a self-accusing smile. 
 Half pardon, half reproach, but all benign, 
 As for indulgence given to his own soul 
 In one more recollection ere he died, 
 With effort he half turned his languid head 
 To Melzi, murmuring, " Go, Francesco mine, 
 Bring me thy lute, and once more sing to me, 
 Softly, as fits an echo of the past, 
 My song, ' Chiami tu?' whereof I think 
 Thou never knewest the meaning until now." 
 
 So spake he; and the ready boy arose, 
 And went and came, and stood below the bed. 
 Handling the strings, mute, waiting for a sign; 
 But when the dying master faintly raised 
 
1 54 The Deathbed of 
 
 Re-opened eyes on him, and whispered " Now," 
 He struck one note of passionate appeal, 
 And, after a low prelude, sang, as bidden : 
 
 Art calling, as I too call. 
 
 For the tears that will not be shed. 
 Like rains that refuse to fall 
 
 Upon lands that with drought are dead? 
 
 Art sighing, as I too sigh. 
 
 For the loss that we may not own, 
 
 The waste of the years gone by, 
 While we were alone, alone? 
 
 Art turning, as I too turn, 
 
 From the peril of each farewell. 
 
 From the breath of the hopes that burn 
 Like airs from the gate of Hell? 
 
 Art naming, what I too name. 
 The wreck of the treason and fall. 
 
 The rage and the gnash of shame, 
 And the longing that mocketh at all? 
 
Leonardo da Vinci. 155 
 
 Thus far the boy; but broke off suddenly, 
 With a quick cry, from his unfinished song; 
 And cast aside his lute, and flung him down 
 Upon his knees beside the bed; he saw. 
 E'en as he sang, o'er the great painter's face 
 That colour creep which death alone can paint. 
 The old man, as himself had said, was passing 
 From that last sunset into night; perchance, 
 His hour had come unhastened, or perchance, 
 Too smart a strain of recollection snapped 
 The fretted strings upon his lute of life, 
 And so he died ; one moment ere his end 
 He raised himself a little from the bed; 
 His closed eyes opened objectless; he stretched 
 Lean arms and hands along the coverlet. 
 Crying, "'Tis come, she comes, and all is won! 
 My Lisa, mine, mine, mine ! And wings, the wings ! 
 They shall be ours and theirs ! " Then fell back, dead. 
 
1 56 The Deathbed of 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 /'~\NCE more — speaking in words half spoken 
 ^-^ Such as fell on the Tuscan's ears, 
 Feeble, faint of a calm scarce broken 
 Down the current of silent years. 
 
 While he walked with the Four who greeted 
 Theirs, that Fifth who had brought him there. 
 
 Sweet and grave, amid thousands seated, 
 Grave as they in sublime despair — 
 
 Voices came, as of souls recalling 
 
 What their warfare on earth had been, 
 
 Fast, and vigil, and fear of falling. 
 Durance, trust in the vast Unseen; 
 
 Tenderly, as to a sweet thought clinging. 
 Touching chords of a grief long gone. 
 
 Songs, in solitude sung, resinginj. 
 Now together as once alone: 
 
Leonardo da Vinci. 1 5 7 
 
 "Who are these who are walking, walking, 
 
 Ever walking in ways of dream, 
 Mute amid myriads vainly talking. 
 
 Souls that are, amid shades that seem? 
 
 " Sealed their lips by a power that knoweth 
 Doom to lurk in a word or sigh, 
 
 Doom of the wild-rose bud that showeth 
 Petals rash to a scorching sky. 
 
 " Dream, ay, dream; 'tis the waking, waking. 
 
 Waking only that havoc wills, 
 Wills, and joys, as a land-storm breaking 
 
 All the peace of a thousand hills.'' 
 
 Ceased their delicate, air-borne, measure; 
 
 While, or ever the silence fell, 
 Passed they, breathing a breath of pleasure 
 
 O'er Heaven's lilies and asphodel. 
 
158 
 
 TO A NIGHTINGALE IN JUNE. 
 
 SWEET bird, thou wast singing 
 In April and May, 
 With half the dull village 
 Asleep through thy lay, 
 While I who, unsated, 
 By night or by day, 
 Had hungered to listen, 
 Was far, far away. 
 
 Yet sing to me still, sweet. 
 
 Albeit 'tis June, 
 The last of the notes left 
 
 In thy broken tune. 
 Oh sing, ere thou leavest, 
 
 Alas, all too soon, 
 These glades, and me with them. 
 
 To yon lonely moon. 
 
To a Nightingale in June. 159 
 
 Yes, tuneless and lonely 
 
 The gloaming will be, 
 And midnight, and dawning. 
 
 To watchers like me. 
 Who feed upon fancies 
 
 In hearkening to thee, 
 And dream what the spring time 
 
 We knew not could be. 
 
 Those midnights, those midnights, 
 
 What must they have been. 
 When April was passing, 
 
 And thou wast first seen. 
 And moonbeams were greeting. 
 
 With passionate sheen. 
 The full song that brake through 
 
 Thy covert of green. 
 
 Like streams held asunder. 
 Sweet songster, are we, 
 
 That knew not each other's 
 Glens, mountains, and glee. 
 
i6o To a Nightingale in June. 
 
 But sparkling no longer, 
 
 Or joyous, or free, 
 Meet down in bare lowlands 
 
 In sound of the sea. 
 
 Alas for the chances 
 
 That prey upon fate, 
 More deadly than error. 
 
 More ruthless than hate; 
 They grave on that portal, 
 
 Which should be joy's gate, 
 A doom past redeeming, 
 
 "Too late, 'tis too late." 
 
BLOTTED LIVES 
 
i63 
 
 BLOTTED LIVES. 
 
 T T was an upland lawn, whose ancient elms 
 -*- Frowned on ambitious and obtrusive pines, 
 That clove a prospect of fair-timbered meads, 
 Where happier oaks, by modern rivalries 
 Un vexed, still held to their domain; above. 
 Set on an unwalled terrace, rose, o'ergrown 
 With broideries of crimson creeping vine, 
 The low-browed features of a country house 
 In lines of unpretentious comfort. There, 
 Through those short hours of sinking charm that 
 
 make 
 Of autumn afternoons a sigh for summer. 
 In a long hammock, stretched from bole to bole 
 Of mingling elms, all gay with knot and fringe. 
 And rich with silken cushion and strewn furs, 
 A lady lay close-wrapped; beside her sat 
 A lad who might have seen his twentieth year. 
 And at her feet an older man, whose years 
 
1 64 Blotted L ives. 
 
 Outnumbered hers ; for her, she was indeed 
 
 Past youth — the seated stripling was her son — 
 
 But not past loveliness, albeit both frail 
 
 And fading; grace of line she had, a wealth 
 
 Of silvery braids from her veined temples waved, 
 
 And on her cheeks and lips belated lay 
 
 Traces of bygone freshness; poor pinched flowers. 
 
 Such as outstay the last autumnal glow, 
 
 Or like chance tints on ruined panels whence 
 
 Full hues have flown, or those regretful notes 
 
 That linger in the nightingales of June, 
 
 And thinly haunt the groves once steeped in sound. 
 
 Thus lying there, she seemed — so sweet her charm 
 
 Of delicate decline — a freak of chance 
 
 Set down to make a human counterpart. 
 
 Through the last hours of a September sun. 
 
 At once both of the season and the day. 
 
 Long had she Iain as if alone, half-turned 
 With sunlit features to the lustrous west. 
 In troubled meditation; while the boy 
 Sat gazing on her; his blue eyes, fair hair. 
 And flush of girlish rose on oval cheeks. 
 Had caught reflection from his mother's beauty; 
 More, in his wistfulness, for all his youth. 
 
Blotted L ives. 1 6 5 
 
 He bore the impress of a settled pain, 
 That took its pattern from her melancholy ; 
 It was a look of tremulous quest, wherein 
 'Twixt fascination and repulsion poised, 
 As 'twixt opposing orbs some tortured moon. 
 He seemed to ask for what he feared to know. 
 
 The elder man sat still and watched the pair; 
 They were the only beings on the earth 
 He loved, save for that general charity. 
 Which was as breath to him, to draw in love 
 From all things round, man, nature, and the sense 
 Of omnipresent Godhead, and, inhaled. 
 To render it again, as do the leaves 
 Of some great tree through multitudinous spores 
 Draw nurture from the broad and bounteous air, 
 To feed it in their turn; so bent, so dowered, 
 His was among the rarest of rare souls; 
 To all the stalwart forces of a man 
 He joined a woman's meek submissiveness 
 To spiritual pain; from boyhood on, 
 Through all the chances of a life set thick 
 With peril and endurance, he had borne. 
 Without an effort to displace the load. 
 The burden of an unrequited love, 
 
1 6 6 Blotted L ives. 
 
 As he had been a woman ; gentle, mute, 
 
 Content to look upon the happiness 
 
 Of her he loved, and upon his, the friend 
 
 Loved all the more that she had chosen him. 
 
 His voice was full, and e'en beyond his speech 
 
 Showed purpose ; modest in his port he was. 
 
 But firm withal; well-favoured, and well-knit, 
 
 Though slim and slight of frame ; whate'er he did, 
 
 How trivial soe'er the act might be. 
 
 He did with effortless and affluent grace, 
 
 Unconscious of distinction ; there he sat, 
 
 Cross-legged, between cigar and fishing-rod. 
 
 With no more taint of common clumsiness, 
 
 Than sits, with his clasped blade athwart his knees, 
 
 That marble wonder which we moderns call 
 
 "The Ludovisi Mars"; a soldier too 
 
 Of no mean record, with a heart as staunch 
 
 As the good weapon he had worn so well. 
 
 They made a goodly group of noble types; 
 A woman who had braved undauntedly, 
 With bleeding heart and lacerated pride. 
 The direst thorns of agony, to pluck 
 The joy's fruit of her life — love from their midst. 
 A man of silent suffering, who had wrought 
 
Blotted L ives. 1 6 7 
 
 With hardihood of spirit enough to put 
 
 Full half the happier souls of men to shame. 
 
 A boy, of princely mettle, yet untried, 
 
 But with those markings of the mint that stamp 
 
 A being of promise who aspires to be. 
 
 And in the midst of them, unseen, but owned 
 
 By all, in their own fashion, as they felt 
 
 The sunlight and the coming up of eve, 
 
 One dead man's presence who had shaped their 
 
 lives. 
 Slowly the lady turned her round, and said, 
 " Dear friend, the time has come when he should 
 
 know 
 What cloud it was that settled on us all 
 Through those indelible years, but which at last 
 The warm breath of God's mercy breathed away." 
 Then he, the elder, pausing ere he spoke; 
 " Shall we then leave you, he and I, awhile? ' 
 But she; "Not so, 'twere best that I should hear; 
 Something there might be that I cared to say, 
 Or he; and which said now, all would be done, 
 And we need never speak of it again." 
 With this she turned her to the west once more. 
 And o'er her face her kerchief spread with care, 
 
1 68 Blotted L ives. 
 
 And waited; calmness reigned around the three; 
 
 Not a leaf stirred, and not a sound was heard, 
 
 Save here and there out of the ilices 
 
 A starling spoke, or to his drowsier mates 
 
 A sleek gray pigeon cooed about the lawn. 
 
 " So be it, as you wish, and in plain words," 
 
 After a little while the elder said; 
 
 And suddenly, as rushing at a breach, 
 
 "Your father's youth was shadowed by a crime"; 
 
 Then — for he heard the boy's arrested breath — 
 
 He laid a hand upon his arm, and said; 
 
 " 'Twas not of those for which men have no pardon. 
 
 His mother had a waiting-woman, one 
 
 We need not stay to pity overmuch; 
 
 She was his elder, the first fault was hers; 
 
 She tempted him ; he fell. But from his sin 
 
 He got small pleasure; horror soon drove out 
 
 The alien passion from his virgin soul, 
 
 And let repentance in; he forced the girl 
 
 To leave his mother's service; then because 
 
 His innocence believed her innocent. 
 
 Save for his fault, as he was, save for hers, 
 
 He magnified her wrong a hundredfold, 
 
 And multiplying his debt to mate with it, 
 
Blotted L ives. 1 6 9 
 
 O'erpaid both greatly ; she well-pleased, well-dowered, 
 With no more bitter fruit to bear than shame, 
 And that perchance in her was scant enough, 
 Soon wrote that she was married in her class, 
 And lightly prated of a happy home. 
 Her future, and his generosity. 
 
 " He turned once more to his own purity. 
 And nought of festering sequel stayed in him 
 Of that malignant fever ; though at whiles 
 Recurrent memory like an ague seized 
 His spirit, and he would shake with agony. 
 And shudder, more at his own shame than hers. 
 
 "At length upon his life, now bright once more. 
 Your mother rose, like sunlight over dawn; 
 I, who had known them both so long, foreknew 
 That each would be to th' other as a fate; 
 And so it proved; before that season's close 
 Their coming marriage was announced; it raised 
 More genuine pleasure through the London camps 
 Than they are prone to; but, alas, the news 
 Pierced to that dismal spot where worthlessness 
 In wife and husband both had hurried both. 
 By mutual attraction, down the steep 
 Of degradation; spendthrift, drunken, he, 
 
1 70 Blotted Lives. 
 
 And she, coarse, tawdry, shameless; the vile pair. 
 
 With all the readiness of villainy. 
 
 Composed at once their hourly jars to hatch 
 
 A plot to turn the tidings to account. 
 
 She wrote a rambling scrawl of vulgar whine 
 
 Over the old love she could not forget, 
 
 Their money losses from imprudent trust. 
 
 Their present penury ; and how, alas. 
 
 Her husband, who knew all the past, had turned, 
 
 Under the sting of their ill-fortune, first 
 
 From kindness to a taunting petulance, 
 
 And thence to cruelty; how her one. chance 
 
 Of comfort lay in him whom she had loved 
 
 So truly; if he only would once more — 
 
 She felt full well how generous he had been — 
 
 Raise them to competence, securing all 
 
 From further waste, she felt she might regain 
 
 Something like quiet; all her hopes of more 
 
 Having died the day he left her. Every word 
 
 Was of their joint concoction; I saw through 
 
 The letter to the scheme that lay behind 
 
 Of lifelong torture and extortion ; he 
 
 Saw too, but in his tenderness of soul 
 
 Would fain have yielded; I confess, I forced 
 
Blotted L ives. 1 7 1 
 
 Refusal on him, and my counsel brought, 
 
 It may be, the catastrophe; and yet, 
 
 Were it to give again, I still should give it. 
 
 Threats followed on his answer; wearied out, 
 
 I proffered mediation; they would treat 
 
 With none save him; I should have left them still 
 
 To wreak their worst, and trusted a great love 
 
 To stand confession of the early fault 
 
 So long repented and so soon atoned. 
 
 But in an evil hour, unknown to me. 
 
 Bent, as he said, on sifting all the truth. 
 
 He sought them in their mean unlovely lair ; 
 
 She was all tears and scruples, but the man. 
 
 In whom the demon drink had housed anew. 
 
 First rough, then insolent, made half pretence 
 
 Of fearing that their visitor had hoped 
 
 To find his wife alone; then working round 
 
 From simulated rage to phrenzy, heaped 
 
 Claim upon claim, and crowded threat on threat. 
 
 Made bolder by your father's self-restraint. 
 
 Until he reeled across, and fronting him. 
 
 Hissed out some foul suggestion in his ear 
 
 About your mother; as a lightning flash 
 
 Blazed forth the doom that he had dared too far; 
 
172 Blotted Lives. 
 
 Your father's fingers closed about his throat 
 Like a steel circlet, and with one wild shake, 
 The beast was hurled headlong across his den; 
 Too surely slain ; he neither cried nor stirred ; 
 His slayer sprang to raise him, but, alas. 
 Too fell had been the force of those fierce hands; 
 One quiver of the limbs, and he was gone. 
 
 "The day of trial came; we all were there. 
 His captain, every subaltern, and I, 
 Though not of his battalion; half the court 
 Was filled with sorrowing friends, who came to bring 
 What comfort there might be in grief and love; 
 His sad eyes wandered once along our lines, 
 From bench to bench, then fell; and so he stayed. 
 Till suddenly, as by some instinct stung, 
 He looked up to a little gallery. 
 That opened on a corner of the court, 
 Where stood alone, black robed, and deeply veiled. 
 One whom I need not name ; his parted lips, 
 A spasm that was almost a cry, his hands 
 Clenched on the rail before him, showed us all 
 What he had seen, though not a single eye 
 Among us turned her way : I saw the change 
 Which that one look had wrought; with a calm voice 
 
Blotted Lives. 1 7 3 
 
 He made his plea; his single advocate, 
 
 A serious and tactful gentleman, 
 
 Urged what was fitting, and the sentence came. 
 
 I could have blest the judge who spared us all 
 
 Unnecessary unction; simply said, 
 
 With full weight of judicial dignity, 
 
 That all the circumstances, sad and strange, 
 
 E'en novel to his long experience. 
 
 Warranted leniency, and imprisonment — 
 
 I drew a freer breath to hear its term — 
 
 Not very brief, nor yet unduly long 
 
 For justice on the taker of a life. 
 
 " We all rose up as he was led away. 
 Thus making our unspoken farewells; he 
 Had eyes alone for that small gallery. 
 Where she still stood; she slowly raised her veil, 
 And as he passed he saw, and I saw too. 
 Her look of unextinguishable love. 
 And pity, and a flicker of the lips. 
 That was nor speech nor smile, though kin to both ; 
 A spiritual ray, that was to be ' 
 A lantern on his pathway through the abysm, 
 A gleam unquenchable by any gloom, 
 A beacon, shown in heaven, to stay his soul, 
 
I 7 4 Blotted L ives. 
 
 And draw him upwards through the night, until 
 He stood once more in the full light of day. 
 
 "At last the weary summit of the months 
 Was overpast, and to our jubilant ears 
 The sudden word of a remission came ; 
 The prisoner's conduct, which had won for him 
 Much mitigation in the deadening round 
 Of convict life, some failure of his health, 
 And, more than all perhaps, his story told 
 With greater fullness, had combined to gain 
 This boon of respite. It so chanced that I 
 Was then in London on a six months' leave 
 After long sickness in Bengal; the news 
 Came in a letter from the Governor 
 Of Milbank Jail, where he lay waiting me. 
 Half-mad I drove to fetch him, passed within 
 The dreary portal, with a shout made known 
 My errand to the gaping gate-keeper, 
 Outstripped a proffered guide, who called aloud, 
 Turn to the right, or left, I scarce heard which. 
 Rushed on, far more by luck than judgement hit 
 The way, and burst into a waiting-room 
 Where he, half-fainting, tottered to my arms. 
 
 " We passed some weeks in quiet seaside haunts, 
 
Blotted L ives . 175 
 
 And on high breezy moors, till body and mind 
 
 Had taken something of their olden tone. 
 
 The past we left to bury its own dead, 
 
 The future made our sole concern; this house 
 
 Was to be let; he would not have it closed; 
 
 A blight, he said, would settle on the place. 
 
 If left to solitude and emptiness. 
 
 His old profession gone, the stain on him 
 
 So recent and so deep, he must begin 
 
 His life anew in some far colony. 
 
 All this in truth I had foreseen, arranged. 
 
 And he with scarcely renovated will. 
 
 Of very feebleness accepted all 
 
 My plans for him. New Zealand was our goal. 
 
 Where — so I told him truly — I had friends 
 
 Who farmed a tract 'neath those broad-belted Alps 
 
 Whose sunnier spurs, spread to the cheerful East, 
 
 Slope slowly towards the Canterbury plains, 
 
 With scrub-bespattered down and grassy flat. 
 
 Made many by the shingle-hindered streams. 
 
 That, looped and baffled, round a thousand curves 
 
 Bear their vexed volume to its rest below. 
 
 There might he settle for some years at least; 
 
 And health and peace and wealth and happiness 
 
1 76 Blotted Lives. 
 
 Grow, like his flocks around him. All this while 
 No word about your mother passed our Ups; 
 Though well I knew that her name spelt for him 
 Wealth, peace, and happiness ; but I knew too 
 That honour kept him mute, and that he deemed 
 Atonement, like the mountain range we sought. 
 Must lie beyond wide plains of patient waiting. 
 
 " We made a happy, swift, and healthful voyage ; 
 And as we neared our port, I gazed with pride 
 At his bright eyes, bronzed cheeks, and well-filled 
 
 frame, 
 As on achievements of my own. We found 
 A letter from my friend awaiting us. 
 Bidding us purchase horses, packs, and tent 
 To make what, should the rivers rise, might prove 
 A four, ay five day's journey to his home; 
 'Twas shearing time; he could not leave the sheds 
 To fetch us out; his niece, he said, kept house. 
 One in a thousand ; he could promise us 
 Good beds, good country victuals, and good wine; 
 A landscape beyond praise, sleek flocks and herds; 
 A model homestead's cheery sights and sounds; 
 Days of health-giving labour, nights of sleep; 
 Perpetual welcome, boundless liberty. 
 
Blotted Lives. 177 
 
 " 'Twas on a glorious November noon, 
 Well worth its fellows of our northern May, 
 When first the Station came in sight, high perched 
 Behind a wooded headland; in our front 
 Lay a wide stream that sparkled, as with joy 
 To see the meeting of two human hearts; 
 Uncle and niece were riding down the track. 
 To greet us at the ford; their amble changed 
 To a smart canter over the sound turf 
 Through which the river ran : I glanced at him ; 
 His eyes were straining, and his lips apart; 
 Half a mile off he knew her. ' Courage, man ! ' 
 Said I, for he was quaking like a leaf, 
 And scarce could sit his horse; 'don't shake like 
 
 that! 
 Depend upon it she won't! She it is. 
 And he, her mother's brother, and our host.' 
 Somehow, I did not see them meet; perhaps 
 She checked her horse, and he pressed on to her, 
 While I was busy greeting my old friend; 
 But when I turned to her I saw a face 
 As of an angel mother who had found 
 The soul of her lost child." 
 
 The speaker paused ; 
 
1 7 8 Blotted L ives. 
 
 And then he added, " Well, no need for more. 
 After some weeks, despatches came, which told 
 Of trouble imminent in Hindoostan; 
 I must rejoin the colours j 'twas the first 
 Low thunder of that Sepoy storm which swept 
 From Indus to the Vindya. I went off 
 To Delhi and to Lucknow and the rest. 
 And left them to their lifelong happiness." 
 
 Then, knowing he had ceased, the lady snatched 
 The kerchief from her face impetuously; 
 And rising on one arm, brake forth, and cried, 
 
 "Nay, nay, I do need more, and it is this! 
 He left us in the early summer dawn, 
 This noblest of the noble among men. 
 Whom, next to God, my husband and myself 
 Revered, and, next to one another, loved. 
 We would not have him start alone, so rose 
 Before the daylight, greatly sorrowing. 
 As they of Ephesus of old for Paul, 
 To think that we might see his face no more; 
 And all of us, my uncle and we two. 
 Rode with him to the second ford, and there 
 Made our reluctant parting; as his horse 
 Stood on the water's edge, our farewells done. 
 
Blotted L ives. 1 7 9 
 
 He drew his rein, and gazed around on all, 
 The bushy hills behind us, and over these 
 The lean bare-shouldered ranges, and the peaks 
 That gleamed, snow-tinted, many miles away. 
 Along the river, and o'er the shimmering plains; 
 As though he would stamp deep upon his heart 
 That picture of our home, to give him joy, 
 When far away in peril or in toil; 
 Then raising high his hat above his head, 
 He bared his brows to Heaven's full light, and cried. 
 In a quick rush of reverential joy. 
 An ecstasy of self-oblivion, 
 ' Oh all ye works of His, bless ye the Lord, 
 Praise Him, and magnify His Name for ever ! ' 
 So 'mid the silence rode he through the ford; 
 We watched him for awhile, though well we knew 
 He would not look our way again; and then. 
 With a deep gloom upon us, turned for home." 
 So she, as though she needs must chronicle 
 The utmost tittle of his nobility; 
 He, all the while she spoke, sat still, and looked 
 Unutterable sadness; then he rose. 
 Shouldered his rod, and as he had gone forth 
 Into that lonely vastness of strange plains. 
 
i8o Blotted Lives. 
 
 His sacrifice achieved, so now he turned 
 Across the lawn, and through a wicket gate 
 Passed riverwards; they watched him disappear 
 Over the shoulder of the dropping mead; 
 Saw him a moment more as he passed through 
 The garden and its orchard to the stream; 
 But he turned not, e'en as he had not turned 
 At that old parting, when he set his face 
 To bear what he had borne and still must bear. 
 
 The boy then clasped the lady in his arms, 
 And whispered, " Oh, sweet mother, it is well; 
 I feared e'en worse. God guard him for us, mother; 
 And may he bless us both, and keep me pure." 
 With one great sob the lady rose, and so 
 Mastered her soul; then, linking arm in arm, 
 Mother and son, — the silence, that had hung 
 As a dark veil between them, torn away — 
 Turning their backs on the now vacant west, 
 Walked homeward in the peaceful afterglow. 
 
i8i 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 
 TO grasping Time no debt of tears is owed; 
 Our years are milestones and our lives one 
 stage, 
 The first we wot of, on an endless road 
 
 That mounts and broadens on from age to age. 
 Death's hand but bids the turning of a page 
 
 In that vast book, whose leaves are numberless. 
 But closed alike to simpleton and sage. 
 
 Till rings the mandate which few dare to bless, 
 " Read on ! " — and we sink back too blind for thank- 
 fulness. 
 
 Oh for the courage to encounter change ! 
 
 Some would not shrink then, as a herd that cowers 
 Below the shoulder of a mountain range. 
 
 From whose dread crests a doom of tempest 
 lowers; 
 Nor others mope and whine o'er waning powers; 
 
1 82 Old Age. 
 
 Nor we, who would be singers to the last, 
 Spin dirges over half-forgotten hours. 
 
 Albeit the present we thus overcast 
 Could break in smiles of light worth all the cloudy past. 
 
 The earth is not less young than yesterday. 
 
 Our yesterday, which means when we were young ; 
 Gay waters dance, winds whisper, sunbeams play. 
 
 The thrush and nightingale still boast a tongue ; 
 About our ears their melodies are flung; 
 
 The olden hum of noon is in the air; 
 From flowery hearts the meadow scents are wrung ; 
 
 The world is happy still, the world is fair. 
 Its thousand voices cry, " We all are what we were, 
 
 " Then why not ye ! " I am and mean to be ! 
 
 Why not, why not? What answer, comrade mine? 
 Doth not great Nature's call appeal to thee? 
 
 Let those soft orbs with resolution shine; 
 My youth of soul dependeth upon thine; 
 
 Two pairs of eyes must gaze upon the sun; 
 Joint ears must catch the morning music fine. 
 
 And reap the silence of the twilight dun; 
 Two hearts must beat out thanks in grateful unison. 
 
Old Age. 183 
 
 Still do the lingering sunbeams in thine hair 
 
 O'erarch the dreamy moonlight of thine eyes; 
 Outstretched at ease upon yon long low chair, 
 
 Come, sit, and muse, and gaze on earth and skies; 
 And we will tell what might be loving lies. 
 
 Were we young puppets whom the cynic Fate 
 Could dangle in a dance of perjuries, 
 
 But being as we are, she is too late. 
 Each may be sure of each, and smile on her, and 
 wait — 
 
 What? That same summons to " read on," and turn 
 
 Her mystic page that draweth to an end; 
 One barb she hath, she will not let us learn 
 
 The opening lines together; oh, sweet friend, 
 What matters it? 'Tis but a little bend, 
 
 A sudden winding in the way, that hides 
 The fellowship it cannot e'en suspend. 
 
 It is but eye from eye she thus divides, 
 Not soul from soul, them Immortality abides. 
 
 I have a heart of temper still to love 
 A rose, -a woman, or a nightingale; 
 To gaze, as eagles gaze, around, above, 
 
1 84 Old Age. 
 
 Through the wide azure as they soar or sail; 
 To joy in morning bland or evening pale; 
 
 Old Age I feel not as a flaw or blot; 
 I take Death as a deer o'erleaps a rail; 
 
 'Tis but a flash, a transformation, not 
 Eclipse, but one quick pulse that starts anew man's 
 lot; 
 
 I know not how, and pause not to inquire. 
 
 Where answer there is none; that much I know; 
 I will not plunge a footstep in the mire 
 
 Of smirching speculation; what we sow 
 That shall we sometime reap; in every row 
 
 Our seventy seasons plant we doubtless fling 
 Tares by the million; may the grain or so 
 
 Of wheat o'erweigh them, when the scales shall 
 swing 
 To Mercy's gentle touch at the great harvesting. 
 
 Then take the world's wide welcome to the last; 
 
 Laugh, and tell all things we are young as they, 
 And young shall be when they are of the past; 
 
 For truly they are doomed to pass away; 
 This universe of stars shall float one day 
 
Old Age. 185 
 
 Blind frozen wrecks upon a boundless sea, 
 Dark space the tomb to cloak their mute decay ; 
 
 And life, our life, apart, be life set freej 
 They heritors of Time, we of Eternity. 
 
SONGS 
 
i89 
 
 SONGS. 
 
 A CRADLE SONG. 
 
 SWING, swing, my cradle, swing 
 Slightly, oh slightly; 
 Cot, pole, and curtain-ring, 
 
 Slightly were rightly, 
 E'en did this dainty thing 
 Sleep not so lightly. 
 By night and day. 
 
 Ample eyes, brow severe. 
 
 Laden with thunders; 
 Whence didst thou wander here. 
 
 Wonder of wonders? 
 What from thy primal sphere 
 
 The veil that sunders 
 Thee and me, say? 
 
1 90 A Cradle Song. 
 
 We but God's servants were 
 Bid to receive thee; 
 Serfs to whose earthly care 
 
 Seraphs did leave thee; 
 What means that regal stare? 
 Doth this aggrieve thee? 
 Why dost thou frown? 
 
 Doth thy great heart despise 
 Mother's poor singing, 
 
 Pride bred in statelier skies 
 Still to thee clinging? 
 
 Or doth some vast surmise 
 With its upspringing 
 
 Bend thy brows down? 
 
 Mind is a fast fast steed, 
 
 Marvel a faster; 
 How swift soe'er her speed. 
 
 Marvel flies past her; 
 Who shall thy riddle read? 
 
 Not I, my master; 
 
 Sphinx of thy day ! 
 
A Cradle Song. 1 9 1 
 
 Closed those wide eyes of his, 
 
 So grave, so simple j 
 E'en while I gather this 
 
 Lace for his wimple; 
 I dare not stoop to kiss 
 
 One rosy dimple; 
 
 Sleep, sleep, away! 
 
 What if my tears bedew 
 
 An old-world pleasure? 
 What if I hail as new 
 
 An old-world treasure? 
 Sing, as if sung by few, 
 
 A well-worn measure 
 Outwearing Time? 
 
 Still may a mother see 
 
 God's Angels flocking 
 To this fresh mystery, 
 
 Her cradle's rocking; 
 Still with sure heart may she 
 
 Mock cynics mocking 
 
 Her tears and rhyme ! 
 
192 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 LIGHT is failing, and colour waning, 
 Well, the day has been long and fair 
 Mar not we with a note of plaining 
 Earth's content as she lieth there. 
 
 Just ere dawn did we gaze and listen, 
 Leaning over your window-cill; 
 
 Watched the first rim of gray cloud glisten 
 Through yon pines on our eastern hill. 
 
 Caught the earhest male-bird's twitter 
 'Mid the laurel, as half in fear. 
 
 Calling low to his cosy sitter, 
 " Wake, my dearest, the morn is here." 
 
 Soon, as streams, on the eve of breaking. 
 Steal, to the last inert and still, 
 
 Then leap suddenly, foaming, shaking 
 Down the rifts of a rocky hill, 
 
Evening. 19: 
 
 So the flood of the morn reviving, 
 
 Multitudinous, eager, ran; 
 Hunger, passion, and joy, and striving, 
 
 All the stress of the day began. 
 
 Shared we not in the toil and splendour. 
 Followed noon to her hard-won rest. 
 
 Watched day turn, as with eyes grown tender. 
 Matron-like, to the sober west? 
 
 All remembering, nought regretting, 
 Turn we, too, to the verge, and gaze 
 
 Far beyond on that unseen setting 
 Flushed with promise of endless days. 
 
194 
 
 MOBILE E DIFFICILE. 
 
 T^-ROWNS, like a fleecy cloud 
 -»■ Braiding an azure noon, 
 Tears, like a shower in June, 
 Lasting no longer; 
 Smiles, that make morn a shroud. 
 Stern lips, that grant no leave. 
 Whispering without reprieve, 
 " I am the stronger." 
 
 These be the sum of all 
 Thou art to many a swain. 
 Who to revenge their pain, 
 Love to defame thee ; 
 But what they moodish call, 
 I with a loyal sigh, 
 Own is full maidenly. 
 Nor will I blame thee. 
 
Mobile e Difficile. 195 
 
 Yet, though thou floutest me, 
 Well could'st thou love, I trow, 
 Else would those eyes not glow. 
 As I have seen them; 
 So, when in days to be 
 Thy will to yield inclines, 
 Write, though demure the lines, 
 I'll read between them. 
 
196 
 
 EYES. 
 
 /'"^ RAY, brown, or hazel, 
 ^^-^ Were they, or blue? 
 What the true tint of them 
 I never knew. 
 
 Plunged in a passion 
 
 Of sea-depths new. 
 Green, pearl, or golden. 
 
 Rose, azure, who, 
 
 Basking, and bathing, 
 
 Steeped through and through, 
 Would waste one moment 
 
 To mark their hue? 
 
197 
 
 THE WASP. 
 
 A WASP crawls on my window-pane, 
 ■^ *- Alas, alas, the green corn and the clover. 
 He ne'er will sting or soar again; 
 
 Sing heigh ho, for the bonny days are over'. 
 
 Too weakly grown for wrath or play, 
 Alas, alas, the green corn and the clover. 
 
 With scarce a life to take away; 
 
 Sing heigh ho, for the bonny days are over'. 
 
 In summer fruits and summer flowers, 
 Alas, alas, the green corn and the clover. 
 
 His joys have been, no less than ours; 
 Sing heigh ho, for the bonny days are over! 
 
 He flitted, floated, sipped his fill, 
 
 Alas, alas, the green corn and the clover. 
 
 And now he feels October's chill; 
 
 Sing heigh ho, for the bonny days are over! 
 
198 The Wasp. 
 
 There is nought living but devours, 
 
 Alas, alas, the green corn and the clover. 
 
 The poison of the honied hours; 
 
 Sing heigh ho, for the bonny days are over! 
 
 Now he must die, or he must keep, 
 
 Alas, alas, the green corn and the clover, 
 
 A six months' solitude of sleep; 
 
 Sing heigh ho, for the bonny days are over! 
 
 Poor thing ! And I must suffer too, 
 
 Alas, alas, the green corn and the clover, 
 
 Heart-hunger all the winter through; 
 
 Sing heigh ho, for the bonny days are over! 
 
 Who knoweth if a Spring shall be, 
 
 Alas, alas, the green corn and tlie clover, 
 
 Of life for him, of love for me ; 
 
 Sing heigh ho, for the bonny days are over I 
 
 Ah come, ah come then, kindly Spring, 
 Alas, alas, the green corn and tJie clover. 
 
 And say " My friend, you need not sing 
 
 Your ' Heigh ho for the bonny days are over! ' " 
 
199 
 
 LOVE'S DAY. 
 
 LOVE waved his rosy torch 
 O'er our day's dawning, 
 Love's plumes athwart the noon 
 Spread us an awning; 
 
 Still on the Evening skies 
 His tints were glowing ; 
 
 Night fell and I alone 
 Wept at his going. 
 
200 
 
 DESERTED. 
 
 WHAT, art thou leaving me? 
 Go not for shame ! 
 Would'st thou have perjury 
 Writ o'er thy name? 
 
 Shame art thou bold to dar^ 
 
 Let then fear stay thee, 
 Lest some more cruel fair, 
 
 Forsaken, slay thee. 
 
 Gone ! Take then this farewell, 
 
 Once and for all; 
 On thee from Heaven or Hell 
 
 May vengeance fall ! 
 
20I 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 T DREAMED that I flung a stone 
 •*- And called to the careless sea, 
 "To add to thy thousands one, 
 Take this, it is nought, from me." 
 
 But I woke with a cry and a start 
 As it sank far lost in the blue. 
 
 For what I had flung was my heart, 
 And the motionless deeps were you. 
 
202 
 
 FAREWELL TO THE WETTERAU. 
 
 '"T^HE hour of farewell soundeth now, 
 -•- So, Wirthinn, vortreffliche Frau, 
 I'll drink before I start to-morrow 
 
 One last deep draught to the Wetterau. 
 
 Nay, drink thou too, oh hostess mine; 
 'Tis thine own honest Rhenish wine; 
 Each sip of thine evaded duty 
 Imposes airs of excess on mine. 
 
 Oh sumptuous sweep of fenceless plain, 
 Thy goodly breadths of amber grain, 
 
 Thy scarf of varied green, thine orchards, 
 I ne'er may hope to behold again ; 
 
 Nor haunt thy choicer spaces where 
 Rose-gardens steep the morning air. 
 
 Like peasants rarely dowered transcending 
 The bounds of kind in a beauty rare. 
 
Farcioell to the Wetterau. 203 
 
 How have I learned as friends to greet 
 Each well-known wild flower that I meet, 
 The dusty bees, the hissing crickets, 
 And phrenzied grasshoppers at my feet, 
 
 Who start with fatuous bound and spring 
 From tufts of thyme and waxy ling. 
 
 And sunwards spread for one wild moment 
 The azure film of an elfin wing. 
 
 Where'er I mount thine easy hills 
 My soul with joy thy landscape fills. 
 
 Thy woods, thy guardian fringe of mountains. 
 Thy hamlets huddling about the rills; 
 
 Their vineclad walls with many a stain; 
 Geese trooping home by street and lane; 
 And arch-spanned yards, a snug confusion 
 Of dovecote, ladder, and loft and wain ; 
 
 And low-browed, curtained casements set 
 With heliotrope and mignonette, 
 
 'Neath slatey curves of roof and gable. 
 That brave the hand of the spoiler yet. 
 
204 Farewell to the Wetterau. 
 
 Alone, unvexed by prouder peers, 
 Its friendly crest thy Friedberg rears ; 
 No peasant now from its staid turret 
 A beacon sees or a tocsin hears. 
 
 For not less dead its feudal care 
 'Gainst chance of mediaeval scare, 
 Than Roman ward in foss and agger 
 We mark in Pfahlgraben here and there. 
 
 And vainly would its warders scan 
 Thy breadths in search of hostile clan. 
 
 Where calm lies spread, and peace, and plenty 
 For all that liveth, and e'en for man. 
 
 At trace and plough sleek horses strain, 
 Sleek milking mothers tug the wain; 
 And sleek the solid lads and lasses 
 Who reap and gather the golden grain. 
 
 Thrice happy folk who plant, and till, 
 And work, and rest, and take your fill; 
 Your own the threshing-floor, the garner. 
 Your own the grist of the busy mill ! 
 
Farewell to the Wetter au. 205 
 
 Your Autumn toils are wellnigh o'er ; 
 The fatted lands lie brown ; once more 
 Your welcome give to lamplit winter, 
 
 Made warm and full from an ample store. 
 
 Oh, that 'twere mine to see and sing 
 Your May and her apparelling. 
 Her fairy veil, and flowery kirtle 
 
 Of apple, cherry, and pear, in Spring. 
 
 Alas, my steps are homeward now; 
 To the good Rhenish God I bow; 
 My song is sung. His flask is empty ; 
 Farewell, farewell to the Wetterau ! 
 
206 
 
 THE SINGER'S MISSION. 
 
 WHAT mission have I to the world, say'st 
 thou? 
 Nay none, perchance; more than yon hawthorn 
 tree. 
 That spreads its fragrant shows on every bough; 
 So 'tis, superior friend, I own, with me. 
 
 The oak, the elm, the cedar, and the pine, 
 Do loftier service through a longer day; 
 
 Still, 'tis the hawthorn's duty, and 'tis mine. 
 To bear our low-set blossoms as we may. 
 
207 
 
 SUB FINE LABORUM. 
 
 WE talked on a seat in the shade, 
 He leaned with his chin on a staff, 
 And a smile on his countenance strayed, 
 That was no way akin to a laugh. 
 
 As he said, with his eyes on the ground, 
 "Your life has been simple and fine. 
 
 Well piloted, healthily bound; 
 And now for an outline of mine. 
 
 " I have lived in a world of my own, 
 Low-lying, love-lighted, and clear, 
 
 Out of which I have sauntered to town 
 To make a few thousands a year. 
 
 " I have wrought, as my workfellows know. 
 Far harder than most of my kind. 
 
 And I hope I may leave, when I go, 
 Some savour of credit behind. 
 
2o8 Sub fine laborum. 
 
 " I have spumed all political prigs, 
 
 Their bluster, their froth, and foul play, 
 
 But I honour the Boucol who digs, 
 
 And have done him some good in my day. 
 
 " To yawn in a weed-plot of ' isms ' 
 
 I never was largely inclined, 
 Through the sludge of new Systems and Schisms 
 
 I have holden the skirts of my mind. 
 
 " Yet I was not a cynic at worst, 
 
 Nor is it, I pray you believe, 
 lago alone who has curst 
 
 Those who carry their hearts on a sleeve. 
 
 " For my record of waste and regret. 
 
 Stain, suffering, failure, and fault. 
 Let it slumber — the hour is not yet — 
 
 Unopened in Memory's vault. 
 
 " Meanwhile, in this planet of strife 
 
 I have not unavailingly striven, 
 And so, I give thanks for my life, 
 
 In the Presence where thanks should be given. 
 
Sub fine laborum. 209 
 
 " Yet half of that life was a dream, 
 
 And sweetest the half that I stole 
 For the passion that still is supreme 
 
 In the thing I have meant by my soul. 
 
 " But I loved not the mothers who fling 
 Their babies for wolves to devour, 
 
 Nor poets who dangle and string 
 
 Their songs to make sport for the hour. 
 
 "Ye pages of pleasure and pain. 
 
 Loved scrolls of my creed and my tears, 
 
 Ye are Time's to divulge or retain. 
 At his will, as he wieldeth the years. 
 
 " For fame, I esteem it as nought; 
 
 I stand with my withers unwrung; 
 I shall die, well content to have wrought, 
 
 And ten times content to have sung." 
 
 He ceased, and was silent awhile; 
 
 Then, lifting his eyes from the ground. 
 Said " Come for a stroll, just a mile, 
 
 There is time ere the dressing-bell sound." 
 p 
 
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