Part 2

So, on we marched, till dawn, across the plain; And, on and on, Beneath the waxing moon, Each night we travelled Westward; Until, at last, we halted By the broad dull-gleaming flood Of mighty, roaring Tigris; And aroused from midnight slumber The surly, grumbling ferrymen, And crossed the swollen waters Upon the great, skin rafts: Then on again we fared, Until the far, dim towers soared in the dawnlight And we encamped beside a stream, Beneath dry, rustling palms. And heavily I slumbered: And only wakened once, at noon, When, lifting up my head, I saw the towers of Babylon, burning blue, Far off, in the blind heat: And slept again, till sunset, When we took our Westward course Along the low bank of a broad canal, That glimmered wanly 'neath a moonless sky. Higher, and higher still, As we drew slowly nearer, Arose the vasty walls and serried towers, That seemed to thrust among the stars, And on embattled summits bear the night, Unbowed beneath their burden, As easily as, with unruffled brows, And limber, upright bodies, The village-daughters carry At eve the brimming pitchers, Poised upon their heads. And when, above us, the wide-looming walls Shut out the Western stars; Beneath their shade, at midnight, we encamped, To await till dawn should open The city gates for us. That night we did not sleep, But, crouched upon the ground, We watched the moon rise over Babylon, Till, far behind us, o'er the glittering waste, Was flung the wall's huge shadow, And the moving shades of sentries, Who, unseen above our heads, Paced through the night incessantly. Thus long we sat, hushed with awed expectation, And gazing o'er the plain that we had travelled, As, gradually, the climbing moon, Escaping from the clustering towers, Revealed far-gleaming waters, And the sharp, shrill cry of owls, Sweeping by on noiseless plumes, Assailed the vasty silence, Shivering off like darts From some impenetrable shield. And, as we waited, Sometimes, fearfully, I gazed up those stupendous, soaring walls Of that great, slumbering city, wondering What doom behind the bastioned ramparts slept, What destiny, beneath the brooding night, Awaited me beyond the brazen gates. But, naught the blind, indifferent stars revealed, Though towards the long night's ending, Half-dazed with gazing up that aching height, A drowsiness fell over me, And in a restless waking-trance I lay, Dreaming that Life and Death before me stood. And, as each thrust towards me a shrouded cup, Implacable silence bade me choose and drink. But, as I stretched a blind, uncertain hand To take the cup of death, I wakened, and dawn trembled, At last, beyond the Eastern hills, And, star by star, night failed; And eagerly the sun leapt up the sky, And, as his flashing rays Smote kindling towers and flaming gates of brass, Across the reedy moat A clattering drawbridge fell, And wide the glittering portals slowly swung: And there came streaming out in slow procession A sleepy caravan of slouching camels, Groaning and grumbling as they strode along Beneath their mountainous burdens, Upon whose swaying summits, Impassively, the blue-robed merchants sat. They passed us slowly by, And then we took the bridge, And, while our captors parleyed with the guards, Who stood, on either hand, With naked swords, I turned my head, And saw for the last time, far Eastward, The cold, snow-brilliant peaks, Beyond my dim, blue, native hills. And, as I looked, my thoughts flew homeward, And I, one dreaming moment, Stood by my mourning mother in the cavern Of desolation, looking on the dead. And then, between the brazen gate-posts, And underneath the brazen lintel, At last we entered Babylon. Before us, yet another wall arose, And, turning sharply Down a narrow way, The living breath of heaven seemed shut from us As though beneath the beetling crags Of some deep mountain-gorge-- By cliffs of wall, on either hand, That soared up to the narrow sky, Which with dim lustre lit The shimmering surface of enamelled brick, Whereon, through giant groves, Blue-coated hunters chased the boar, Or 'loosed red-tasselled falcon After flying crane. But soon we reached another gate, Sword-guarded, and we entered, And plunged into the traffic Of clamorous merchantmen, Speeding their business ere the heat of day. And as we jostled, slowly, Through bewildering bazaars, The porters and the idler wayfarers All turned to look upon our shame, With cold, unpitying eyes, And indolent, gaping mouths, Or jested with our captors, Until we left the busier thoroughfares, And walked through groves of cypress and of ilex, Where not a sound or rumour troubled The silence of the dark-plumed boughs And glimmering deeps of peace, Save only the cool spurt of waters That, from a myriad unseen jets, Fretted the crystal airs of morning, And fell in frolic showers Of twinkling, rainbow drops, That plashed in unseen basins; And through the blaze of almond-orchards, Tremulous with blossom That flickered in a rosy, silken snow Of falling petals over us, And wreathed about our feet In soft and scented drifts; Beneath pomegranate trees in young, green leaf, And through vast gardens, glowing with strange flowers, Such as no April kindled into bloom Among the valleys of my native hills. We came unto a court of many fountains, Where, leaping off their jaded mules, Our captors loosed the thongs that held us, But left our wrists still bound. And one with great clay pitchers came, And over our hot bodies, travel-stained, Poured out cool, cleansing waters In a gurgling, crystal stream, And flung coarse robes of indigo About our naked shoulders. And here we left behind us The maidens and the younger boys, And passing through a gateway, Came out upon a busy wharf, Where, southward, midway through the city, The broad Euphrates flows, His dark flood thronged with merchant-dhows, And fishing-boats of reed and bitumen, Piled high with glistering barbel, freshly-caught; And foreign craft, with many-coloured sails, And laden deep with precious merchandise, That, over wide, bewildering waters, Across the perilous world, The adventurous, dark-bearded mariners, Who swear by unknown gods in alien tongues, Bring ever to the gates of Babylon. We crossed the drawbridge, round whose granite piers Swirled strong, Spring-swollen waters, Loud and tawny, And, through great brazen portals, Passed within the palace gates, When first I saw afar the hanging-gardens, Arch on arch, And tier on tier, Against a glowing sky. Two strapping Nubians, like young giants Hewn from blue-black marble By some immortal hand in immemorial ages, Led us slowly onward. The dappled pard-skins, slung across their shoulders, Scarcely hid the ox-like thews, Beneath the dark skin rippling, As they strode along before us. Through courts of alabaster, And painted corridors,

And chambers fair with flowery tapestries They led us, wondering, till at last we came Into a vast, dim hall of glimmering gold, The end of all our journeying. And, as we halted on the threshold, My eyes could see but little for a moment, In the dusky, heavy air, Through the ceaseless cloud of incense, Rising from the smouldering braziers To the gold, grey-clouded dome, Tingling strangely in my nostrils, As I came from morning airs; Then slowly filling them with drowsy fume, When, looking up with half-dazed eyes, I saw the King upon his golden throne: And through my body Raged rebellious blood, In baffled riot beating At my corded wrists, As if to burst the galling bonds, That I might hurl that lean, swart face, So idly turning towards us, With thin curled lips, And cold, incurious eyes, To headlong death-- Yea! even though I tumbled The towers of Babylon round about my head. And, when our captors bowed their foreheads low, Obsequious to the throne, I stood upright, And gazed my loathing on that listless form-- The gay, embroidered robe, The golden cap, that prankt the crisped locks, The short, square beard, new-oiled and barbered-- But, in a flash, A heavy blow Fell on my head, And struck me to my knees Before the sleek, indifferent king. And then, on either hand, With gripping palms upon my shoulders set, The Nubians towered above me Like mighty men of stone. And savagely I struggled, Half-stunned, to rise again; When, as I vainly battled In their unrelenting clutch, My eyes lit for the first time on the Queen, Who sat upon the dais, by her lord Half-shadowed, on a throne of ivory, And all the hate died in me, as I saw The face that hovered over me in dream, When I had slept beneath the low-boughed cedar: The moon-pale brows, o'er which the clustered hair Hung like the smoke of torches, ruddy-gold, Against a canopy of peacock plumes: The deep brown, burning eyes, From which the soul looked on me in fierce pity. And, as I gazed on that exultant beauty, The hunter and the slayer of men Was slain within me instantly, And I forgot the mountains and my home; My desolate mother, and my father's death; My captive sisters ... and the throned King! I was as one, that moment, New-born into the world Full-limbed and thewed, Yet, with the wondering heart Of earth-bewildered childhood. And, unto me, it seemed That, as the Queen looked down on me, There stole into her eyes Some dim remembrance of old dreams, That in their brown depths flickered With strange, elusive light, Like stars that tremble in still forest-pools. One spake-- I scarce knew whom, nor cared-- And bade me choose, Before the throne, Between a life of slavery, Or merciful, swift death-- Death, that but a moment since, I would have dragged, exulting, on me-- And with my eyes still set on the Queen's face, I answered: "I will serve": And scarcely heeded that my wrists were loosed.

And, huddled in a stifling hut, That night, among my fellows, I could not sleep at all: But gazed, wild-eyed, till dawn upon that face, Which hovered o'er me, like the moon of dreams; And seemed to draw the wandering tides of life In one vast wave, which ever strove To climb the heavens wherein she moved, That it might break in triumphing foam about her. Not then, nor ever afterwards, Was I a slave, among my fellow-slaves, But one, who, with mean drudgery, And daily penance serves Before a holy altar, That, sometimes, as he labours, his glad eyes May catch a gleam of the immortal light Within the secret shrine; Yea! and, maybe, shall look, one day, with trembling, On the bright-haired, imperishable god. And, even when, day after day, I bore the big reed-baskets, laden With wet clay, digged beyond the Western moat, Although I seemed to tread, As treads the ox that turns the water-wheel, A blindfold round of servitude, My quenchless vision ever burned before me: And when, in after days, I fed The roaring oven-furnaces; And toiled by them through sweltering days, Though over me, at times, would come Great longing for the hill-tops, And the noise of torrent-waters: Or when, more skilled, I moulded The damp clay into bricks; And spread the colour and the glaze; And in strength-giving heat of glowing kilns, I baked them durable, Clean-shaped, and meet for service: My vision flamed yet brighter; And unto me it seemed As if my gross and useless clay were burned In a white ecstasy of lustral fire, That, in the fashioning of the house of love, I might serve perfectly the builder's need. Thus, many months, I laboured; Till, one day, at the noontide hour of rest, I lay; and with a sharpened reed-- As temple-scribes write down the holy lore On tablets of wet clay-- On the moist earth beside me, I limned a young fawn, cropping A bunch of tender, overhanging leaves. And, as I slowly drew, I dreamt a little sadly of the days, When I, too, roamed, untethered, And drinking in, unquestioning, The sunshine and the air, And all the rapture of the earth that turns, New every morning to the wondering sun, Refashioned in still nights of starry dews: But one, the while, unseen of me, Watched my unconscious hand, approving: And I was set, next morning, Among the craftsmen, who so deftly limned The hunts and battles for the palace walls. And, happily, with them I lived A life of loving labour, for each line Flowed from the knowledge of my heart: I drew the startled ostrich Fleeing from the far-flung noose: The brindled lynx; the onaga In dewy-plashing flight; The bristling boar, at bay, Crouched in a deadly ring of threatening spears, With streaming nostrils, and red eyes ablaze; The striped hyaena; the gaunt, green-eyed wolf; The skulking jackal; the grey, brush-tailed fox; The hunting leopard and the antelope, In mid-chase tense, With every thew astrain; The dappled panther; the brown-eyed gazelle, Butting with black horns through the tangled brake The nimble hare, alert, with pricked-up ears; The tiger, crouched, with yellow eyes afire; The shaggy mountain-goat, Perched on the utmost crag, Against the afterglow of lucent ruby, Or, poised with bunching hoofs In mid-spring over a dark, yawning chasm; Or the black stallion, with his tameless troop, Fording a mountain-river in the dawn. And, sometimes, as we toiled, A terrible fleeting rapture Would come upon me, when the Queen Passed by us with her maidens; Or paused, a moment, gazing, With tranced and kindling eyes upon our labours: But never did I dare, at any time, To lift my eyes to hers, And look, as soul on soul, As on the day her beauty brought to birth The strange new life within me. In silence she would ever leave us; And ever with her passing perished The light and colour of my work; So that my heart failed, daunted by that glimpse Of the ever-living beauty. And, sometimes, I would carve in ruddy teak, Or ivory, from the Indian merchants bought, Or in the rare, black basalt, little beasts To please the idle fancies of the King; Or model in wet clay, and cast in bronze, Great bulls and lions for the palace-courts; Or carve him seals of lapis-lazuli, Of jasper, amethyst and serpentine, Chalcedony--carnelian, chrysoprase, Agate, sardonyx, and chalcedonyx-- Green jade, and alabaster; Or cut in stones that flashed and flickered Like a glancing kingfisher, Or, in the sun-filled amber, The kite with broad wings spread, Or little fluttering doves that pecked A golden bunch of dates: And then of these in settings of fine gold Made fillets, rings and ear-rings.

Thus, one day, Dreaming, as ever, of the Queen, I wrought a golden serpent for her hair: And when I brought it to the King, next morn, Where he sat brooding over chess, He bade me bear it to the Queen, myself, And so, I went unto her, where she sat, Among her singing maidens, at the loom, Weaving a silken web of Tyrian dye. I laid the trinket at her feet, in silence: And she arose, and set it in her hair, Whose living lustre far outshone The cold, dead metal I had fashioned, As she stood before me, dreaming, In her robe of flowing blue; Then looked a moment on me with kind eyes. And though she spoke no word, I turned, and fled, in trembling, Before the light that shivered through me, And struck my soul with shuddering ecstasy: And, still, through many days, Although I did not look again Upon those dreaming eyes, Their visionary light Within my soul, revealed eternity.

Thus, have the mortal years Flowed onward to the perfect end-- This day of days, That never night shall quench, Nor darkness vanquish: And, at dawn, I die.

And yet, this morning, as I slowly climbed The steep, ascending stages That lead up to the hanging-gardens-- Where, tier on tier, The great brick arches bore Their April wealth of blossoms, Plumed with palm and dusky cypress-- I little knew that I Who came to carve a garland Round a fountain's porphry basin, Should scale so soon the utmost peak of life. Throughout the morn I toiled, Until an hour ere noon-- For no one, save the King and Queen, May walk in those high gardens, after midday-- When, underneath a cypress shade, I paused, a moment, resting; And looking down upon the basking city, Beneath me slumbering deeply-- Garden on garden glowing, grove on grove, Like some green fabric, shot with myriad hues, And chequered with white clusters of flat roofs, Aquiver in clear heat: And then I gazed up through the aching azure, At the restless kites that hover Ever over Babylon: And, as I watched one broad-winged bird that hung Above the seven-coloured pyramid Of Bel's great temple, With wide pinions spread, As though it kept eternal vigil over The golden image in the golden shrine, I thought of eagles poised Above the peaks of glittering snows, Beyond the Eastern plains. Half-dreaming, thus, I lay, Lulled by the tinkling waters, Till, unawares, sleep slowly overcame me; And noonday drifted by: And still, I slept, unheeding: And, in my sleep, I looked on Beauty in a quiet place Of forest gloom and immemorial dream: When, something rousing me from slumber, With waking eyes that yet seemed dream-enchanted, I looked upon the Queen, Where, in a secret close, Set thickly round with screens of yew and ilex, She stood upon the dark, broad brim Of a wide granite basin, gazing down, With dreaming eyes, into the glooming cool, Unraimented, save of the flickering gleam, Reflected from the lucent waters, That flowed before her silently: And slowly, from her feet, The cold light rippled up her body, till, Entangled in the meshes of her hair, It flooded the calm rapture of her face: When, dreaming still, she lifted up her eyes, Unseeing; and I looked upon her soul, Unveiled, in naked immortality, Untrammelled by the trappings of brief time, And cloaks of circumstance. How long I looked upon the perfect beauty, I cannot tell-- Each moment, flowing to eternity, Bearing me further from time's narrow shores; Though, yet, a little while, From those unshadowed deeps time sought to hold me.

Suddenly, I felt A ghostly arrow pierce my life; And I leapt up, and turning, I saw the King beside me, With steely, glittering eyes Shooting barbed anger, Though he coldly spake, With evil, curling lips: "Slave, thou art dead!" And yet I did not quail: But, looking 'twixt his brows, I answered: and he blenched before my words: "Nay! I have seen: "And am newborn, a King!" And then his craven fingers Went quaking to his wagging beard, As if he felt my clutch upon his throat: Yet, though, with one quick blow, I might have hurled him down to death, I never stirred: And, eyeing me, he summoned The negro-eunuchs, who kept watch below: But I, ere they could spring up the first stage, Went forth to meet them; And they bound my wrists.

And so, down from the hills, my life has flowed, Until, at fullest flood, it meets the sea. With calm and unregretful heart, I wait Till dawn shall loose the arrow from the bow. I, who, with eager, faltering hand have sought To fashion a little beauty, in the end, Have looked on the perfect beauty, and I die-- Even as the priest, who, in the heart of night, Trembling before the thunder-riven shrine, Looks on the face of God, and perishes. I die... And yet, maybe, when earth lies heavily Upon the time-o'ertoppled towers, And tumbled walls, and broken gates of brass; And the winds whisper one another: "Where, Oh! where is Babylon?" In the dim underworld of dreaming shades, My soul shall seek out beauty And look, once more, Upon the unveiled vision... And not die.

Night passes: and already in the court, Amid the plash of fountains, There sounds the pad of naked feet approaching. With slow, deliberate pace, As though they trod out all my perished years, The Nubians come, to lead me out to death. Slowly the great door opens; And clearer comes the call of waters; Cool airs are on my brow ... Lo! ... in the East, the dawn.

LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.