Part 2

Listen and hear Rome roaring from afar! Oh, hearken to the tumult of the hordes Of Caesar, drunk with the red wine of war! Blow trumpets! Clang, O brazen shields and swords, Your thunder to the steady march of men! And sing, O purple pennons that unfold Beneath the bronze-tipped menace of the spears! The gods! The gods are gleaming on the gold, Wide-winged, great eagles of the Tiber, when The standard of the Emperor appears!

X

Come, Cleopatra, from thy prison break, And I will gather now my waiting band-- My cohorts; yea, I will rise up and shake Over Octavius a mighty hand; Yea, I-- What sayest thou? The Queen is dead? O Joy of gods and men! thou couldst not die-- Never to Cleopatra could come death! There, lad! hold thou my sword, and let me fly On wings of love to realms unvisited Where Cleopatra, waiting, wandereth!

PAUL TO TIMOTHY

The long day ends at last, O Timothy, And I, Paul, prisoner of Jesus Christ, Wait for the dark.

Upon my window-ledge A sparrow twitters, pecks at the iron bars As though to set me free this night of Rome. A lad is singing somewhere in the street; His voice, careless and free, recalls Cilicia-- Tarsus, my city, where the Cydnus flows-- Recalls those first, far days when in my heart No pain had found a place, and I was Saul-- Named for the Son of Kish--A Benjamite.

How swiftly Age turns back the gate of Time, And with what eager pace pursues the path Trod by the feet of Childhood! I can see The scarlet-prowed Phenician ships, triremes Down from the Tiber, and Egyptian barges, Abundant fruitage of the date and palm, Tall, Bacchic amphora, and perfumed bales Of Tyrian purple, stand along the quay; And I can hear the sailors and their songs, The strange, brown mariners of many seas, With arms like anchor-cables in their strength: Oh, then was I a wanderer of earth, And dreamed of brave adventure in far lands!

They say the Hebrew burning in my blood Closed all life's doors, save one, upon the world; That I, the Pharisee of Pharisees, Contemned the beauty and the song of Greece! How little do they know, my Timothy, My dear disciple, and my bosom friend, Heart, soul, feet, hands, eyes, ears, and lips of Paul, How little do they know! To-morrow morn Without the city wall I shall kneel down Before the Roman sword and die!

O Death, Where is thy sting? O Grave.... The lad still sings! Would thou could hear his song: Anacreon? Nay; Sappho! He? Athenian, I think. 'Tis such a voice as that which Eunice heard-- Son of the Faith once and for all delivered-- Oft in the streets of Lystra's eventide, Telling of Timothy returning home, Or ever thou didst follow Christ and Paul. Why doth he sing, and hale me back to life Who on the morn must die? And Sappho's song! Flee from this wicked world ordained to death! The wrath of God is kindled in the sky, And Babylon shall be consumed in smoke!

How all the gold has gone from out the west: 'Tis crimson now, and on the Forum falls A menace as of blood! O Babylon, The cup of thine iniquity is full, And runneth over even to the ground!

Still doth he sing; and always Sappho's song! O Greece, the tongue of Homer and of Paul Is in that song! Behold, the sound thereof Goes forth unto the ends of all the world; And neither speech nor language shall prevail Upon its magic and its mastery!

How little do they know, son Timothy, Of Paul, the prisoner of Jesus Christ. A Pharisee? Yea, straitest of that sect. Learned in the law? Aye, from Gamaliel. And persecutor of the Church of God? Saul who consented unto Stephen's death! Ah, woe is me! Yet little do they know, Who know not this: the law of sin and death Is done away in Christ, by Whom all things Are sanctified; and neither Jew nor Greek, And neither bond nor free, exist in Him Who is the First Begotten Son of God, The Keystone of life's slow-ascending arch, And Who completeth all things in Himself.

Nathless, I found this truth not easily: In those far boyhood days beside the Cydnus, Watching the sailors and the ships, I felt Shame of my passion for the many tones And tinctures of the coloured sails and prows, Shame at the tumult in my heart at songs Sung by the boatmen; for the law is hard, And presseth with a heavy hand upon Youth and the innocent delights of youth.

Young Rabbi Saul the Thunderer, and Saul Consenting unto Stephen's death, are dead; Slain by the piercing of the Cross of Christ! Christ of the lilies--He Who loved the fields, And heard the children in the market place Complaining at the unresponsive feet, And ears deaf to their piping and sweet song.

Doth He know my lad singing in the street-- My young Athenian, whose voice for Paul Breathes _Ave atque Vale_ on the world?

Christ is not quickly learned; and gradual Is the progression of a soul to Him. Hard strove I through the barriers of thought, And one by one dissolved the old ideas That misted o'er the mountains of desire, Before I found that all things beautiful, Like lilies of the open field, are spread Beneath the benediction of His love.

Write this again: _There is no bond nor free!_ This is the Faith; and this is Jesus Christ, The Saviour of the world! Think what it means, O Timothy, this Faith thou hast received To give and guard at Ephesus. Let fall Distinctions from henceforth, and keep in one The diverse aspirations of mankind. Jerusalem and Alexandria, Rome, Athens, Corinth and Iconium, Moses and Socrates, Plato and Paul, Isaiah, Homer, and Euripides, Bezaleel and thine own Phidias, David and Sappho--all are in His heart!

Thou wilt remember what I lately wrote-- The feet of him who bears that letter speed, As sped Pheidippides--"All inspired Scripture Is given of God;" for nothing beautiful Lives but by breathing of the Holy Ghost.

Force is of Satan; Art the child of God; And they, who like this foredoomed Babylon Build citadels cemented by men's blood, Are numbered with the damned!

Do I not know? Am I not Paul, the prisoner of Christ?

Creators of sweet sounds and lovely forms Care not for Babylon; they seek the hills, And know God in the thunders of the seas; They find Him where pomegranate and the pine Are passionate with pleading of all souls That are with dross of earth unsatisfied. This have I learned from the Athenian Who sings the song of Sappho unto Paul.

Gone are the gold and scarlet from the west; Night falls; and Rome is like the Galaxy-- Indefinite with stars. A myriad Of tiny flames are flaring on the hills; And in those evening fires the souls of men Are manifested--souls that upward burn In emulation of the beautiful: For the invisible, pure things of Him From the creation of the world are seen And understood by what is made. One God, One Law, one Hope, one Faith, and one Desire, Are in the impulse of creative hands, And on the lips that sing--as sings the lad To Paul the prisoner, great Sappho's song!

DIVES IN TORMENT

Out of the gulf of a grief that is flame, Spent with the storm of an aeon of tears, Call I at last the Ineffable Name-- Thou Who art throned o'er the flood of the years

Dim are the depths of the City of Dis Where Thou hast plunged me; an infinite pain Harries me on to its lowest abyss, Beats on my head in a torment of rain.

Shapes that are dreadful with uttermost hate Follow me down, and a Voice follows after: Stay! thou dost flee from the furies of Fate! Hell trembles with their demoniac laughter.

Why didst Thou form me so helpless and frail Out of the clod and allied to the star? Lured by the vision and fashioned to fail, Is it my fault I have fallen so far?

Why in my breast didst Thou kindle desire, Love for the lips of a woman divine? Why did I swoon at the sound of the lyre, Dance and grow wild in the wonder of wine?

God, how I hate Thee enthroned in the sky; Cruel Omnipotence torturing me! Clenched are these manacled hands that defy Hosts of the seraphim singing to Thee!

Paused One a moment and played on a harp, Joyous and free in the quest of his star: Passed and was gone, in despair of the sharp Pain that smote me like a swift scimetar--

Pain that was memory stirred by his song-- Breath of the lily and breath of the rose, Myrrh on the fingers of maidens that throng Home from the pools when the day is at close:

Hark! how they sing as they carry the jars High on the shoulder: "Home, home from the well! Gold on the dates is the kiss of the stars, Soft as the kiss of betrothal that fell

Sweet on the lips when my lover claimed me Caught in the vineyard, delayed by the moon Orbed in the west, which I tarried to see:-- Night hath a charm that is not in the noon."

Flight of the Seraph, thou bringest me this-- Love and the laughter of maidens who tell Life is revealed in the breath of a kiss; Softly they sing it: "Home, home from the well!"

Flight of the Seraph, delay, oh, delay! Spread wide those pinions of purple and gold; Strike on the strings, O my Harpist, and play! Sing me that song that they anthemed of old,

When from the dust all my members were made, When o'er the cradle a mother looked down, Saw me, her first-born, and clasped me and prayed God to bequeath me a sceptre and crown!

Sing till Jehovah is shamed by that prayer-- False to the covenant sealed by her pain, He Who hath damned what she suckled with care-- Sing back the years, and her love is again!

Gone is the Seraph! O God! and O God! Thou only art left, Thou only, and I-- Wouldst have my pity? I who am a clod Give that much, Torturer, throned in the sky.

Man is unconquered, Jehovah hath failed; Love and not Hate is the end of the law! Lonely is He, and His heart is assailed By the swift arrow He ventured to draw--

Head to the bow and the haft to the cord-- Arrow called "Judgment" and "Rod of His Might," Barbed with the vengeance and wrath of the Lord, Winged with the flame of an infinite Right!

Yea, Thou hast pity! and Man will forgive-- Man will forgive and Thine anger forget-- Man who hath learned in the dying, to live! Open the books, for the judgment is set:

Was I to blame that Lazarus lurked Loathsome with sores at the banqueting hall, Vile in return for the labour he shirked, Begging for crumbs when the world was his all?

"The race to the swift," the proverb hath said; Fleet-footed I strove and won to the goal, Got me a palace, anointed my head, Unctioned my body and pleasured my soul--

Pleasured my soul that is tortured in hell! Unctioned my body that crumbles to dust! Got me a palace whose pinnacles fell! Gone are the garments to moth and to rust!

Dim are the depths of the gulf of my pain! Memory burns! ... The fine linen! ... The feast! Beautiful faces of souls I have slain! Blood of the threatening prophet and priest!

* * * * *

Lazarus! thou like a dream in the night Ere one awaketh to find that the day Leaps on the hills in the joy of his might, Sings till the shadows are driven away!

Lazarus! thou like a god in his star Speeding through space, and whose chariot wheels Thunder on pavements of crystal, and jar Hell's deep foundations! My spirit appeals,

Clamours and cries in protest of its pain, Rages and rails at the wreck and the wrong Done by Jehovah! Revenge is in vain; Hate hurls at Hate with a hate that is strong!

Lazarus, why art thou come unto me? Stand like a star on a mountain of morn, Spirit redeemed by Jehovah's decree, And drink to the dregs of my chalice of scorn.

Bitter the chalice of Dives' disgrace! Shudderest thou at the purple stained brim! Drink! or I dash the cup full in thy face-- Drink! and then back to hosannah and hymn!

Fade from my sight! and thy glory withdraw Over the gulf to dim islands of palm, Where the Redeemed by the blood of the law Sing to the Lord on their harps, with a psalm!

Taunt me not, Lazarus, thou, and thy smile! Pity or scorn I regard not! Away! Is Paradise lonely that thou must beguile Hell with thy holiness! What does thou say?

Nay, thou are silent; why wilt thou not speak? This is the torment: that never a word, Touch of a hand, or of lips on my cheek Cloud of Gehenna's death-stillness hath stirred.

Think of it, Lazarus! Thou wast alone; Down by the gate of my palace didst call: "Give of thy bread!" and I gave thee a stone! Lazarus! Lazarus! I would give all--

I would give all, for I know thou didst crave Love, only love, who had no one to love; Even as I who have learned in the grave What I had missed in the earth-life above.

Life is in loving: and lonely is he Who hath not found in the flower and fern, Song of the bird and the hum of the bee, Voice and a prayer as of spirits that yearn

Upward forever to fellowship; strive Bravely for place in the legions of light; Dauntless of death in the tempest they thrive, Laugh and are glad of the foe and the fight.

This was my failure, who thought that the feast Rivalled the rapture of bird on the wing; Rivalled the lily all robed like a priest; Smoke of the pollen when rose-censers swing.

This was my folly, who gave for a gown-- Purple and gold, and a bracelet and rings, Shouts in the streets as I rode through the town-- Life in the love of the kinship of things.

Lazarus! Lazarus! This is my thirst, Fever from flame of the love I have missed; Ache of the heart for the friends I have cursed; Longing for lips that I never have kissed!

Hell is for him who hath never found God Hid in the bramble that burns by the way; Findeth Him not in the stone and the clod; Heareth Him not at the cool of the day.

Hell is for him who hath never found Man! God and my Brother, I failing to find, Failed to find me; so my days were a span Void of the triumph of Spirit and Mind.

Once, I recall, at the table I leaned Back on the breast of Pomona, my slave, Saw through the window, with lattice-work screened, Thee in thy rags, and I laughed! then grew grave:

Up the white street came a Man with a face Sad with the woe and the pain of the world; Moving with kingliness, ease, and a grace; Crowned with wine-coloured hair wavy and curled

Over broad shoulders, so broad that I vowed Here was Messias--the Samson--the King! Leaped from the table and joined with the crowd; Offered my purple, my bracelet, my ring!

Then through the clamour and dust of the street Words of rebuke were directed to me: "Lift thou up Lazarus; give him a seat High among all who are feasting with thee."

Lift up the beggar! I laughed at Him there-- "Thou and Thy tattered ones take to the street-- I to the palace ... Begone! ... And beware! Caiaphas comes, and the Sanhedrin meet!

"Go! or I hale Thee to judgment of them; Go! or Thy God shall avail Thee in vain; Thou art of Japheth, and I am of Shem Lazarus, outcast and cursed with Cain!

"Needs must there be a division of men; Hewer of wood is the Gibeonite, Cutter of stone in the quarries, and then Slave to the Covenant-Israelite."

"Nay, all are equal and loved of the Lord," Whispered the Stranger. The listening street, Filled with the murmur of those who adored, Hushed at the sound of His voice that was sweet,

Stirring my heart as a harp in the hall, Silent for ages, is stirred by the wind Breathed through the arras; and memories call Over the summits of spirit and mind.

Yea, for a moment I struggled with Love; Yearned to embrace thee and pour on thy hair Oil of anointing, and place thee above All of the guests who were gathering there--

There in my palace of pleasure and ease, Builded by Herod, and bought with my gold, Portaled and curtained with soft tapestries Woven at looms of the Orient, sold

Down in Damascus. A palm in the sands, That was my palace; a palm with a soul Breathing of beauty when each leaf expands Out to the desert which brims like a bowl--

Brims like a bowl of Falernian wine Turned to the sun! O my palace and hall! O sound of the psaltery under the vine Grown in the garden! O footsteps that fall

Soft as the leaves in a pomegranate grove, Soft on the pavement of beryl and pearl Under the moon when my Miriam strove, Laughing, to dance down the Syrian girl!

These thrust between my compassion and thee-- Beauty that mocked like a maid from her bower-- Beauty that looked through the lattice at me; Sighed: "I have tarried, my Love, for this hour!"

Then to the palace all flaming I went, Flaming with love for Pomona, my pride. Back like a bow her dear body I bent, Kissed her and placed her in joy at my side;

Crowned her with myrtle, proclaimed her a queen; Drank to her eyes and her lips and her hair; Clasped on her throat of an ivory sheen Gems of an order kings only might wear.

Oh, how she sparkled and gleamed like a sword! Oh, how the cymbals and tabours did sound! Oh, my Pomona, my loved and adored-- Dust of the body is dust of the ground!

* * * * *

For I forgot Him, and bought with my gold Houses and lands. Yea, I sought far and wide Pleasure and ease. Then one day I was old.... Darkness came over the noon ... and I died!

Dead and companioned in pomp to the grave! Dead and forgotten in less than a day Save by Pomona, my mistress and slave Sold unto Herod! ... Oh, she had a way,

Turn of the head and glance of the eye! Touch of the hand and a fall of the feet! Voice that was coo of the dove and a cry Heard in the night when the seraphim meet!

Sometimes I fancy Gehenna's abyss Gleams with a light that is love; and I feel Lips on my lips in the tenderest kiss, Making hell heaven: as though the appeal

Sent from my soul to Pomona had gained Heart and the whole of her throned on a star, Where for an son of bliss she hath reigned Lonely for Dives so lost and afar!

Lazarus! Nearer! The light on thy face Shines through the dark! Oh, what glory is thine! Nay, not too near lest thou see my disgrace Naked! behold bruised the image divine!

Lazarus! Pity! Pursue not my soul Down the last gulf! I am fearful of thee-- Not of Jehovah, Whose thunders may roll Over my head--Have thou pity on me!

This have I learned in the torment of hell: Man is the judge of the soul that hath sin; Man must raise man from the depths where he fell, Hurled by the hand of his passion. Begin,

Lazarus, Lord of the light and the dark; Stand on the cloud that hath bridged the abyss, Judging my cause; for my spirit is stark Under thy glance in abandon of bliss!

Yea, there is joy in the judgment; a peace I have not known in an aeon of pain; Joy in the thought that thy love will not cease Till it hath cleansed all my spirit from stain.

Therefore I hail thee, O Lazarus! cry: "Hail to the love that restoreth the years The locusts have eaten! Search me and try The thought of my heart and the tale of my tears!"

Try me and prove me; for I am undone, Conquered by love of a love that hath sought Me unto hell! Thou hast triumphed and won, Lazarus, who for my spirit hath fought.

Yield I the trophies of battle; lay down All of the pride and the hatred of heart; Weeping I give thee my sceptre and crown; Nothing I claim; not a tithe, not a part!

* * * * *

Lazarus, art thou the same that I saw Begging for crumbs? Thou hast changed, thou hast changed! Through what dominions of wonder and awe, Beauty and joy, hast thou ranged, hast thou ranged?

Kingly and glorious, mantled with flame, Lo! in thyself the Messias I see. Lazarus, thou and the Christ art the same, Thou art the Christ and the Master of me--

Thou art Messias! ... And this Paradise! ... There is Pomona! ... There Mother who gave Breast to her babe! ... From Gehenna I rise Cleansed by a love that is mighty to save!

Light, and the sound of a song that is love! Light, and the freedom of spirit to soar! Light, and Messias enthroned above High where the seraphim bow and adore!

SONNETS AND SONGS

FELLOW CRAFTSMEN

As in some workshop where the hammers ring And bare-armed artizans toil, blow on blow, To make each, crude, imperfect member grow To the completed plan, rise thou, and fling Aside all doubt and languor; strive to bring The deed up to its best; in gladness go Undaunted; have full confidence; and know Thou and thy God can perfect everything!

Throughout the busy day He works with us And knows that we are tired; He hears and feels The grind of every cog, the plaint, the fuss, The purr of pinions in the thousand wheels That whir forever down the endless walls, Where, as we toil, His light perpetual falls.

POSCA

The light within the sky was growing dim. Death-white, a thorn-crowned face looked from a cross And watched with dying eyes the soldiers toss Dice for the seamless robe they stripped from Him; And of that number there was one who first Was touched with pity for Him hanging there, And ran a sponge of vinegar to bear, When in His anguish Jesus said: "I thirst!"

O nameless soldier of the long ago, Yours was the doing of a deathless deed; Who braved the people passing to and fro, And gave to Christ the sponge upon a reed The while His own disciples standing near, Dismayed, moved not to help Him in their fear.

REINCARNATION

I saw three souls before a jasper throne That stood, star-canopied, beyond the world Where angels knelt before a Presence--furled White wings and waited. In vast undertone A Voice said: "Choose!" And instantly were shown Three chalices: one like a lily curled About a stem of gold; one was empearled In silver; one was carved from common stone.

I saw three souls sink swiftly back to earth; I heard three children wailing in the night; I met three men of diverse rank and birth: A king; a priest; a slave whose wretched plight Moved me to pity, till mine ancient dream Recalled the proverb: "Things are not what they seem!"

JACOB'S DREAM

Lonely and worn by day's dull toil and heat, Life lay before me stark, and dead, and drear; Night had engulfed the desert, and a fear Was on me as of slow, resistless feet Of foes invisible, from whom retreat Denied me respite! I knew the moment near-- Jehovah's hand uplifted, and His spear Down-glancing through the dark my heart to meet;

And as I crouched to take the stroke that fell Swift from the sky, a cloud of cherubim Burst on my vision with a mighty song That filled the wilderness, as though a bell Chimed from afar. Then someone said: "Be strong, Son of the Highest! Find thyself in Him!"

KEATS

To sing, as thou didst in full throated ease, Sweeter than thine oft-envied nightingale, And with thy singing waken hill and dale Until the many harpstrings of the trees Murmured in strange and old antiphonies; To wander at thy will into the vale Where sleeps Endymion, and tell the tale Of Dian's nymphs or Pan's dear dryades:

Was it, in sooth, too great a price to pay-- The heart-ache and the passion and the tears With which God mixed for thee life's cup of gold? Against the sadness of thy lot I hold The joy of him who sees and feels and hears Earth's splendour, fulness, music, night and day.

A POET'S PRAYER

Give me pause and time for dreaming; Send me to some quiet place Where the winding water, gleaming, Holds a glass before my face.

Here within the grind and clamour I forget what I have known; Life and love have lost their glamour, And my heart is turned to stone.