Chapter 6

So many hill-sides, crowned with rugged rocks! So many simple shepherds keeping flocks In many moonlit fields! but, only they-- So lone, so long ago, so far away-- On that one winter's night, at Bethlehem, To have white angels singing lauds for them! They only--hinds wrapped in the he-goat's skin-- To hear heaven's music, bidding peace begin! Only for those, of countless watching eyes, The "Glory of the Lord" glad to arise; The skies to blaze with gold and silver light Of seraphs by strong joy flashed into sight; The wind, for them, with that strange song to swell,-- By too much happiness incredible-- That tender anthem of good times to be, Then at their dawn--not daylight yet, ah me! "Peace upon earth! Good-will!" sung to the strings Of lutes celestial. Nay, if these things Too blessëd to believe have seemed, or seem, Not ours the fault, dear angels! Prove the dream Waking and true! sing once again, and make Moonlight and starlight sweet for earth's sad sake! Or, if heaven bids ye lock in silence still Conquest of peace, and coming of good-will, Till times to be, then--oh, you placid sheep! Ah, thrice-blest shepherds! suffer if we creep Back through the tangled thicket of the years To graze in your fair flock, to strain our ears With listening herdsmen, if, perchance, one note Of such high singing in the fine air float; If any rock thrills yet with that great strain We did not hear, and shall not hear, again; If any olive-leaf at Bethlehem Lisps still one syllable vouchsafed to them; If some stream, conscious still--some breeze--be stirred With echo of th' immortal words ye heard.

What was it that ye heard? the wind of night Playing in cheating tones, with touches light, Amid the palm-plumes? or, one stop outblown Of planetary music, so far flown Earthwards, that to those innocent ears 'twas brought Which bent the mighty measure to their thought? Or, haply, from breast-shaped Beth-Haccarem, The hill of Herod, some waft sent to them Of storming drums and trumps, at festival Held in the Idumæan's purple hall? Or, it may be, some Aramaic song Of country lovers, after partings long Meeting anew, with much "good will" indeed, Blown by some swain upon his Jordan reed? Nay, nay! your abbas back ye did not fling, From each astonished ear, for swains to sing Their village-verses clear; for sounds well-known Of wandering breeze, or whispering trees, or tone Of Herod's trumpets. And ye did not gaze Heart-startled on the stars (albeit the rays Of that lone orb shot, sparkling, from the east Unseen before), for these, largest and least, Were fold-lamps, lighted nightly: and ye knew Far differing glory in the night's dark blue Suddenly lit with rose, and pierced with spike Of golden spear-beam. Oh, a dream, belike! Some far-fetched vision, new to peasant's sleep, Of paradise stripped bare!--But, why thus keep Secrets for them? This bar, which doth enclose Better and nobler souls, why burst for those Who supped on the parched pulse, and lapped the stream, And each, at the same hour, dreams the same dream! Or, easier still, they lied! Yet, wherefore, then "Rise, and go up to Bethlehem," and unpen To wolf and jackal all their hapless fold So they might "see these things which had been told In heaven's own voice"? And heaven, whate'er betide, Spreads surely somewhere, on death's farther side!

And, truly, if joy's music once hath rung Prom lips of bands invisible, if any-- (Be they the dead, or of the deathless many)-- Love and serve man, angelical befrienders, Glad of his weal, and from his woe defenders,-- If such, in heaven, have pity on our tears, Forever falling with the unmending years, High cause had they, at Bethlehem, that night, To lift the curtain of hope's hidden light, To break decree of silence with love's cry, Foreseeing how this Babe, born lowlily, Should--past dispute, since now achieved is this-- Bring earth great gifts of blessing and of bliss; Date, from that crib, the dynasty of love; Strip his misusëd thunderbolts from Jove; Bend to their knee Rome's Cæsars, break the chain From the slave's neck; set sick hearts free again Bitterly bound by priests, and scribes, and scrolls; And heal, with balm of pardon, sinking souls: Should mercy to her vacant throne restore, Teach right to kings, and patience to the poor; Should, from that bearing-cave, outside the khan, Amid the kneeling cattle, rise, and be Light of all lands, and splendor of each sea, The sun-burst of a new morn come to earth, Not yet, alas! broad day, but day's white birth Which promiseth; and blesseth, promising. These from that night! What cause of wondering If that one silence of all silences Brake into music? if, for hopes like these Angels, who love us, sang that song, and show Of time's far purpose made the "great light" glow?

Wherefore, let whosoever will drink dry His cup of faith; and think that, verily, Not in a vision, no way otherwise Than those poor shepherds told, there did arise This portent. Being amidst their sheep and goats, Lapped careless in their pasture-keeping coats, Blind as their drowsy beasts to what drew nigh, (Such the lulled ear, and such th' unbusied eye Which ofttimes hears and sees hid things!) there spread The "Glory of the Lord" around each head: Broke, be it deemed, o'er hill and over hollow, On the inner seeing, the sense concealed, unknown, Of those plain hinds--glad, humble, and alone-- Flooding their minds, filling their hearts; around, Above, below, disclosing grove and ground, The rocks, the hill, the town, the solitude, The wondering flocks,--agaze with grass half-chewed,-- The palm-crowns, and the path to Bethlehem, As sight angelic spies. And, came to them The "Angel of the Lord," visible, sure, Known for the angel by his presence pure Whereon was written love, and peace, and grace, With beauty passing mortal mien and face.

So when the Angels were no more to see, Re-entering those gates of space,--whose key Love keeps on that side, and on this side death-- Each shepherd to the other whispering saith, Lest he should miss some lingering symphonies Of that departing music, "Let us rise And go even now to Bethlehem, and spy This which is come to pass, shewed graciously By the Lord's angels." Therewith hasted they By olive-yards, and old walls mossed and gray Where, in close chinks, the lizard and the snake, Thinking the sunlight come, stirred, half-awake: Across the terraced levels of the vines, Under the pillared palms, along the lines Of lance-leaved oleanders, scented sweet, Through the pomegranate-gardens sped their feet; Over the causeway, up the slope, they spring, Breast the steep path, with steps not slackening; Past David's well, past the town-wall they ran, Unto the House of Chimham, to the khan, Where mark them peering in, the posts between, Questioning--all out of breath--if birth hath been This night, in any guest-room, high or low? The drowsy porter at the gate saith, "No!"-- Shooting the bars; while the packed camels shake Their bells to listen, and the sleepers wake, And to their feet the ponderous steers slow rise, Lifting from trampled fodder large mild eyes;-- "Nay! Brothers! no such thing! yet there is gone Yonder, one nigh her time, a gentle one! With him that seemed her spouse--of Galilee; They toiled at sundown to our doors--but, see! No nook was here! Seek at the cave instead; We shook some barley-straw to make their bed."

Then to the cave they wended, and there spied That which was more, if truth be testified, Than all the pomp seen thro' proud Herod's porch Ablaze with brass, and silk, and scented torch, High on Beth-Haccarem; more to behold, If men had known, than all the glory told Of splendid Cæsar in his marbled home On the white Isle; or audience-hall at Rome With trembling princes thronged. A clay lamp swings By twisted camel-cords, from blackened rings, Shewing with flickering gleams, a Child new-born Wrapped in a cloth, laid where the beasts at morn Will champ their bean-straw: in the lamp-ray dim A fresh-made Mother by Him, fostering Him With face and mien to worship, speaking naught; Close at hand Joseph, and the ass, hath brought That precious twofold burden to the gate; With goats, sheep, oxen, driven to shelter late: No mightier sight! Yet all sufficeth it-- If we will deem things be beyond our wit-- To prove heaven's music true, and show heaven's way, How, not by famous kings, nor with array Of brazen letters on the boastful stone, But "by the mouth of babes," quiet, alone, Little beginnings planning for large ends, With other purpose than fond man attends, Wisdom and love, in secret fellowship Guide our world's wandering with a finger-tip; And how, that night, as these did darkly see, They sealed the first scrolls of earth's history, And opened what shall run till death be dead.

Which babe they reverenced, bending low the head, First of all worshippers; and told the things Done in the plain, and played on angel's strings. Then those around wondered and worshipped, too, And Mary heard--but wondered not--anew Hiding this in her heart, the heart which beat With blood of Jesus Christ, holy and sweet.

Also, not marvelling, albeit they heard, Stood certain by--those three swart ones--appeared From climes unknown; yet, surely, on high quest Of what that star proclaimed, bright on the breast First of the Ram, afterwards glittering thence Into the watery Trigon, where, intense, It lit the Crab, and burned the Fishes pale. Three Signiors, owning many a costly bale; Three travelled masters, by their bearing lords Of lands and slaves. The Indian silk affords, With many a folded braid of white and gold, Shade to their brows; rich goat-hair shawls did fold Their gowns of flow'r'd white muslin, midway tied; And ruby, turkis, emerald--stones of pride-- Blazed on their thumb-rings; and a pearl gleamed white In every ear; and silver belts, clasped tight, Held ink-box, reeds, and knives, in scabbards gemmed; Curled shoes of goat-skin dyed, with seed-pearls hemmed, Shod their brown feet; hair shorn; lids low, to think-- Eyes deep and wistful, as of those who drink Waters of hidden wisdom, night and day, And live twain lives, conforming as they may, In diligence, and due observances To ways of men; yet, not at one with these; But ever straining past the things that seem To that which is--the truth behind the dream. Three princely wanderers of the Asian blood Perchance, by Indus dwellers; or some flood, That feeds her from Himâla's icy dome; Or, haply, to those Syrian palm-trees come From Gunga's banks, or mounts of Malabar Which lift the Deccan to its sun, and far-- Rampart-like--fringe the blue Arabian Sea. True followers of the Buddh they seemed to be, The better arm and shoulder showing bare With each; and on the neck of each, draped fair A scarf of saffron, patched; and, 'twixt the eyes, In saffron stamped, the Name of mysteries OM; and the Swastika, with secrets rife How man may 'scape the dire deceits of life.

These three stood by, as who would entrance make; And heard the shepherd's tale; and, hearing, spake Strange Indian words one to another; then sent Command. Their serving-men, obedient, Cast loose from off the camels, kneeling nigh, Nettings and mats, and made the fastenings fly From belly-band, and crupper-rope, and tail; And broke the knots, and let each dusty bale Slide from the saddle-horns, and give to see Long-hoarded treasure of great jewelry, And fragrant secrets of the Indian grove, And splendors of the Indian looms, inwove With gold and silver flowers: "for, now," said they, "Our eyes have seen this thing sought day by day; By the all-conscious, silent sky well-known, And, specially, of yon white star fore-shown Which, bursting magically on the sight, Beckoned us from our homes, shining aright, The silver beacon to this holy hill: Mark if it sparkles not, aware and still, Over the place: The astral houses, see! Spake truth: Our feet were guided faithfully. 'Tis the Star-Child, who was to rise, and wear A crown than Suleiman's more royal and rare, 'King of the Jews!' Grant an approach to us Who crave to worship Him."

Now, it fell thus That these first to Jerusalem had passed, And sojourned there, observing feast and fast In the thronged city; oft of townsmen seen In market and bazaar; and, by their mien Noted for lordliest of all strangers there, Much whispered of, in sooth, as who saw clear Shadows of times to come, and secrets bright Writ in the jewelled cipher of the night. So that the voice of this to Herod went Feastful and fearful; ever ill-content Mid plots and perils; girt with singing boys, And dancing girls of Tyre, and armored noise Of Cæsar's legionaries. Long and near, In audience hall, each dusky wayfarer Questioned he of their knowledge, and the star, What message flashed it? Whether near or far Would rise this portent of a Babe to reign King of the Jews, and bring a crown again To weeping Zion, and cast forth from them The Roman scourge? And if at Bethlehem, As, with one voice, priests, elders, scribes aver, Then, let them thither wend, and spy the stir, And find this Babe, and come anew to him, Declaring where the wonder. "'Twas his whim" Quotha "to be of fashion with the stars, (Weary, like them, of gazing upon wars) To shine upon this suckling, bending knee Save unto Cæsar uncrooked latterly."

Thence came it those three stood at entering Before the door; and their rich gifts did bring, Red gold from the Indian rocks, cunningly beat To plate and chalice, with old fables sweet Of Buddh's compassion, and dark Mara's powers Round the brims glittering; and a riot of flowers Done on the gold, with gold script to proclaim The Noble Truths, and Threefold mystic Name OM, and the Swastika, and how man wins Blessed Nirvana's rest, being quit of sins, And, day and night, reciting, "Oh, the Gem! Upon the Lotus! Oh, the Lotus-stem!" Also, more precious than much gold, they poured Rare spices forth, unknitting cord on cord; And, one by one, unwinding cloths, as though The merchantmen had sought to shut in so The breath of those distillings: in such kind As when Nile's black embalming slaves would bind Sindon o'er sindon, cere-cloth, cinglets, bands Roll after roll, on head, breast, feet, and hands, Round some dead king, whose cold and withered palm Had dropped the sceptre; drenched with musk and balm, And natron, and what keeps from perishing; So they might save--after long wandering-- The body for the spirit, and hold fast Life's likeness, till the dead man lived at last. Thus, from their coats involved of leaves and silk, Slowly they freed the odorous thorn-tree's milk, The gray myrrh, and the cassia, and the spice, Filling the wind with frankincense past price, With hearts of blossoms from a hundred glens And essence of a thousand rose-gardens, Till the night's gloom like a royal curtain hung Jewelled with stars, and rich with fragrance flung Athwart the arch; and, in the cavern there The air around was as the breathing-air Of a queen's chamber, when she comes to bed, And all that glad earth owns gives goodlihead.

Witness them entering,--these three from afar-- Who knew the skies, and had the strange white star To light their nightly lamp, thro' deserts wide Of Bactria, and the Persic wastes, and tide Of Tigris and Euphrates; past the snow Of Ararat, and where the sand-winds blow O'er Ituræa; and the crimson peaks Of Moab, and the fierce, bright, barren reeks From Asphaltities; to this hill--to thee Bethlehem-Ephrata! Witness these three Gaze, hand in hand, with faces grave and mild, Where, 'mid the gear and goats, Mother and Child Make state and splendor for their eyes. Then lay Each stranger on the earth, in the Indian way, Paying the "eight prostrations;" and was heard Saying softly, in the Indian tongue, that word Wherewith a Prince is honored. Humbly ran, On this, the people of their caravan And fetch the gold, and--laid on gold--the spice, Frankincense, myrrh: and next, with reverence nice, Foreheads in dust, they spread the precious things At Mary's feet, and worship Him who clings To Mary's bosom drinking soft life so Who shall be life and light to all below. "For, now we see," say they, departing: "plain The star's word comes to pass! The Buddh again Appeareth, or some Bôddhisat of might Arising for the west, who shall set right, And serve and reconcile; and, maybe, teach Knowledge to those who know. We, brothers, each, Have heard yon shepherds babbling: if the sky Speaketh with such, heaven's mercy is drawn nigh! Well did we counsel, journeying to this place! Yon hour-old Babe, milking that breast of grace, The world will praise and worship, well-content."

Then, fearing Herod, to their homes they went Musing along the road. But he alway Angered and troubled, bade his soldiers slay Whatever man-child sucked in Bethlehem. Lord! had'st Thou been all God, as pleaseth them Who poorly see Thy godlike self, and take True glory from Thee for false glory's sake: Co-equal power, as these--too bold--blaspheme, Ruler of what Thou camest to redeem; Not Babe Divine, feeling with touch of silk For fountains of a mortal Mother's milk With sweet mouth buried in the warm feast thus, And dear heart growing great to beat for us, And soft feet waiting till the way was spread Whereby what was true God in Thee should tread Triumphant over woe and death to bliss,-- Thou, from Thy cradle would'st have stayed in this Those butchers! With one angel's swift decree, Out of the silver cohorts lackeying Thee, Thou had'st thrust down the bitter prince who killed Thine innocents! Would'st Thou not? Was't not willed? Alas! "Peace and good-will" in agony Found first fruits! Rama heard that woful cry Of Rachel weeping for the children; lone, Uncomforted, because her babes are gone. Herod the King! hast thou heard Rachel's wail Where restitution is? Did aught avail Somewhere? at last? past life? after long stress Of heavy shame to bring forgetfulness? If such grace be, no hopeless sin is wrought; Thy bloody blade missed what its vile edge sought; Mother, and Child, and Joseph--safe from thee-- Journey to Egypt, while the eastern Three Wind homewards, lightened of their spice and gold; And those great days, that were to be, unfold In the fair fields beside the shining sea Which rolls, 'mid palms and rocks, in Galilee.

_Sir Edwin Arnold._

_It Brings Good Cheer._

"You may talk of Country Christmasses, Their thirty pound butter'd eggs, their pies of carps' tongues; Their pheasants drench'd with ambergris; the carcasses of three fat wethers bruised for gravy to make sauce for a single peacock!"

_Massinger._

OLD CHRISTMAS RETURNED.

All you that to feasting and mirth are inclined, Come, here is good news for to pleasure your mind; Old Christmas is come for to keep open house, He scorns to be guilty of starving a mouse. Then come, boys, and welcome for diet the chief, Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

A long time together he hath been forgot, They scarce could afford to hang on the pot; Such miserly sneaking in England hath been, As by our forefathers ne'er us'd to be seen; But now he's returned, you shall have in brief, Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

The times were ne'er good since Old Christmas was fled, And all hospitality hath been so dead; No mirth at our festivals late did appear, They scarcely would part with a cup of March beer; But now you shall have for the ease of your grief, Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

The butler and baker, they now may be glad, The times they are mended, though they have been bad; The brewer, he likewise may be of good cheer, He shall have good trading for ale and strong beer; All trades shall be jolly, and have for relief, Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

The holly and ivy about the walls wind, And show that we ought to our neighbors be kind, Inviting each other for pastime and sport, And where we best fare, there we most do resort; We fail not of victuals, and that of the chief, Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

The cooks shall be busied by day and by night, In roasting and boiling, for taste and delight; Their senses in liquor that's nappy they'll steep, Though they be afforded to have little sleep; They still are employed for to dress us in brief, Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

Although the cold weather doth hunger provoke, 'Tis a comfort to see how the chimneys do smoke; Provision is making for beer, ale, and wine, For all that are willing or ready to dine: Then haste to the kitchen for diet the chief, Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

All travellers, as they do pass on their way, At gentlemen's halls are invited to stay, Themselves to refresh, and their horses to rest, Since that he must be Old Christmas's guest; Nay, the poor shall not want, but have for relief, Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

Now Mock-beggar-hall it no more shall stand empty, But all shall be furnisht with freedom and plenty; The hoarding old misers, who us'd to preserve The gold in their coffers, and see the poor starve, Must now spread their tables, and give them in brief, Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

The court, and the city, and country are glad, Old Christmas is come to cheer up the sad; Broad pieces and guineas about now shall fly, And hundreds be losers by cogging a die, Whilst others are feasting with diet the chief, Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

Those that have no coin at the cards for to play, May sit by the fire and pass time away, And drink of their moisture contented and free, "My honest, good fellow, come, here is to thee!" And when they are hungry, fall to their relief, Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

Young gallants and ladies shall foot it along, Each room in the house to the music shall throng, Whilst jolly carouses about they shall pass, And each country swain trip about with his lass; Meantime goes the caterer to fetch in the chief, Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

The cooks and the scullion, who toil in their frocks, Their hopes do depend upon their Christmas-box; There is very few that do live on the earth But enjoy at this time either profit or mirth; Yea, those that are charged to find all relief, Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

Then well may we welcome Old Christmas to town, Who brings us good cheer and good liquor so brown; To pass the cold winter away with delight, We feast it all day, and we frolic all night; Both hunger and cold we keep out with relief, Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.