Part 2

And marquis Gero is so rich: Give casks to us for seventy, Give casks for thousands seventy. A half of us will Germanize, A half of us will Polanize, A hundred lips will peal for thee: Hail, marquis Gero, hail to thee! But first before we perish thus, May ruddy wine intoxicate us, Bond-woman, daughter, man and son, Before Těšín, before Těšín.

ON GOLGOTHA

J. S. MACHAR

It was the third hour when the cross was raised Betwixt the crosses. Red from exertion The soldiers sat upon the much trampled And bloody ground. They parted His raiment. And for the coat which was without seam they Cast lots. And many of the multitude Passed gazing up at Him and wagged their heads And said, Ah, come down from the cross! For Thou Didst style Thyself king! Thou, that wouldst destroy The temple and then build it in three days Well, save Thyself! Stood by also chief priests And scribes with long and flowing beards, and said Amongst themselves: True, true, He saved others; Let Him then save Himself now.--There also Were many women looking on afar, Who ministered to Him in Galilee, Salome, Mary, and Magdalene, and who Came up with Him unto Jerusalem.

Crucified, naked, shorn, He was numbered With transgressors. And crusted blood clung to His scourged body, while ruddy streams oozed from His hands and feet and dripped upon the ground. His dying eyes gazed out into distance, Across the white city, hills and woodlands, And ridges of the peaceful peaks in whose Lap lie the blue waters of Galilee.

He bowed His head.

A winged rustling reached His ear. ’Twas not the Father’s angel with Refreshment’s chalice for a weary soul-- An unclean spirit with its batlike wings Outstretched upon the air flew unto Him. He had to suffer Satan to sit on His cross, lean toward His head. For faint within Him was His spirit and weak to resist.

And Satan then said: Woeful Sufferer, Upon Thy cross of wood we meet again! To-day the last time. ’Tis settled to-day. The battle has been fought.

Rememberest Thou Three years hence, when I carried Thee yon in The wilderness upon a high mountain And shewed Thee mighty kingdoms, promised Thee All of the glory of this world, shouldst Thou Fall down and worship me? Thou didst refuse. Thou wouldst proclaim the coming kingdom of Heaven to the weak, wretched. Thou wouldst bestow Imperishable gifts upon clean hearts. Thou wouldst show humble souls the way into Thy Father’s glory and erase the curse Of Adam from each generation’s brow!

Thou didst go to Thy death quiet, resigned, Just as the lamb that openest not its mouth. Thou pourest out Thy blood even like the dew To moisten Thy young and early sprouting seed.

Jesus of Nazareth, behold the throngs That surge continually about Thy cross! Not long ago, when Thou didst enter in The city in triumph, they strewed palms ’neath Thy colt, cried praises unto Thee, and then Proclaimed Thee David’s son. For they thought ’mongst Themselves the kingdom of God was at hand, The cherished time of milk and honey was Now come. And then Thou didst refuse again. The disappointed throngs next in anger Cried, “Crucify Him!” into Pilate’s ears. And now they come and wag their heads and say: Here the king of the Jews is crucified. Let Him save Himself. He would be the Son Of God. But God seems to forsake Him now.

And God forsook.

Behold that heaven where Thou Didst deem He reigns in all of His glory! Cloudless, serene, it smiles quietly on With its insensible blue smile. As ’twas Before, so ’twill be after Thee. So too The fowls flying the air and every beast Inhabiting the earth has lived and lives According to one law, that is my law. The strong forever shall absorb the weak. ’Tis so with man. And this whole wide, wide world Is my kingdom. Because I am the Life. I rule. I sit enthroned in hearts, in souls. No one shall ever banish me, nor Thou, Nor Thy Father. Thy kingdom of God is A dream. That dream I leave to man for e’er!

Behold, how calmly Rome’s centurion Speaks with the scribe in white beneath Thy cross! ’Twill ever be thus. They are now heirs of Thy words, Thy dreams. One shall change his idols, The other his Jehovah for Thy name, And on the world shall live as I ordain.

Why didst Thou not then take all those kingdoms And this world’s glory from my gen’rous hand? Thy youthful life would not have thus been spent In shameful torture. Happily couldst Thou Have lived and brought millions Thy happiness. But what bring’st Thou? Death and discord Thou spreadst. Thou fallest first. And for Thy name, Thy dreams, Hundreds upon hundreds shall spill their blood On crosses and arenas and scaffolds. And when ’twill seem Thy dream has been fulfilled, Then in Thy name, and only in Thy name, The carnage shall go on. So far as eye Can see, there rows of flaming pyres extend Where sacrifices are burned in Thy name; And in Thy name numberless wars shall rage, And in Thy name cities and towns shall burn, And in Thy name countries shall be laid waste, And in Thy name curses shall be uttered, And in Thy name there shall be slavery Of body and of spirit.

For behold The centurion and the scribe! The one Shall murder in Thy name, the other bless Him in Thy name. Wretched millions shall pay For Thy dream with their most precious estate, Their lives.

And o’er the blood that is thus spilled Thy dream of God’s eternal kingdom and Heaven’s glory shall rise up like a phantom That shall reward the dead. A lure to them In life thruout and on till ends the world! Why then didst Thou not take all those kingdoms And glory of this world? For life is mine. I am the life, the lord of all below. And forever I sit in hearts, in souls!...

And then forthwith Satan arose and spread His great, dark, batlike wings, that extended With swiftness of the wind in distance vast And ghastly great. O’er Golgotha entire, O’er city and valley and o’er the hills, O’er regions round about, o’er distant peaks, O’er waters blue of lakes of Galilee, O’er realms beyond afar and seas remote, There was projected then a dark, black veil.

And there was darkness over all the land, Which trembled then.

And in the end Jesus About Him gazed and with a loud voice cried: Elói, Elói, lama Sabachtani, And yielded up the ghost....

A FANTASTIC BALLAD

Its first night now away from wealth’s gleam, The graceful form of that proud belle, Cold, ’neath its flowery mound, in deep dream, Within its casket there did dwell.

And weird the moon from heights above viewed The night, by breath of fragrant bowers Made tremulous; the light, livid-hued, Slept soft on grave and cross and flowers.

When suddenly upon that mound--lo! The buds upon each twig and shoot Began to burst, and each flower tapped slow Upon the casket with its root.

“Admit me now to that fair cheek,” spake The rose, “to drink a bit of blood, My bud begins to ope; for its sake I seek to have her color’s flood.”

The violet whisp’rs low in the gloom: “My root shall pierce her eyes of blue, There shall the hue be drawn for their bloom, Since bursts my throng of buds now too!”

“And I,” the tender lily speaks, “want My flowers that precious gloss to own That ’dorns her breast of snow. Pray, recant, O Casket! Hear the plaint I moan!”

“The lips purple!” the peony cries; The rosemary, “The hair’s sweet scent.” “O casket, grant our prayers. Sudden rise Our throngs of flowers in bloom. Relent!

“To let this belle thus fade in her tomb, In blinding night--a sin at best. We’ll lift her to the sun, and she’ll loom Aloft upon each gayest crest!”

And with a sinister chuckle, slow The hemlock rose--before all hid: “I seek the heart. Didst ye forget? Ho! The poison for my flowers I bid.”

A SONNET OF THE PAST

You sigh as backward gazest thou: Ah, after all times then were best. But, my dear friend, be not depressed, You said it then as say you now.

And in that “then” not otherwise, You longed for only what was past. Thus further back you will surmise, Till reach you swaddling clothes at last.

And in those clothes perhaps you’d prate, Couldst thou but speak or meditate, Oh, but times then were better still.

’Tis fate’s old witticism ill. So, it may be a better fate When hearts will cease to meditate.

A SONNET OF LIFE

How strange and feverish the haste appears, With which our modern living flies. Gaze back adown the row of bygone years And you begin to feel a longing rise.

As if you rode a train that could not stop Or knew not whither it was rushing thee. As regions pass thee by, perchance you’d stop, But then a stop impossible would be.

A few friends now ride in the car with you, A few fleet girlish glances you behold, They leave as others then in turn will do.

At length thou’rt weary,--all a sameness takes, You feel the heart is quickly growing old And fills with longing when remembrance wakes.

TO MY MOTHER

My mother, aft long rows of years I plant To-day a sonnet ’neath thy name of gold. Only a sonnet where hymn I should chant, But verses, where should sacred prayers be told.

Ah, one must tread adown the path of woe And bury much in many storm accursed, Curse all that once he would have fondled so, Despair, and oftentimes in weeping burst.

Then ridicule he must cynically That frivolous, yet frightful song of life, To accent the word “mother” properly.

And loathsome must that song to him remain, To say he hears forever in the strife That “mother” sound as a sacred refrain.

THE SPIRAL

OR

ON THE DECLINE OF A CENTURY

_A spiral is a regular endless curve beginning at the center and running in diverging rings continually in a circle so that the distance of a point on any one revolution from the second is as great as the second from the third and so on.--A Definition of a Spiral._

It was ages ago. ’Twas the moment perhaps That Darwin describes: White was the beast That suddenly raised Her head on high, Stood firm upon Her hind feet Gazed up above To the shining ball In its vault of blue, Gazed all around On luxuriant earth, On the fruits thereof And all its creatures. A mighty feeling Of dominion and strength Stirred her to the depths. And from her breast First welled the joyous, Broad, powerful, Victorious: I, Which seemed to her The final center Of things all around.-- And from the white beast At that time arose man.

And life began.

The embittered power Of afflictions and pains (Which unbeknown Each “I” enclosed As a soul within) Drove them on and on. Life fled before it As flees the hare From the light weasel Which sits at its throat. From a small point Life flew in a curve Of broad expanse. The curve unwinds, Unwinds and unwinds In a whirling spiral Along which man rushes, Impelled by pain And strengthened by hope Of peace and brighter aims. And the spiral spreads Through space without bounds, Without depth and height, Without breadth and length, On into the unknown.

The embittered power Of afflictions and pains Impels it onward. It crumbled souls, Created gods, Crushed masses, Established kings, Impressed the steel Into the hands of man Which he in turn Plunged into himself; Led spirits into Sciences’ labyrinth And to streams of art, But nowhere to fortune.

Mankind rushes along The whirling spiral Through space without bounds, Without depth and height, Without breadth and length, On into the unknown.

Counseling gods, That gave not fortune, Overturned thrones, That gave not fortune, Blood that was shed And brought not fortune, Sciences and arts Where man found not fortune, All lies casts aside Along life’s frightful way.

A monster huge Of bluish color, And called the past, Creeps aft mankind, Devours it all With mighty jaws, And, insatiable, Grows day by day.

Mankind rushes on And ever onward. And again new gods, And new kings, And new battles, And new arts, And new sciences,-- And again all lies Behind him far In the spiral’s path As the monster’s prey.

And the spiral spreads and spreads Through endless space. And wretched mankind Thus chases fortune. Joyful cries at times Sound from a hundred throats. And strained nerves Tremble with bliss. Wretched mankind! Some sort of phantom, Fata morgana, Glittered somewhere for thee In the boundless desert!

Wretched mankind! The following hour Again art thou further on, Ahasuerus of thy fable, In thy flight! And the deceitful phantom Will find itself in the jaws Of the bluish past, As all things else!

And the spiral spreads and spreads. The nineteenth circle, Which we call enlightened, Runs into the twentieth. ’Tis an age of steam, Chemistry and physics, And a god grown old, And several kings, And rows of fine battles, And full of knowledge, And nerves unstrung, And of vain hopes, And full of misfortune As all the rest.

The embittered power Of afflictions and pains Drives us from it Onward and onward Along the whirling spiral.

That bluish past With gigantic jaws, With a great belly, Follows in our footsteps. It will at least find A profitable spoil.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.

The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber and is entered into the public domain.