Part 16

I held your arm and, for a while, We walked along the balmy aisle Of blossoms that, like velvet, dips Unto the lake which lilies tile With stars; and hyacinths, with strips Of heaven. And beside a fall, That down a ferned and mossy wall Fell in a lake,--deep, woodbine-wound,-- A latticed summer-house we found; A green kiosk; through which the sound Of waters and of zephyrs swayed, And honeysuckle bugles played Soft serenades of perfume sweet,-- Around which ran a rustic seat. And seated in that haunted nook,-- I know not how it was,--a word, A touch, perhaps, a sigh, a look, Was father to the kiss I took; Great things grow out of small I've heard. And then it was I took between My hands your face, loved Geraldine, And gazed into your eyes, and told The story ever new though old. You did not look away, but met My eyes with eyes whose lids were wet With tears of truth; and you did lean Your cheek to mine, my Geraldine.-- I never dreamed you would forget.

The night-wind and the water sighed: And through the leaves, that stirred above, The moonbeams swooned with music of The dance--soft things in league with love: I never dreamed that you had lied. How all comes back now, Geraldine! The melody; the glimmering scene; Your angel face; and ev'n,--between Your lawny breasts,--the heart-shaped jewel,-- To which your breath gave fluctuant fuel,-- A rosy star of stormy fire; The snowy drift of your attire, Lace-deep and fragrant: and your hair, Disordered in the dance, held back By one gemmed pin,--a moonbeam there, Half-drowned within its night-like black.-- And I who sat beside you then Seemed blessed above all mortal men.

I loved you for the way you sighed; The way you said, "I love but you;" The smile with which your lips replied; Your lips, that from my bosom drew The soul; your looks, like undenied Caresses, that seemed naught but true: I loved you for the violet scent That clung about you as a flower; Your moods, where grief and gladness blent, An April-tide of sun and shower; You were my creed, my testament, Wherein I met with God's high power. Was it because the loving see Only what they desire shall be There in the well-belovéd's soul, Passion and heart's affinity, That I beheld in you the whole Of my love's image? and believed You loved as I loved? nor perceived Yours was a mask, a mockery!

Ah, Geraldine, lost Geraldine, That night of love, when last we met, You have forgotten, Geraldine-- I never dreamed you would forget.

AT THE CORREGIDOR'S

_The young advocate Don Sebastian Lopez, between three pinches of snuff, lays the facts of the case before his friend, Don Emanuel de Cordova, chief magistrate of the City of Valladolid._

To Don Odora said Donna De Vine, "I yield to thy long endeavor!-- At my balcony be on the stroke of nine, And, Señor, I'm thine forever!"...

This beauty at first had the Don descried As she quit the confessional: followed: "What a face! what a form! what a foot!" he sighed, And more that he, smiling, swallowed.

And with vows as soft as his oaths were sweet Her heart he barricaded; And pressed this point with a present meet, And that point serenaded.

What else could the enemy do but yield To such handsome importuning? A gallant blade with a lute for shield All night at her lattice mooning!

"_Que es estrella!_ thou star of all girls! Here's that for thy fierce duenna: A purse of pistoles and a rosary o' pearls, And gold as yellow as henna.

"She will drop from thy balcony's rail, my sweet, My seraph! this silken ladder: And then--sweet then!--my soul at thy feet, What angel in Heaven gladder!"

And the end of it was--But I will not say How he won to the room of the lady.-- Ah! to love is to live! and with youth--why, hey! For the rest,--a maravedi!

Now comes her betrothed from the wars; and he, A Count of the Court Castilian, A Don Diabolus! sword at knee, And face and hair--vermilion.

And his is a jealous love; and--for The story grows sadder and sadder-- He watches, and sees--a robber? to her, Or gallant? ascend a ladder.

So he pushes inquiry into her room; With his naked sword demanding: An alguazil, with a face like doom, Sure of a stout withstanding.

And weapon to weapon they foined and fought: The Count's first thrusts were vicious: Three thrusts to the floor Odora had brought: And one through the white, capricious.

The naked bosom of Donna De Vine-- And this is the Count's condition.... Was he right? was he wrong?--the question is mine;-- To judge--for the Inquisition.

AN EPISODE

_A woman speaks. Year 1218; war of the Albigenses._

I

Saint Dominick, Pope Innocent, Thou holy host Lyons once bent On Languedoc, may God the Father Plunge you in everlasting Hell! And may the blood of those who fell At Béziers together gather In torrents of eternal pain, And on your souls beat boiling rain!

II

And Mountfort!--it was given me, (For I had prayed incessantly), To be the David to this giant.-- An Albigensian warrior My husband was. He, in the war, The Pope had thundered on defiant Thoulouse and outlawed Languedoc, Stood with Earl Raymond like a rock.

III

The walls of Béziers cried loud, And Carcassonne's, red in their cloud Of blood, disease, and conflagration, For vengeance!--When he left me here, With my two babes, I felt no fear. The crusade's excommunication Poured down its holy Catholics To crush and burn us heretics.

IV

At Carcassonne he fell. And there My babes died famished. And despair And hell were mine within their prison, Till Mother of our God portrayed This Mountfort's death. On me were laid Blessed hands of power in a vision. A call, my soul could not refuse, Compelled me to besieged Thoulouse.

V

No arrow mine, no arbalist; A sling, a stone, a woman's wrist God and His virgin Mother aided.-- Their engines rocked our walls. I felt The time had come and, praying, knelt; Then, from the sling my hair had braided, Launched at De Mountfort's bassinet The rock where eyebrow eyebrow met.

VI

Thus Mountfort died. Of Carcassonne Our Lady 'twas who aimed the stone, That slew this monster that was master:-- For I--I was the instrument, Saint Dominick and Innocent, That hurled on you and yours disaster! Two armies saw me whirl the sling While Heaven stood by me--white of wing.

THE SLAVE

He waited till within her tower Her taper signalled him the hour.

He was a prince both fair and brave. What hope that he would love _her_ slave!

He of the Persian dynasty; And she a Queen of Araby!--

No Peri singing to a star Upon the sea were lovelier.

I helped her drop the silken rope. He clomb, aflame with love and hope.

I drew the dagger from my gown And cut the ladder, leaning down.

Oh, wild his face, and wild the fall: Her face was wilder than them all.

I heard her cry, I heard him groan, And stood as merciless as stone.

The eunuchs came: fierce scimitars Stirred in the torch-lit corridors.

She spoke like one who prays in sleep, And bade me strike or she would leap.

I bade her leap; the time was short; And kept the dagger for my heart.

She leapt. I put their blades aside And smiling in their faces--died.

THE ROSICRUCIAN

I

The tripod flared with a purple spark, And the mist hung emerald in the dark: Now he stooped to the lilac flame Over the glare of the amber embers, Thrice to utter no earthly name; Thrice, like a mind that half remembers; Bathing his face in the magic mist Where the brilliance burned like an amethyst.

II

"Sylph, whose soul was born of mine, Born of the love that made me thine, Once more flash on the flesh! Again Be the loved caresses taken! Lip to lip let our mouths remain!-- Here in the circle of sense, awaken! Ere spirit meets spirit, the flesh laid by, Let me know thee, and let me die!"

III

Sunset heavens may burn, but never Know such splendor! There bloomed an ever Opaline orb, where the sylphid rose A shape of luminous white; diviner White than the essence of light that sows The moons and suns through space; and finer Than radiance born of a shooting-star, Or the wild Aurora that streams afar.

IV

"Look on the face of the soul to whom Thou givest thy soul like added perfume! Thou, who heard'st me, who long had prayed, Waiting alone at evening's portal!-- Thus on thy lips let my lips be laid, Love, who hast made me all immortal! Give me thine arms now! Come and rest Happiness out on my beaming breast!"

V

Was it her soul? or the sapphire fire That sang like the note of a Seraph's lyre? Out of her mouth there came no word-- She spake with her soul, as a flower speaketh Fragrant messages none hath heard, Which the sense divines when the spirit seeketh.... And he seemed alone in a place so dim That the spirit's face, who was gazing at him, For its burning eyes he could not see: Then he knew he had died; that she and he Were one; and he saw that this was she.

THE NORMAN KNIGHT

Within the castle chamber The Norman knight lay dead; The quarterings of the casement Shone holy round his head.

And first there came a maiden; Her face was wet and white: She kissed his mouth and murmured, "Thou wast my own true knight."

Within the arrased chamber The Norman knight lay dead; And tapers four and twenty Burnt at his feet and head.

And next there came a friar And prayed beside the bier: "Thou art a blesséd angel, Who wast so noble here."

Within the lofty chamber The Norman knight lay dead; Dim through the carven casement The moonbeams lit his head.

And then there came a varlet-- Loud laughed he in his face: "Thus do I spit upon thee, Thee and thy curséd race!"

Within the silent chamber The Norman knight lay dead-- Nor Norman knight nor Saxon serf Heard aught the dead man said.

THE KHALIF AND THE ARAB

Among the tales, wherein it hath been told, In golden letters in a book of gold, Of Hatim Tai's hospitality, Who, substanceless and dead and shadowy, Made men his guests upon a mountain top Whereon his tomb grayed from a thistle crop;-- A tomb of rock where women, hewn of stone, Rude figures, spread dishevelled hair, whose moan From dark to daybreak made the silence sigh, At which the camel-drivers, tented nigh, "Ghouls or hyenas" shuddering would say, But only granite women find at day:-- Among such tales--who questions of their truth?-- One tale still haunts me from my earliest youth; Of that lost city, Sheddad son of Aad Built 'mid the Sebaa sands,--a king who had Dominion over many lands and kings,-- That city, built in pride and pow'r, of things Unstable of the earth. For he had read Of Paradise and to himself had said, "Now in this life the like of Paradise I'll build me and the Prophet's may despise, Having no need of that he promises." So for this city taxed the lands and seas, And columned Irem, on a blinding height, Blazed in the desert like a chrysolite; The manner of its building, it is told, Alternate bricks of silver and of gold. But Sheddad with his women and his slaves, His thousand viziers, armored troops, as waves Of ocean countless, God with awful flame-- Shot sheer in thunder on him--overcame, Confounded, and abolished; (ere his eyes Had glimpsed bright follies of that paradise) And blotted to a wilderness the land Wherein accursed it lies and lost in sand.-- Sad tales and glad; and 'mid them one, in sooth, That is recorded of an Arab youth.

The Khalif Hisham ben Abdulmelik, Hunting one day, through some unusual freak Rode, parted from his retinue, and gave Chase to an antelope. Without a slave, Vizier or amir to a pasture place Of sheep he came, where dark, in tattered grace, Watched one, an Arab youth. And as it came The antelope drew off, with words of flame, On fire with rage, unto the youth he turned, Shouting, "Thou slave! ho, hast thou not discerned The antelope escapes me? Up, dog, run! Head him back this way!"

Rising in the sun, The Arab flamed, "O ignorant of worth! Unworthy of respect!--though high thy birth,-- In that thou look'st upon me,--vile of heart!-- As one fit for contempt, thou lack'st no part Of my disdain!--Allah! I would not own A dog of thine for friend, no other known! Poor though I be, thou tyrant mixed with ass!" And flung him, rags and rage, into the grass.

Incensed, astonished, frowning furiously, Said Hisham, "Slave! thou know'st me not, I see!" Calmly the youth, "Aye, verily I know!-- O mannerless! _who_ would command me so, _Except thyself_, ere he said 'Peace to thee'? Well art thou known, aye! all too well of me!"

"O dog! I am thy Khalif! by a hair Thy life hangs raveling."

"Though it dangle there And rot to nothing, still upon thy head Would curses shower!--Of thy dwelling place Would Allah be forgetful!--Go thy ways, Hisham ben Merwan, king of many words, Few generosities!"...

A flash of swords In drifts of dust and, lo! the Khalif's troops Around them rode.--As when a merlin stoops Some stranger quarry, prey that swims the wind, Heron or eagle; kenning not its kind There, whence 'tis cast, until it, towering, feels An eagle's tearing talons, and still deals Blow upon blow, though hopeless;--so the youth,-- An Arab, fearless as the face of Truth, Of all that made him certain of his death,-- Waited with eyes indifferent, equal breath.

The palace reached, "Bring me the prisoner," Commanded Hisham. And he came as were He in no wise concerned; with eyes intent On some far thing; and on the floor a bent Dark gaze of scornful freedom unafraid, Till at the Khalif's throne his steps were stayed: And, unsaluting, standing head held down, An armed attendant blazed him with a frown, "Dog of a Bedouin! may thy eyes rot out! Insulter! art thou blind? and must I shout 'Thou stand'st before the Sultan! bend thy knee'?" To him the Arab, sneering, "Verily, Packsaddle of an ass! it well may be! I kneel to none but God."

The Khalif's rage Exceeded now, and, "By my realm and age! Arab, thy hour is come, thy very last!" Then said, "Call in the headsman.--Fool, thou hast Cast thy young life away. Its thread is past."

The shepherd answered, "Aye?--by Allah, then, If through thy means it might be stretched again, Unscissored of what Destiny ordain, Back in thy face I'd fling it as in vain."

Then the chief Chamberlain: "O vilest one Of all the Arabs! wilt thou not be done Bandying thy baseness with the Ruler of The Faithful? thou, with wordy filth enough Within thy madman mouth to fill a jakes! Viler than dirt that one from out it rakes, Here's more for thee!" and spat into his face.

And the dark Arab, with that last disgrace All fire, answered: "Thou, perhaps, hast heard The Koran text that says--'tis God's own word!-- 'The day will come when each soul shall be prompt To bow before Me and to give accompt.'"

Then wroth indeed was Hisham: fiercely said, "He braves us!--Headsman, ho! his peevish head! See: canst thou medicine its speech anew; Doctor its multiplying words to few: Divorce them well."

So, where the Arab stood, Bound him; made kneel upon the cloth of blood. With curving sword the headsman leaned, at pause, And,--as 'tis custom, made of Moslem laws,-- To the descendant of the Prophet quoth, "O Khalif, shall I strike?"

"By Iblis' oath! Strike!" answered Hisham. But again the slave Questioned; and yet again the Khalif gave His nodded "yea"; and for the third time then He asked: and knowing neither men nor Jinn Might save him if the Khalif spake assent, Signalled the sword, the youth with body bent Laughed--till the wang-teeth of each jaw appeared; Laughed--as with scorn the King of kings he'd beard, Deriding Death. So, with redoubled spleen, Roared Hisham, rising, "It is truly seen This one is mad who mocks at Azrael!" Then said the Arab: "Listen!--Once befell, Commander of the Faithful, that a hawk, A hungry hawk, pounced on a sparrow-cock; And winging nestward with his meal in claw, To him the sparrow,--for the creature saw The hawk's conceit,--addressed this slyly, 'Oh, Most great, most royal, there is not, I know, Aught in me that will stay thy stomach's stress: I am too paltry for thy mightiness!' With which the hawk was pleased, and flattered so That, in a while, he let the sparrow go."

Then smiled the Khalif Hisham: and a sign Staying the scimitar, that hung malign, A threatening crescent, said: "God bless, preserve The Prophet whom all true believers serve!-- Now, by my kinship to the Prophet! and Had he at first but spake us thus this hand Had ne'er been wrathful; and, instead of hate, He had had all--except the Khalifate." Bade stuff his mouth with jewels and entreat Him courteously, then from the palace beat.

ARABAH

"_The third of these heroes, the blind Arabah._"--Gibbon.

And one brought pearls and one brought passion-flowers To blind Arabah as he lay in dreams, And one brought visions of the after hours. And he beheld the rainbow-rolling streams Of Eden on harmonious sands of gold, And battlements, builded of prismatic beams. He was not sightless now, nor weak, nor old; For lo! the dark-eyed girls of Paradise Rained on him gifts and kisses.

And 'tis told How blind Arabah rose with unsealed eyes, With seeing eyes; he who to Allah gave All that he had; which happened in this wise:-- "Who's this that lies upon the mosque's cold pave?"-- "A blind man, whom an angel's hand shall lead."-- "A beggar, richer than the rich who have."-- "Behold the lesson, such as Sufis feed The soul upon!--O faith, blind-praying, see, Out of thyself how God repays indeed, Ten-thousandfold, one generosity!"...

All Baghdad knew how, at the hour of prayer, A slave beneath each shoulder, it was he, Old, blind Arabah, whom a suppliant there, Footsore and hungry, met and asked for bread. "Alas! my son, God's poor are everywhere,"-- Hoar as a Koreish priest, Arabah said;-- "Richer than thou am I though poor indeed! Take thou my slaves and sell, and buy thee bread."-- Thrust him his slaves and said, "Great is thy need. Refuse, and I renounce them!"--And the wall Struck with his staff, saying, "This now shall lead." --While from the mosque rang the muezzin's call, "God is most mighty! Allah seeth all!"

THE SEVEN DEVILS

There is a legend, lost in some old dusty Tome of the East,--and who will question it?-- Concluding ancient wisdom, rather musty, Wherein much war and wickedness and wit, Insult and wrath and love and shame are writ: Wherein is written that, when Mahomet Fled out of Mecca from the people's wrath, He met a shadow standing in his path, A naked horror, blacker than hewn jet.

It in one hand held out a flaming jewel, Wherein fierce colors burnt and blent like eyes Of seven fires, merciless as cruel: The horror said, "God cursed them for their lies. These are the seven devils of the wise, And I am Satan!" And the prophet saw How he might punish Mecca for its pride; And, gazing on the Fiend, "Allah," he cried, "Let them be free!" His word, like God's, was law.

Since then these seven devils have descended From nation unto nation, past the ken Of Mahomet, who left earth undefended Of any amulet of tongue or pen 'Gainst demons boring at the brains of men: Demons, whose names I dare not breathe or write, For fear of fear, despair and madness, born Of horror, and of frenzy all forlorn, And shadowy evils of the day and night.

THAMUS

And it is said that Thamus sailed Off islands of Ægean seas No seaman yet had ever hailed; No vessel touched, no ship of Greece, Phœnician or the Chersonese.

And, lying all becalmed, 'tis told How wonderful with peace that night Rolled out of dusk and dreamy gold One star, whose splendor seemed to light The world with majesty and might.

Like shadows on a shadow-ship The dark-haired, dark-eyed sailors lay; When from the island seemed to slip, Borne overhead and far away, A voice that "Thamus!" seemed to say.

Then silence: and the languid Greek, The lounging Cretan, watched the sky, Or, in carousal, ceased to speak And sing. Again came rolling by The voice, and "Thamus!" in its cry.

All were awake: tall, swarthy men With bated breath stood listening, Or gravely scanned the shore. And then, Although they saw no living thing, Again they heard the summons ring.

And "Thamus!" sounded shore and sea: And at the third call leaned the Greek, Full facing toward the isle; and he Cried to the voice and bade it speak The mission, message it would seek.

"Thou shalt sail on to such a place Among the pagan seas," it said; "To such a land: and thou shalt face Against it when the east is red, And cry aloud, 'Great Pan is dead!'"...

As fearful of unholy word Their souls stood stricken with strange fear. Then Thamus said, "Yea, I have heard. Yet 'tis my purpose still to steer Straight on. That land shall never hear!"

And so they sailed that night; and came Into an unknown sea; and there The east burnt like a sword of flame A Cyclops forges: straight the air Fell sick with calm: the morn was fair.

Then double dread was theirs; and dread Was Thamus'; and he raised his hand And shouted, "Pan! great Pan is dead!" And all the twilight-haunted land Cried, "Pan is dead!" from peak to strand.

They saw pale shrines and temples nod Among the shaken trees: and pale Wild forms of goddess and of god Crawl forth with crumbling limbs and trail Woe, till the dim land grew one wail.--

What tripods groaned?--Serapis first Within Canopus' temples heard The word, and his brute granite burst Its monster bulk. Dodona stirred And bowed its oaks before the word

That left them thunder-riv'n; then passed To Aphaca where, marble-hewn, Venus possessed a well that glassed Her form, white-burning, like the moon-- And lo! her loveliness lay strewn.

Then o'er Cilicia swept, and bent Sarpedon's oracle with scorn, Apollo.--Yea! the gods lay rent And Delphos dumb. And, lo! the morn Flamed o'er the world where Christ lay born.

THE MAMELUKE

I