A Hidden Life and Other Poems Part 5

And the spirit-face, with its woe divine, Came back in the hour of sighs; As to men who have lost their aim, and pine, Old faces of childhood rise: He wept for her pleading voice, and the shine Of her solitary eyes.

And now he believed in the ghost all night, And believed in the day as well; And he vowed, with a sorrowing tearful might, All she asked, whate'er befel, If she came to his room, in her garment white, Once more at the midnight knell.

She came not. He sought her in churchyards old That lay along the sea; And in many a church, when the midnight tolled, And the moon shone wondrously; And down to the crypts he crept, grown bold; But he waited in vain: ah me!

And he pined and sighed for love so sore, That he looked as he were lost; And he prayed her pardon more and more, As one who had sinned the most; Till, fading at length, away he wore, And he was himself a ghost.

But if he found the lady then, The lady sadly lost, Or she had found 'mongst living men A love that was a host, I know not, till I drop my pen, And am myself a ghost.

ABU MIDJAN.

"It is only just To laud good wine: If I sit in the dust, So sits the vine."

Abu Midjan sang, as he sat in chains, For the blood of the grape was the juice of his veins.

The prophet had said, "O Faithful, drink not"-- Abu Midjan drank till his heart was hot; Yea, he sang a song in praise of wine, And called it good names, a joy divine.

And Saad a.s.sailed him with words of blame, And left him in irons, a fettered flame; But he sang of the wine as he sat in chains, For the blood of the grape ran fast in his veins.

"I will not think That the Prophet said, _Ye shall not drink Of the flowing red_.

"But some weakling head, In its after pain, Moaning said, _Drink not again_.

"But I will dare, With a goodly drought, To drink and not spare, Till my thirst be out.

"For as I quaff The liquor cool, I do not laugh, Like a Christian fool;

"But my bosom fills, And my faith is high; Through the emerald hills Goes my lightning eye.

"I see _them_ hearken, I see them wait; Their light eyes darken The diamond gate.

"I hear the float Of their chant divine; Each heavenly note Mingles with mine.

"Can an evil thing Make beauty more?

Or a sinner bring To the heavenly door?

"'Tis the sun-rays fine That sink in the earth, And are drunk by the vine, For its daughters' birth.

"And the liquid light, I drink again; And it flows in might Through the shining brain,

"Making it know The things that are In the earth below, Or the farthest star.

"I will not think That the Prophet said, _Ye shall not drink Of the flowing Red_.

"For his promise, lo!

Shows more divine, When the channels o'erflow With the singing wine.

"But if he did, 'tis a small annoy To sit in chains for a heavenly joy."

Away went the song on the light wind borne.

His head sank down, and a ripple of scorn, At the irons that fettered his brown limbs' strength.

Waved on his lip the dark hair's length.

But sudden he lifted his head to the north-- Like a mountain-beacon his eye blazed forth: 'Twas a cloud in the distance that caught his eye, Whence a faint clang shot on the light breeze by; A noise and a smoke on the plain afar-- 'Tis the cloud and the clang of the Moslem war.

And the light that flashed from his black eyes, lo!

Was a light that paled the red wine's glow; And he shook his fetters in bootless ire, And called on the Prophet, and named his sire.

But the lady of Saad heard the clang, And she knew the far sabres his fetters rang.

Oh! she had the heart where a man might rest, For she knew the tempest in his breast.

She rose. Ere she reached him, he called her name, But he called not twice ere the lady came; And he sprang to his feet, and the irons cursed, And wild from his lips the Tecbir burst: "Let me go," he said, "and, by Allah's fear, At sundown I sit in my fetters here, Or lie 'neath a heaven of starry eyes, Kissed by moon-maidens of Paradise."

The lady unlocked his fetters stout, Brought her husband's horse and his armour out, Clothed the warrior, and bid him go An angel of vengeance upon the foe; Then turned her in, and from the roof, Beheld the battle, far aloof.

Straight as an arrow she saw him go, Abu Midjan, the singer, upon the foe.

Like home-sped lightning he pierced the cloud, And the thunder of battle burst more loud; And like lightning along a thunderous steep, She saw the sickle-shaped sabres sweep, Keen as the sunlight they dashed away When it broke against them in flashing spray; Till the battle ebbed o'er the plain afar, Borne on the flow of the holy war.

As sank from the edge the sun's last flame, Back to his bonds Abu Midjan came.

"O lady!" he said, "'tis a mighty horse; The Prophet himself might have rode a worse.

I felt beneath me his muscles' play, As he tore to the battle, like fiend, away.

I forgot him, and swept at the traitor weeds, And they fell before me like broken reeds; Dropt their heads, as a boy doth mow The poppies' heads with his unstrung bow.

They fled. The faithful follow at will.

I turned. And lo! he was under me still.

Give him water, lady, and barley to eat; Then come and help me to fetter my feet."

He went to the terrace, she went to the stall, And tended the horse like a guest in the hall; Then to the singer in haste returned.

The fire of the fight in his eyes yet burned; But he said no more, as if in shame Of the words that had burst from his lips in flame.

She left him there, as at first she found, Seated in fetters upon the ground.

But the sealed fountain, in pulses strong, O'erflowed his silence, and burst in song.

"Oh! the wine Of the vine Is a feeble thing; In the rattle Of battle The true grapes spring.

"When on force Of the horse, The arm flung abroad Is sweeping, And reaping The harvest of G.o.d.

"When the fear Of the spear Makes way for its blow; And the faithless Lie breathless The horse-hoofs below.

"The wave-crest, Round the breast, Tosses sabres all red; But under, Its thunder Is dumb to the dead.

"They drop From the top To the sear heap below; And deeper, Down steeper, The infidels go.

"But bright Is the light On the true-hearted breaking; Rapturous faces, Bent for embraces, Wait on his waking.

"And he hears In his ears The voice of the river, Like a maiden, Love-laden, Go wandering ever.

"Oh! the wine Of the vine May lead to the gates; But the rattle Of battle Wakes the angel who waits.

"To the lord Of the sword Open it must; The drinker, The thinker, Sits in the dust.