Fringilla: Some Tales In Verse Part 4

O'er the dry sand, vapour twinkleth, Like an eye when old age wrinkleth; While, along the watered sh.o.r.e Runs a river of gold ore.

Temple-front and court resemble Mirrors swung in wavering light; While the tapering columns tremble At the view of their own height.

II

Marble shaft, and granite portal, Statues of the G.o.ds immortal Quiver, with their figures bent, In a liquid pediment

Thence the flood-leat followeth swiftly, Where the peasant, spade in hand, Guideth many a runnel deftly Through his fruit and pasture-land;

Oft, the irriguous bank cross-slicing, Plaited trickles he keeps enticing; Till their gravelly gush he feels, Overtaking his brown heels.

III

Life--that long hath born the test of More than ours could bear, and live, Springs anew, to make the best of Every chance the G.o.ds may give,

Doum-tree stiffeneth flagging feather; Pate-leaves cease to cling together; Citrons clear their welted rind; Vines their mildewed sprays unwind.

Gourds, and melons, spread new l.u.s.tre On their veiny dull s.h.a.green; While the starred pomegranates cl.u.s.ter Golden b.a.l.l.s, with pink between.

IV

Yea, but heaven hath ordered duly, Lest mankind should wax unruly, Egypt, garner of all lore, Narrow as a threshing-floor.

East, and West, lies desolation, Infinite, untracked, untold Shroud for all of G.o.d's creation, When the wild blast lifts its fold;

There eternal melancholy Maketh all delight unholy; As a stricken widow glides Past a group of laughing brides.

Who is this, that so disdaineth Dome and desert, fear and fate; While his jewell'd horse he reineth.

At Amen-Ra's temple-gate?

He, who crushed the kings of Asia, Like a pod of colocasia; Whom the sons of Anak fled, Puling infants at his tread.

Who, with his own shoulders, lifted Thrones of many a conquered land; Who the rocks of Scythia rifted-- King Sesostris waves his hand

VI

Blare of trumpet fills the valley; Slowly, and majestically, Swingeth wide, in solemn state, Lord Amen-Ra's temple-gate.

Thence the warrior-host emeigeth, Casque, and corselet, spear, and shield; As the tide of red ore suigeth From the furnace-door revealed.

After them, tumultuous rushing, Mob, and medley, crowd, and crushing; And the hungry file of priests, Loosely zoned for larger feasts.

VII

"Look!" The whispered awe enhances With a thrill their merry treat; As one readeth grim romances, In a sunny window-seat

"Look! It is the maid selected For the sacrifice expected: By the G.o.ds, how proud and brave Steps she to her watery grave!"

Strike up cymbals, gongs, and tabours, Clarions, double-flutes, and drums; All that bellows, or belabours, In a surging discord comes.

VIII

Scarce Duke Iram can keep under His wild steed's disdain and wonder, While his large eyes ask alway-- "Dareth man attempt to neigh?"

He hath snuffed the great Sahara, And the mute parade of stars; Shall he brook this shrill fanfara, Ramshorns, pigskins, screechy jars?

What hath he to do with rabble?

Froth is better than their babble; Let him toss them flakes of froth, To p.r.o.nounce his scorn and wrath.

IX

With his nostrils fierce dilating, With his crest a curling sea, All his volumed power is waiting For the will, to set it free.

"Peace, my friend!" The touch he knoweth Calms his heart, howe'er it gloweth: Horse can shame a man, to quell Pa.s.sion, where he loveth well.

"Nay, endure we," saith the rider, "Till her plighted word be paid; Then, though Satan stand beside her, G.o.d shall help me swing this blade."

X

Lo, upon the deep-piled dais, Wrought in hallowed looms of Sais, O'er the impetuous torrent's swoop, Stands the sacrificial group!

Tall High-priest, with zealot fires Blazing in those eyeb.a.l.l.s old, Swathes him, as his rank requires, Head to foot, in linen fold.

Seven attendants round him vying, In a lighter vesture plying, Four with skirts, and other three Tunic'd short from waist to knee.

XI

Free among them stands the maiden, Clad in white for her long rest; Crowned with gold, and jewel-laden, With a lily on her breast

Lily is the mark that showeth Where that pure and sweet heart gloweth; Here must come, to shed her life, Point of sacrificial knife.

Here the knife is, cold and gleaming, Here the colder butcher band.

Was the true love nought but dreaming, Feeble heart, and coward hand?

XII

Strength unto the weak is given, When their earthly bonds are riven; Ere the spirit is called away, Heaven begins its tranquil sway.

Life hath been unstained, and therefore Pleasant to look back upon; But there is not much to care for, When the light of love is gone.

Still, though love were twice as fleeting, Longeth she for one last greeting; If her eyes might only dwell Once on his, to say farewell

XIII

"Glorious Hapi," spake Piromis, Lifting high his weapon'd hand; "Earth thy footstool, heaven thy dome is, We the pebbles on thy strand.

"Thou hast leaped the cubits twenty, Dowering us with peace and plenty; m.u.t.h.a shows thee her retreat, And the desert licks thy feet,