Montezuma Part 3

So said, so done; two altars were soon reared, Both prophets, in full confidence appeared; The offerings have been brought; and now they wait Only the word; the King must give command.

Against gray Kohen, was the leveled fate Of his unsolaced anger; yet, his hand Was stayed by counsel, and he only said, "Uri calls first, let every breath Be hushed upon his calling. Let the dead From out their cerements beneath Bear witness with our spirits that we seek "A true solution to the psalm of life.

Slay thou the offering, Uri, and then speak, Speak the charmed word, and close the strife."

Uri comes forth and in one hand he brings The talisman with leathern circlet stayed, Enclosing surfaces convex; to this he clings As though the whole earth in the balance laid, Were mean in weight compared to such a gem.

The other holds a knife, and with a stroke The offering is prepared; he looked at them, The thirsting, hungry eyes that watch, then broke The silence, turning full upon the sun: "Thy will, most radiant G.o.d! thy will be done.

O s.h.i.+ning face! of the unchanging one, Look, in the pity thou alone canst feel And lead us back to life, we claim thy pledge.

A nation, lifts to thee their centered prayer; They see thy smile, they know thy heart of hearts.

They hush them here, upon their altar's brink, For they can go no nearer; meet, thou, them, And, as we look upon thy face, may we Behold thy very presence in our midst; Come as a flame, to lick this offering up, And all our hearts shall melt into thy smile."

He raised the gem before the flaming sun; The rays concentered, and the flames burst forth As leaping to their master. 'Twas enough.

The mult.i.tude, in thought, became as one.

And all, save Kohen, sank upon their knees; And whispers of relief, fell on the breeze.

They were as pliant clay in Uri's hands, And hung upon the breath of his commands: "Pour forth your homage, chosen of the sun, Once more his warmth encloses; and we feel Responsive throbbings of his fatherhood.

Rise and rejoice!" Their ready voices raise From lips, new touched in unison of praise.

Old Kohen was confounded at the first.

He had not thought it possible, to bring Fire from the sun, or any mortal thing; No shadow of its secret on him burst; But he had heard of sorcery and arts Among the sons of Mizraim, and not long Before the lion of his nature starts, In cold defiance of the clamorous throng, To slay his offering; and his lips poured out The very thunder-throe of earnest prayer; A fervency that would not harbor doubt, That ever is a stranger to despair.

Long, earnest, loud and fervently, he prayed; And his gray locks ensilvering the breeze, Gave pathos, to the torrent thus unstayed; Yet, not for self, did he the angel seize; But wrestled for his people thus misled.

"Unscale their eyes, O Father!" so he pled.

"Unstop their ears, O thou, All Powerful One That they may hear thy footfall on the wind.

Come in thy flame, and purge them with thy fire.

Strike off the fetters from their prisoned souls!

Make me an offering for their flagrant sins, And I will bare my bosom to the knife, And bend my neck in cheerfulness to thee, So thou wilt save my people from the hand Of this misguided witch of Mizraim!"

His prayer had hardly ceased, ere shot the flame, From upper zenith, down, and in one glow, Pierced the whole altar with impetuous claim, And lapped the other with its overflow.

The crowd, transfixed with wonder at the scene, Could hardly trust the witness of their eyes, And held divided counsels, till the King Quenching the current of their late surprise, Poured his recruited anger on Kohen.

"Why longer parley, with a thing so plain?

Old Kohen had no warrant for this deed; The palm was Uri's who did rightly gain Fire from the sun, to him alone, we plead; He drew it first, old Kohen must admit, And he should paid due homage to our G.o.d; And from what source did his become enlit?

"We serve no phantom, with its hidden nod, But look upon the face of him we serve; The sun has kept his fire for us these years, And we, his children, never can deserve His untold blessings; though our prayers and tears, Should mingle with each altar that we raise In all the future ages, still our debt Will always be uncancelled by our praise And all our past be covered with regret.

We want no juggling on this sacred day, That gives us back the father, we had lost.

Bind old Kohen, and hasten him away, He shall repay his treachery with cost.

To-morrow shall another altar grace This precious grove, made sacred to the sun, And Kohen shall be offered in this place, To pay the sacrilege he had begun."

In thy own way our Father; we must wait So many times, because we cannot see; Yet thou alone canst bring us to the gate, How slowly do we learn to trust in thee!

Yet, in withholding, are the blessings hid, As frequent as in giving; all our prayers If they result in doing but thy bid, Will scatter diamond dust above our cares.

The gray old Prophet murmured: "Let G.o.d's will Be done, and in abeyance I will bare my breast, "I will not doubt him though indeed he kill, His chosen way must surely be the best."

The morrow came and at the King's command The mult.i.tude a.s.sembled, and the guard Brought forth the Prophet, looking proudly grand As some great warrior claiming his reward Of beys and laurels, wreathed into a crown; They rear the pile and he awaits his doom Without a menace, and without a frown.

Then turning to the press: "I will a.s.sume Your hearts are mine, my sons, I know it well; Your eyes beheld the witness of our G.o.d, And greatly were ye moved; but 'tis his will That I should join my fathers in that land, Where canker and corruption never comes, The why, and wherefore of it, is his own; I bow my head in thankfulness to him, That he has deemed me worthy to exchange A life of sorrow for a crown of love.

"Ye are the servants of an earthly King, And G.o.d has suffered him to lead you off, His will be done; but I must tell you now Your future as I read it in the gla.s.s Of my illumined death: "I see the black Of Mizraim, sweep the brown of Lud from off The face of Egypt; and I also see A wandering race, go northward, and to east; I see a bitter wintering of snow; I see the sun hide back his face from them; I see a boisterous buffeting at sea; I see a journey southward--a new world."

"And centuries flow swiftly on my sight.

A people proudly resting in their wealth; The Son of G.o.d, in the full flight of years; The conquest of the nations in his name.

A proud and prosperous people cross the sea And swoop upon this nation of the sun; Their temples crumble in the hand of G.o.d And he takes back his own. All this I see As what cannot avert; it is G.o.d's way, And wisdom is the wastage of his throne.

He cannot order wrongly; I submit My wasting image to his waiting hands: "Come Father! I am ready."

He raised him to the pile; with look divine, He p.r.o.ne himself upon it; at the sign The Prophet Uri raised the crystal stone; The sun threw down its rays, and shot the flame Full to the center; as the altar shone, Each eye was turned, and every voice was tame, As down the chancel of the deep blue sky, A flaming chariot sped, and came a cry: "It is enough, come higher up; thou shalt Not suffer death." A hand, not human, caught The grand old Prophet; his rec.u.mbent form Rose on their dazzled sight as rainbow in the storm.

Thus was the error fixed; and it is well We leave them to their blindness for a while.

Misguided wors.h.i.+p, left alone, will tell Its own pathetic story: there is guile To underlie each sorrow of the race.

Fruit comes alone from seed; somewhere is sown The germ of every grief, and nature on its face Bears no repentant feature; as we plant, so shall the tree be grown.

EXPULSION FROM EGYPT.

The seasons pa.s.s, till on their hands they count Four palms, and to the third, a score and three In life's meridian how the circles mount That measure our existence, if there be No canker worm that clogs the ready wheel; If care hangs not upon the skirts of time; And if, like most mankind, we only feel Its gentle pa.s.sing, by the hills we climb In ambling, easy way, and retrospect Surprises into thought, and we wake up To feel how swift we journey. We reflect After reflection barrens of its fruit, the cup Which we have mixed we drink; if it be gall We gulp it down the same; we cannot change The current of our lives, and useless is the call On any but the hand of G.o.d. 'Tis strange The miracle of life should ever pa.s.s And print no letters deep into the soul!

The years go by, and, but the tuft of gra.s.s More reverent than we, tells o'er our dust its rosary, in deep green scroll.

MIZRAIM AND LUD.

Near the rim of Karoun, where the pyramids drink the dew that should dampen the soil; And the Nilus pours over its green level banks, its annual freightage of spoil; Where the date ripens dark to the child of the sun, and the pomegranate colors for fruit; The ibis is sounding the damps of the land, and earth in its plethory mute.

The fat of the fields husks the voice of the morn, while Demeter is weighing her sheaves; The lotus has honied its lips for the kiss, "and the turtle in mockery grieves."

What is that, where the Orient gathers her gold, and the eye wanders back to the sea?

What cloud on the horizon's breach can be seen? What wakens the vulture's rude glee?

'Tis the shock of the battle that burdens the air, and the armies that burden the eye; They have met (could Elysian give landscape more fair?), have met to embrace and to die.

The Prophet still lives, and has led to the sun all Egypt; and gathered as one The people to hallow the harvest-moon feast, ere the work of the year is done.

But Mizraim outnumbers the children of Lud, and the shepherd kings, crafty and weak, Have laid tasks on their shoulders too heavy to bear, till the voice of their burden must speak.

In vain the gray Prophet lifts up to his G.o.d his winglet of prayer for peace; The tempest of war has broke over the plain, and his altars can bring no surcease.

The black and the bronze, the iron and bra.s.s; how they struggle and grip for the field!

The spear and the arrow, the halbert and lance, and who shall be first to yield?

Not the iron; it is strong and resistless in weight. Not the bra.s.s; it is beaten and firm.

What a hecate of agony burdens the plain! what a banquet for vulture and worm!

But the iron is too heavy, the bra.s.s is too thin, and under the weight it gives way, As a wall, that is breached and toppled by time; and Mizraim gains the day.

Oppression, when reversed, is double weight; The Slave pours lead into the lash he bore; And, as the Master adds recruited hate To blows, that he has learned to feel before, The soul its letters of forgiveness learns From only one great Master, in all time; Revenge is human, and forever burns Upon the trackway of retreating crime.

The text and testwork of their lives was lost; And when the King was slain, and they o'erthrown, His people paid their tyranny with cost.

Only the Prophet, with his magic stone, Could purchase their withdrawal; they must leave (They were the early jewels of the sun) And Uri pledged their fortunes to retrieve, If they would journey, where the day begun, And seek the closer presence of their G.o.d, In paths where human feet had never trod.

They must divide with Egypt; but go out Well laden for the journey; should they dare To turn, the heavy hand of Mizraim would not spare.

aegyptus! thou above thy gates hath writ So many times the monosylbic "when."

We, weary of conjecture; round us flit The phantoms of the past; and we again Pa.s.s in review thy pages, black with mold; Intemporate within a crumbling earth, Against the char of empires thou dost hold The charms that emulate immortal birth.

We write mutation on the brow of Time; Thou art the changeless one of all the world-- Thou hast no brotherhood in any clime; All mortal barbets have in vain been hurled.

"Time conquers all things?" Thou giv'st back the lie; Above its ruins, thou dost stand, serene-- Eternity!--Must thou, perforce, then die?

What tragedy hast thou, indeed, not seen?

Must thou, too, look on death? thou wilt not dim; But in impa.s.sive slumber, thou wilt fall As sinks the sun, beneath the horizon's rim, And answer only the Archangel's call.

We leave thee loathely, for our souls are wed To thy enchanted gardenhood of lore.

"The morning stars sang joy" above thy bed, The nations, in their cerements, shall pa.s.s thy door, And earth be wrapped in ashes ere thy brow shall bear the fatal legend, "Nevermore."

THE MOURNING SHEPHERDS