Where are my players and my dancing women? Where are my sweet musicians with their pipes, That made me merry in the olden time? I am a laughing stock to man and brute. The very camels, with their ugly faces, Mock me and laugh at me.
Alas! my Lord, If thou wouldst sleep awhile,
All would be well. Ant Sleep from mine eyes is gone, And my heart faileth me for very care. Dost thou remember, Philip, the old fable Told us when we were boys, in which the bear Going for honey overturns the hive, And is stung blind by bees? I am that beast, Stung by the Persian swarms of Elymais.
Philip. When thou art come again to Antioch These thoughts will be as covered and forgotten, As are the tracks of Pharaoh's chariot-wheels In the Egyptian sands.
Ah! when I come Again to Antioch! When will that be? Alas! alas!
My Lysias, Gorgias, Seron, and Nicanor, Are babes in battle, and this dreadful Jew Will rob me of my kingdom and my crown. My elephants shall trample him to dust; I will wipe out his nation, and will make Jerusalem a common burying-place, And every home within its walls a tomb! (Throws up his hands, and sinks into the arms of attendants, who lay him upon a bank.) Philip. Antiochus! Antiochus! Alas, The King is ill! What is it, O my Lord? Ant. Nothing. A sudden and sharp spasm of pain,
As if the lightning struck me, or the knife Of an assassin smote me to the heart.
"T is passed, even as it came.
I cannot stand. I am become at once Weak as an infant. Ye will have to lead me. Jove, or Jehovah, or whatever name Thou wouldst be named,-it is alike to me, If I knew how to pray, I would entreat
SCENE II.-ANTIOCHUS; PHILIP; A MESSEN- To live a little longer.
I am a messenger from Antioch, Sent here by Lysias.
A strange foreboding
Of something evil overshadows me.
I am no reader of the Jewish Scriptures;
I know not Hebrew; but my High-Priest Jason, As I remember, told me of a Prophet Who saw a little cloud rise from the sea Like a man's hand, and soon the heaven was black
With clouds and rain. Here, Philip, read; I cannot;
I see that cloud. It makes the letters dim Before mine eyes.
Philip (reading.) "To King Antiochus, The God, Epiphanes."
Even Lysias laughs at me!-Go on, go on!
Thou shalt not die; we will not let thee die! Ant. How canst thou help it, Philip?
Stab after stab. Thou hast no shield against This unseen weapon. God of Israel, Since all the other gods abandon me, Help me. I will release the Holy City, Garnish with goodly gifts the Holy Temple. Thy people, whom I judged to be unworthy To be so much as buried, shall be equal Unto the citizens of Antioch.
I will become a Jew, and will declare Through all the world that is inhabited The power of God!
Philip. He faints. It is like death. Bring here the royal litter. We will bear him Into the camp, while yet he lives.
"Come back, rebellious one! Let thy proud heart relent; Come back to my tall, white tent, Come back, my only son!
"Thy hand in freedom shall
Cast thy hawks, when morning breaks, On the swans of the Seven Lakes, On the lakes of Karajal.
"I will give thee leave to stray And pasture thy hunting steeds In the long grass and the reeds Of the meadows of Karaday.
"I will give thee my coat of mail, Of softest leather made, With choicest steel inlaid; Will not all this prevail?"
"THIS hand no longer shall
Cast my hawks, when morning breaks,
On the swans of the Seven Lakes, On the lakes of Karajal.
"I will no longer stray And pasture my hunting steeds In the long grass and the reeds
Of the meadows of Karaday.
"Though thou give me thy coat of mail, Of softest leather made, With choicest steel inlaid, All this cannot prevail.
"What right hast thou, O Khan,
To me, who am mine own,
Who am slave to God alone,
And not to any man?
"God will appoint the day When I again shall be
By the blue, shallow sea,
Where the steel-bright sturgeons play.
"God, who doth care for me,
In the barren wilderness,
On unknown hills, no less Will my companion be.
"When I wander lonely and lost In the wind; when I watch at night Like a hungry wolf, and am white And covered with hoar-frost;
"Yea, wheresoever I be, In the yellow desert sands,
In mountains or unknown lands, Allah will care for me!"
THEN Sobra, the old, old man,- Three hundred and sixty years Had he lived in this land of tears, Bowed down and said, "O Khan!
"If you bid me, I will speak. There's no sap in dry grass, No marrow in dry bones! Alas, The mind of old men is weak!
"I am old, I am very old :
I have seen the primeval man, I have seen the great Gengis Khan, Arrayed in his robes of gold.
"What I say to you is the truth; And I say to you, O Khan, Pursue not the star-white man, Pursue not the beautiful youth.
"Him the Almighty made, And brought him forth of the light, At the verge and end of the night, When men on the mountain played. "He was born at the break of day, When abroad the angels walk; He hath listened to their talk, And he knoweth what they say.
"Gifted with Allah's grace, Like the moon of Ramazan
When it shines in the skies, O Khan, Is the light of his beautiful face.
"When first on earth he trod, The first words that he said Were these, as he stood and prayed, There is no God but God!
"And he shall be king of men, For Allah hath heard his prayer, And the Archangel in the air, Gabriel, hath said, Amen!"
THE SIEGE OF KAZAN. Tartar Song, from the Prose Version of Chodzko.
BLACK are the moors before Kazan, And their stagnant waters smell of blood: I said in my heart, with horse and man, I will swim across this shallow flood.
Under the feet of Argamack,
Like new moons were the shoes he bare, Silken trappings hung on his back,
In a talisman on his neck, a prayer.
My warriors, thought I, are following me; But when I looked behind, alas! Not one of all the band could I see, All had sunk in the black morass!
THE BOY AND THE BROOK.-TO CARDINAL RICHELIEU.
Where are our shallow fords? and where
The power of Kazan with its fourfold gates? From the prison windows our maidens fair
Talk of us still through the iron grates.
We cannot hear them; for horse and man Lie buried deep in the dark abyss!
Ah! the black day hath come down on Kazan! Ah! was ever a grief like this?
From Varaca's rocky wall,
From the rock of Varaca unrolled, The snow came and covered all, And the green meadow was cold.
O Stork, our garden with snow Was hidden away and lost, And the rose-trees that in it grow Were withered by snow and frost.
Armenian Popular Song, from the Prose Ver- To M. Duperrier, Gentleman of Aix in Pro
Down from yon distant mountain height The brooklet flows through the village street; A boy comes forth to wash his hands, Washing, yes washing, there he stands, In the water cool and sweet.
Brook, from what mountain dost thou come, O my brooklet cool and sweet! I come from yon mountain high and cold, Where lieth the new snow on the old,
And melts in the summer heat.
Brook, to what river dost thou go? O my brooklet cool and sweet! I go to the river there below Where in bunches the violets grow, And sun and shadow meet.
Brook, to what garden dost thou go? O my brooklet cool and sweet!
I go to the garden in the vale Where all night long the nightingale Her love-song doth repeat.
Brook, to what fountain dost thou go? O my brooklet cool and sweet!
I go to the fountain at whose brink
The maid that loves thee comes to drink, And whenever she looks therein,
I rise to meet her, and kiss her chin, And my joy is then complete.
vence, on the Death of his Daughter.
Unto these laws must bend;
Armenian Popular Song, from the Prose Ver- The sentinel that guards the barriers of the
WELCOME, O Stork! that dost wing Thy flight from the far-away!
Thou hast brought us the signs of Spring Thou hast made our sad hearts gay.
Descend, O Stork! descend Upon our roof to rest; In our ash-tree, O my friend, My darling, make thy nest.
To thee, O Stork, I complain, O Stork, to thee I impart The thousand sorrows, the pain And aching of my heart.
When thou away didst go,
Away from this tree of ours, The withering winds did blow, And dried up all the flowers.
Dark grew the brilliant sky,
Cloudy and dark and drear;
They were breaking the snow on high, And winter was drawing near.
Cannot our kings defend.
To murmur against death, in petulant defiance, Is never for the best;
To will what God doth will, that is the only science
THOU mighty Prince of Church and State, Richelieu! until the hour of death, Whatever road man chooses, Fate Still holds him subject to her breath. Spun of all silks, our days and nights Have sorrows woven with delights; And of this intermingled shade Our various destiny appears, Even as one sees the course of years Of summers and of winters made.
THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD.-SANTA TERESA'S BOOK-MARK.
"What, then, shall sorrows and shall fears Come to disturb so pure a brow? And with the bitterness of tears
These eyes of azure troubled grow? "Ah no! into the fields of space, Away shalt thou escape with me; And Providence will grant the grace Of all the days that were to be.
"Let no one in thy dwelling cower, In sombre vestments draped and veiled; But let them welcome thy last hour,
As thy first moments once they hailed. "Without a cloud be there each brow; There let the grave no shadow cast; When one is pure as thou art now, The fairest day is still the last.
And waving wide his wings of white, The angel, at these words, had sped Towards the eternal realms of light!Poor mother! see, thy son is dead!
ITALY! Italy! thou who 'rt doomed to wear The fatal gift of beauty, and possess The dower funest of infinite wretchedness Written upon thy forehead by despair; Ah! would that thou wert stronger, or less fair, That they might fear thee more, or love thee less, Who in the splendor of thy loveliness Seem wasting, yet to mortal combat dare! Then from the Alps I should not see descending Such torrents of armed men, nor Gallic horde Drinking the wave of Po, distained with gore, Nor should I see thee girded with a sword
Not thine, and with the stranger's arm contending,
Victor or vanquished, slave forevermore.
THOU that from the heavens art, Every pain and sorrow stillest, And the doubly wretched heart Doubly with refreshment fillest, I am weary with contending! Why this rapture and unrest? Peace descending
Come, ah, come into my breast! II.
O'er all the hill-tops Is quiet now,
In all the tree-tops Hearest thou
Hardly a breath;
The birds are asleep in the trees: Wait; soon like these: Thou too shalt rest.
How I started up in the night, in the night, Drawn on without rest or reprieval!
THE WORKSHOP OF HEPHAESTUS.
MEPHÆSTUS, standing before the statue of Pandora.
Nor fashioned out of Gold, like Hera's throne, Nor forged of iron like the thunderbolts Of Zeus omnipotent, or other works Wrought by my hands at Lemnos or Olympus, But moulded in soft clay, that unresisting Yields itself to the touch, this lovely form Before me stands perfect in every part. Not Aphrodite's self appeared more fair, When first upwafted by caressing winds She came to high Olympus, and the gods Paid homage to her beauty. Thus her hair Was cinctured; thus her floating drapery Was like a cloud about her, and her face Was radiant with the sunshine and the sea.
sweet, pale face! O lovely eyes of azure, Clear as the waters of a brook that run Limpid and laughing in the summer sun! O golden hair that like a miser's treasure In its abundance overflows the measure!
O graceful form, that cloudlike floatest on With the soft, undulating gait of one Who moveth as if motion were a pleasure!
By what name shall I call thee? Nymph or Muse, Callirrhoë or Urania? Some sweet name Whose every syllable is a caress
Would best befit thee; but I cannot choose, Nor do I care to choose; for still the same, Nameless or named, will be thy loveliness.
Dowered with all celestial gifts, Skilled in every art
That ennobles and uplifts
And delights the heart,
Fair on earth shall be thy fame As thy face is fair,
And Pandora be the name
Thou henceforth shalt bear.
HERMES, pulling on his sandals.
MUCH must he toil who serves the Immortal Gods, And I, who am their herald, most of all. No rest have I, nor respite. I no sooner Unclasp the winged sandals from my feet, Than I again must clasp them, and depart Upon some foolish errand. But to-day The errand is not foolish. Never yet With greater joy did I obey the summons That sends me earthward. I will fly so swiftly That my caduceus in the whistling air Shall make a sound like the Pandaan pipes, Cheating the shepherds; for to-day I go, Commissioned by high-thundering Zeus, to lead A maiden to Prometheus, in his tower, And by my cunning arguments persuade him To marry her. What mischief lies concealed In this design I know not; but I know Who thinks of marrying hath already taken One step upon the road to penitence. Such embassies delight me. Forth I launch On the sustaining air, nor fear to fall Like Icarus, nor swerve aside like him Who drove amiss Hyperion's fiery steeds. I sink, I fly! The yielding element Folds itself round about me like an arm, And holds me as a mother holds her child.
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