Exulting in the flush of youth's full glow,
He mingled with their throng), and gazing, rapt
With wonder at his beauty, gave him drink.
And now the words came feebly from his lips,
A murmur half in silence, which the ear
Of faithful followers caught: "Oh! who will bring
From that fair stream, which flowing by the gate
Of Bethlehem's wall makes music in the ear,
One drop to cool this tongue ?" They heard, the three,
The mightiest of the thirty, swift of foot
As are the harts upon the mountains, strong
As are the lions down by Jordan's banks;
They heard and darted forth; down rock and crag
They leapt, as leaps the torrent on its course;
Through plain and vale they sped, and never stay'd,
Until the wide encampment of the foe
Warn'd them of danger nigh.
Abandon'd they their task.
But not for fear
When evening fell,
And all the Philistines were hush'd in sleep,
And over all the plain the full bright moon
Pour'd its rich lustre, onward still they stole,
By tent fires creeping with hush'd breath, and feet
That fear'd to wake the echoes, till at last
They heard the babbling music, and the gleam
Of rippling moonlight caught their eager eye,
And o'er them fell the shade of Bethlehem's gate.
They tarried not. One full delicious draught
Slaked their fierce thirst, and then with anxious haste
They fill'd their water-urn, and full of joy,
They bore it back in triumph to their lord.
With quicken'd steps they track'd their path again
O'er plain and valley, up o'er rock and crag,
And as the early sunlight kiss'd the hills
They stood before him. He had won their hearts
By brave deeds, gentle words, and stainless life,
And now they came to give him proof of love,
And pouring out the water bade him drink.
But lo! he would not taste. He heard their tale
(In few words told, as brave men tell their deeds),
And lifting up his hands with solemn prayer,
As though he stood, a priest, before the shrine,
He pour'd it on the earth before the Lord.
"Far be it from me, God, that I should drink,
The slave of selfish lust, forgetting Thee,
Forgetting these my brothers. In Thine eyes
This water fresh and cool is as the blood
Of hero-souls who jeopardied their lives.
That blood I may not taste.
As shrink the lips
From the hot life-stream of the Paschal Lamb,
So shrinks my soul from this. To Thee, O Lord,
To Thee I pour it. Thou wilt pardon me
For mine unkindly weakness,
For all rough deeds of war.
pardon them
Their noble love
Shall cover all their sins; for Thou hast claim'd,
More than all blood of bulls and goats, the will
That, self-forgetting, lives in deeds like this."
So spake the hero-king, and all the host
Look'd on and wonder'd; and those noble three,
The mightiest of the thirty, felt their souls
Knit closer to King David and to God.
THROUGH Wastes of sand the train of camels wound
Their lingering way. The pilgrims, hasting on
To Mecca's shrine, were grieved and vex'd at heart,
Impatient of delay. The scorching sand
Lay hot and blinding round them, and the blast
Of sultry winds as from a furnace mouth
Brought blackness to all faces. Whirling clouds
Of white dust fill'd their eyes, and, falling flat,
Crouching in fear, they waited till it pass'd.
Then, lifting up their eyes, there met their gaze
One fierce hot glare, a waveless sea of sand.
No track of pilgrims' feet, nor whitening bones
Of camels or of asses, mark'd their way.
They wander'd on, by sun and moon and stars Guessing their path, not knowing where they went, But Mecca's shrine they saw not. Day by day, Their scant stores scantier grew.
Their camels died; No green oasis met their yearning eyes,
No rippling stream brought gladness to their hearts;
But glittering lakes that sparkled in the light,
Girt with the soft green tufts of feathery palm,
Enticed them, hour by hour, to wander on,
And, as they near'd them, turn'd to wastes of sand.
They thirsted, and with looks of blank despair
Beheld the emptied skins. One only, borne
By Ka'ab's camel, met their wistful gaze,—
Ka'ab, the rich, the noble, he who knew
The depths of Islam,1 unto Allah's will
Resigning all his soul. And now he show'd
How out of that submission flows the strength
For noblest acts of love. That priceless store
He claim'd not as his own: the "mine" and "thine"
Of selfish right he scatter'd to the winds,
And to his fellow-pilgrims offer'd all.
They shared it all alike. To Ka'ab's self
And Ka'ab's slave an equal portion came.
"Allah is great," he cried, about to drink
With thankful adoration, when a wail
Of eager craving burst from parched lips,
And upturn'd eyes with fever'd anguish watch'd
The precious life-draught. Ka'ab heard that cry,
'Islam-resignation, submission to the will of God-was proclaimed by Mahomet as the one essential religion, which had been inherited from the patriarchs, preached by the prophets, and revived by himself as its new and greatest apostle. "They who set their face with resignation Godward and do what is right, their reward is with the Lord."
"When his Lord said to Abraham, 'Resign thyself to me,' he said, 'I resign myself to the Lord of the Worlds.'"
"And this to his children did Abraham bequeath, and Jacob also, saying, 'O, my children! truly God hath chosen a religion for you; so die not unless ye also be Muslims "" (sc. resigned).— (Rodwell, xci.)
His eye
beheld that anguish, and his heart
Was stirr'd with pity. Tasting not a drop,
With calm and loving look he pass'd the cup
To those poor dying lips, and bore his thirst,
As martyrs bear their flames. His soul had learnt,
Not Islam's creed alone that God is great:
A mightier name was written on his heart,
"God, the compassionate, the merciful;"
And yielding up his will to God's, the three,
Compassion, power, and greatness, were as one.
So ends the tale. And whether death came soon
As sleep's twin-brother, with the long'd-for rest,
And clear bright streams in Paradise refresh'd
The fever'd thirst of earth; or if the dawn
Reveal'd the distant gleam of Mecca's shrine,
And led those pilgrims on to Zemzem's fount,
We know not. This we know, that evermore,
Like living waters from the flinty rock,
Gladdening the hearts of Hagar's sons, as once
God's angel help'd the mother and her child,
The memory of that noble deed flows on,
And quickens into life each fainting heart,
And through long ages, in each Arab's tent
It pass'd into a proverb-" Ka'ab's deed
Of noble goodness:-There is none like that."1
THE setting sun fell low on Zutphen's plain;
The fight was over, and the victory won,
And out of all the din and stir of war
They bore the flower of Christian chivalry,
The life-blood gushing out. He came, the pure,
The true, the stainless, all youth's fiery glow,
All manhood's wisdom, blended into one,
To help the weak against the strong, to drive
The Spaniard from a land which was not his,
And claim the right of all men to be free,
Free in their life, their polity, their faith.
He came, no poor ambition urging on,
But loyalty and duty, first to God,
And then to her the Virgin Queen who ruled
His guileless heart, and of a thousand good
Found him the best. We wonder that he bow'd
Before so poor an idol, knowing not
That noble souls transfer their nobleness
To that whereon they gaze, and through the veils
Of custom or of weakness reach the heart
That beats, as theirs, with lofty thoughts and true.
And now that life was ebbing. Men had hoped
To see in him the saviour of the state
From thickening perils, one in open war
To cope with Alva, and in subtle skill,
Bating no jot of openness and truth,
To baffle all the tortuous wiles of Spain.
And some who knew him better hoped to see
His poet's spirit do a poet's work,
With sweetest music giving voice and shape
To all the wondrous thoughts that stirr'd the age,
Moving the world's great heart, attracting all,
The children at their play, the old man bent
By blazing hearths, to listen and rejoice.
And now his sun was setting. Faint and weak
They bore him to his tent, and loss of blood
Brought on the burning thirst of wounded men,
And he too craved for water. Brothers true,
Companions of his purpose and his risk,
Brought from the river in their helmet cup
The draught he long'd for. Yet he drank it not;
That eye had fallen on another's woe,
That ear was open to another's sigh,
That hand was free to give, and pitying love,
In that sharp pain of death, had conquer'd self.
The words were few and simple: "Not for,me;
I may not taste: He needs it more than I:"
|