THE PROPHECY OF DAVID

A METRICAL SHORT-STORY

I

"The prophecy is overthrown at last! Thy hopes, my fury-tempered steel shall blast. Mine, mine, thou art; David, thou shalt not rule. This curse upon my seed is overpassed; And he who made it was some dream-crazed fool Whose soul was such poor stuff as could not mast Futurity's wide ocean. David shall be All fetter-bound, my captive prisoned fast!" Before his tent, King Saul in triumph strode; About Prince David circled his array. E'er the new sun had sipped the dew, would he Close on the fugitive.—"Brain-crazing thirst Of jealousy that drives me on my way Of torment, drain this cup; and satiate be. Thy hope, O line of David, fadeth fast Like pallid starlight into morning cast." Saul triumphed to the stars; he gasped for air As one might gasp upon a mountain's height. Revenge and hate swept storm-like through the lair Where lurked his soul shrinking before the blast; "Mine, mine, by high-enthroned Jehovah's might!" The words upon his lips were hot and fast.— Thine, thine, thou say'st? Him shalt thou never gain! Thou dream'st a dream, O King; it is in vain. Once fixed, the star of forecast cannot wane. Thine, thine, thou say'st? It is in vain, in vain.— Was it the echo tortured into shape Of his own words? Still stood the King aghast. Did all this prisoning world leave no escape From evil prophecy to his sworn vow? He clapped his hands. (How the two sounds contrast!) A servant came who cringed before his brow. "Whence came that sighing voice? Let no one go About my tent." The man was silent. "Now, My Lord?" he quavered. "All has been quite still." Saul's forehead frowned: "Return to rest—Or no, Order my men to muster; 'tis my will To seize the enemy at once, before The light of morn. Soon shall I hold my foe; And when he's bolted safe by gates thick-brassed, Then may my fury gorge its dread repast." Again he smiled. Footsteps approached in sore, Short-tempered strides as one who comes from far. Still paused the servant for Saul's nod to go— And Saul was smiling to the moon's curved bar. "My Lord, my Lord, these tidings brook no pause!" As if unwillingly, the King turned slow. "Philistines plunder thy rich-garnered grain, And flood thy fencèd towns with waves of fire! The land is overswept with bloody rain; Thy towered throne is tottering to the mire!" Saul's fingers clenched until the blood was near; He turned away; the moon was hid from sight. Only upon Prince David's men one gleam Pierced through the gloomy, cypress-shaded night. "Lost, lost—so near, and yet in vain, in vain—" His enemy who should displace his son, Would still live on while he must go and fight To save the realm—save, for this hated one? He spoke; his voice was tense: "Awake my men; We must be marching far." A lightening beam Of anguish flashed and re-flashed through his brain; And back there floated in his oral ken: "Once fixed, the star of forecast cannot wane; Thine, thine, thou say'st? Him shalt thou never gain!"

II

Encamped Philistines lay upon the plain While Israel held the barren hillock's rise. Like palm trees in the waste, their gay tents shone; And many camp-fires vied with sunset skies, Yet fewer on the hills than blazed below Down in the darkening valley where had grown As many flickering lights as flakes of snow That fall on wintry Lebanus. Alone Before his tent, strode Saul; his head was bowed As bows a palm tree to the tempest blast. Was this deep thought? Or was the spirit cowed By some high-topping terror? Then at last Tensely he spoke as to the blackening cloud That hung above the sunset: "I, so strong, Yet cannot banish thee, ill-omened shroud, That round my writhing soul wraps as a pall Of mute foreboding?—He and Philistine join In lowering hate against me on the plain— God, God, my soul has sought Thy soul; wherein But Thine Omnipotence can triumph lie? Yet Thou art wordless.—Shall the King still call Unto the Silent?" The clouds were scudding fast As if breathed through the Heavens by God's sigh. There turned his eyes; then o'er the valley cast. "Yet will I win," he cried. "Fate cannot last. The days are all at odds; the powers conspire To crush my mortal Will. Oh, I will cast, And trample dim foreboding in the mire! Let Fate come on; I'll meet him half the way; And win——" Ceased in the air his words. Sudden, The sky grew dark; a frail gust stirred the fire, Filling the air with monotone of woe: "Thou dream'st a dream; it is in vain, in vain; Him never shalt thou gain——" The sound was flown. With features fury-tortured, hands clenched fast, Up leaped he, straining arms stretched forth. "My foe I'll rend, rend, rend; hear me ye breeze's blast! My royal root shall bloom; and David—lost. Jehovah's evil Providence, I'll cast Into a sea embalmed in endless frost!"

III

A witch dwelt high upon stern Endor's cliff. The place was dark: for night had drawn the veiling Between the mountain peaks that stand still, stiff, The frozen sentinels of Time; and sailing Aloft upon the evening air, the smoke Of hostile camp-fires blackened e'en the night. Here dwelt this hag to horrid witchcraft given, A withered, fangless thing whose mutterings spoke Of all the secrets of Hell's shadow-light. The wind was coldly wailing. Near her fire, She crouched. Behind her, through a passage riven By some swift thunderbolt of wrath divine, Appeared a man in closely wrapped attire. Like some lithe snake she turned and cringed In fear and yet in anger: "By what sign, And wherefore come you here?" her lips half snarled. The man unwrapped his mantle deeply fringed; He threw a purse before her. "For this cost, Let thine unseen familiar call from rest The one I name to thee"—She rose all gnarled; And thus she spake: "Seek not to hide thy mien; My spirit tells me that thou art—" Her lean Hand grasped the splintered rock—"Thou art the King! And whom wouldst thou, my Lord, seek in this fane Of Chaldee calculations, law and ring?" "Serve me but well to-night; and be thou wise— Charm as I bid; and gratitude shall last All time from me to thee—fulfill this quest—" He paused his speech and glanced to either side— "Summon me Samuel. Let his spirit rise Upon the night in wreathèd, hazy guise." The fire-embers faded red, and died; King Saul sat staring into sable space; The witch was mumbling by the fire-side Whence curled up wisps of smoke. His heart beat fast. Within the gray appeared a dim-lit face. In silent terror gazed the King. At last, Was audible a voice upon the wind: "What would'st thou, Saul? What would'st thou learn from me?" "Samuel, 'tis thou—" and then, as in a gust The storm sweeps down upon the plain, words burst In hot-lipped passion uncontrolled and fast— "Aid me; O, aid me; for I yearn, I thirst To drink this David's blood. The frenzied lust Of unfulfilled ambition desert-dry Burns in my throat. Is my seed barren cast On earth? Am I condemned to plod, a beast For any burden? Spectre, tell me why Should I be King of men, and yet the least Who cannot even hold or give mine own?" "The princely David shalt thou never gain; Thou dream'st a dream, O King, it is in vain— Once fixed, the star of forecast cannot wane— The star of forecast cannot wane—wane—wane—" The spectre's voice swept on upon the wind; The spectre faded into argent gloom. Down shot a nacreous moonbeam dim-outlined. The King's eyes fell upon the armied plain. There rose a shout again, and yet again— Below was movement, battling of armed men, And shrieking clash of arms. How fiercely shines That flaring light! His camp was sheathed in flame! In flame that wrote upon his soul the lines: "Once fixed the star of forecast cannot wane; Thine all has been in vain, in vain, in vain—" April and May, 1912.