Volume 19 / Part 5 — Part V.

They Sang.

I.

Sudden, in golden arms he came:

I stood begirt with maiden bands:

Sudden he came, all bright like flame;

Upon my head he laid his hands.

“This day past victories I disown:

This day I seek the battle-field

A stranger chief, a knight unknown,

Without a blazon on my shield.”

“Not man, but He the worlds who made,

My hope shall frustrate or approve”—

I only bent my knee, and said,

“Victor or vanquished, thee I love.”

II.

They set me on a milk-white horse;

Our household tribe around me trod;

Like rivers down a rocky course,

On rushed the warriors vowed to God.

I rode, the victor's destined prize,

Last stake when hope was all but gone:

The flashes from a virgin's eyes

Like music swept the warriors on!

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'Twas theirs their maid elect to guard,

The direful battle's gentle guest:

'Twas mine to watch, inspire, reward;

To honor all—to crown the best.

But who that stranger chief from far

That like some brave ship tempest-tossed

Bore on o'er all the waves of war;

Redeemed a battle all but lost?

I knew. The victor's crown I dropp'd

Upon thy brows, my future lord:

That night thou satt'st—O boon unhoped—

The first time by my father's board!

III.

The victory ours, the feasting o'er,

The nameless victor gazed around;

“Emir! I claim the prize of war,

Thy daughter's hand.” My father frowned.

“Uplift her in thine arms,” he said;

“Then scale yon hillside smooth and dry:

This done, my daughter thou shalt wed:

To halt—forget not—is to die.”

I stood: my beating heart cried out,

“Thou canst not fail!” That cry he heard:

He raised me 'mid the warriors' shout;

Forward he rushed without a word.

His breath came quick: his brows grew dark:

“My brother, lover, friend,” I cried:

He reeled: his eyes were stiff and stark:

I wept, “This day thou winn'st thy bride!”

He fell—but on the summit won,

Amid the vast and wide acclaim:

He lay, a dead man, in the sun:

I kissed his lips, and felt no shame.

Round him the warriors stood amazed;

His love—'twas that brought back his life:

Down on him long my father gazed,

Then spake, “My son, behold thy wife!”

[pg 737]

IV.

On carpets heaped my mother sate:

I sate, I nestled on her knee;

We heard a murmur round the gate:

My mantle, purple as the sea,

I drew about my little feet,

And nearer sought my mother's breast:

He came; she spake, not slow to greet

With courteous words the victor-guest.

Slowly my veil my mother's hands

Lifted, to boast the battle's prize;—

“Prince! thou would'st give thy life and lands,

If I but raised it to her eyes!”

V.

I knew thee well when first we met;

I knew thee well when seldom seen;

When we had parted, plainlier yet

I read thy nature—nay, thy mien.

Thine earliest glance my tremors stayed;

Then softly, and by slow degrees,

With thee my confidence I made,

And, pleased, discovered I could please.

But now that we are drawn so near,

I lose thee in thine own fair light;

Vanish the outlines once so clear:—

I know thee more by faith than sight.

VI.

Upon my shoulder, lightly as a bird,

Her white hand lit: then back she fled, afraid;

Beside my seat once more she stood, nor stirred,

But loosed her hair, and round me dropped its shade.

Down to my feet it fell—a sudden night:

She spake, “Thy darkness and eclipse am I;

But thou my sunrise art, and all my light;

Still to weak things love grants the victory.”

[pg 738]

More dulcet than the viol rang her laugh;

Low laughed her mother; laughed her nurse full loud:

“Not thee I fear,” she cried, indignant half,

And kissed, methought, the head o'er which she bowed.

VII.

My Lyre reproved my childish mirth:

My Lute, remembering sad, old years,

Complained, “Thy feet are yet on earth;

Thou caroll'st in the vale of tears.”

I hung my head: ashamed I moved;

I answered soft with whispering voice,

“O Love! 'tis thou that stand'st reproved;

The fault is thine, if I rejoice;

“Not less this covenant have I made:

I will not fold my hands in sleep

Till aid to those who cry for aid

I stretch—have wept with them that weep.”

VIII.

He sang, “I dreamed. Of thee, all night, one thought

Shone like a white flower on a darkling mere

Or like one star that flashes, rapture-fraught,

Through one blue gulf of heaven serene, and clear.”

She sang, “I dreamed not: happiest sleep is deep:

I woke as wakes the young bird in the woods;—

Thy spirit must have hung above my sleep,

A bower balm-breathing from a thousand buds.”

We strove in song; we sang, my love and I,

Where laughed the streams, and where the rock's broad breast

Echoed the untaught, ecstatic harmony:

We warred in happy songs; but hers was best.

IX.

Thou art not mine as I am thine:

As great, or greater, is thy love;

But loftier thoughts above thee shine,

And lordlier aims before thee move.

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The hand now clasping mine—that hand

Let drop this hand to grasp the sword;

It hurled in ruin from our land

The impostor Prophet's sons abhorred.

Manhood fell on thee with my tears

At parting. With a woman's joy

I loved the warrior 'mid his peers—

'Twas girlish fancy loved the boy!

X.

Mother of him I loved and love,

My mother too, ere long, to be!

With loving words his choice approve,

And take thy daughter to thy knee:

So shall mine eyes, up-gazing still,

Thine eyes in filial reverence watch;

My hand be subject to thy will;

My heart from thine its greatness catch.

The young can learn, and I am young

And labor to be good and true—

Tell her, O thou that know'st! I long

To give her age its honors due.

XI.

He sang, “Upon the myrtle's silver stem

Thy name I carved. Henceforth that tree is mine!”

Low-laughing 'neath her vine-wrought anadem

She sang, “Thy name I graved upon the pine!

“The slenderer hand the stronger bark subdued—

Say, is it lordlier, bound and tamed to lead

The forest-monarch from his sunburnt wood,

Or snare some little bird that took no heed?”

We sang in valleys where the spring flowers sprang

To passionate life: the eagle o'er us sailed:

Down plunged the torrents, and the gray cliffs rang:

We clashed our songs in war; but hers prevailed.

XII.

Methought to thine my angel spake:—

Near us he seemed, and yet above—

“Two children these! their sport they take;

They teach each other how to love.”

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Thine angel answered thus to mine:

“When Virtue, perfected by pain,

Has changed earth-love to love divine,

Then, stooping, we will lift these twain

“From this dull cave of mortal life

Low-roofed, and dimly lit with spars,

To realms with love's whole glories rife,

And over-vaulted by the stars,

“Where souls that love their God are one;

Where He who made them is their joy:

Play on—too young for love—play on!

Your sports are sport of girl and boy!”

XIII.

Two hands—they meet; they part—'tis better so;

Parted, they meet to shape one coronal:

Two feet—they meet; they part, now swift, now slow

They pace to music through one palace hall.

Two eyes—they move in concord: wanderers long,

At last they rest on one unmoving star:

Two mouths, in kisses met, dispart in song—

Sweet are our meetings; sweet our partings are.

XIV.

I come, I go; yet neither shall repine:

Sad is the parting; the return is sweet:

Once more the battle with a voice divine

Decrees our severance. Soon once more we meet.

We part not, save in seeming. We are one,

In spirit one; in spirit we rejoice;

Two voices are we, blent in unison,

Two echoes of one mountain-thrilling voice.

Nearer we are than words, than thought, can reach;

Nearer we shall be; nearest, met on high;

Nearest as not belonging each to each,

But both to Him—that Love Who cannot die.

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