The Wise, the Elect, the Help-of-God, From Mizpeh's mountain-ridge they saw Then from the stony peak there rang A blast to ope the graves: down poured The Maccabean clan, who sang Their battle-anthem to the Lord. Five heroes lead, and, following, see Ten thousand rush to victory! Oh for Jerusalem's trumpet now, To blow a blast of shattering power, To wake the sleepers high and low, And rouse them to the urgent hour! No hand for vengeance - but to save, A million naked swords should wave. Oh deem not dead that martial fire, A rag, a mock at first — erelong, When men have bled and women wept, THE CROWING OF THE RED ACROSS the Eastern sky has glowed Once more the sword of Christ is drawn. Where is the Hebrew's fatherland ? Each crime that wakes in man the beast, Is visited upon his kind. When the long roll of Christian guilt What oceans can the stain remove Nay, close the book; not now, not here, Even he might nurse revengeful hate, Coward? Not he, who faces death, Who singly against worlds has fought, THE NEW EZEKIEL WHAT, can these dead bones live, whose By twenty scorching centuries of wrong? Of psalmist, priest, and prophet? Can Of very heaven bid these bones revive, Open the graves and clothe the ribs of death? Yea, Prophesy, the Lord hath said. Again afresh, Even that they may live upon these slain, flesh. The Spirit is not dead, proclaim the word, men stand! I ope your graves, my people, saith the And I shall place you living in your land. 1 The sons of Matthias - Jonathan, John, Eleazar, Simon (also called the Jewel), and Judas, the Prince. GRACE DENIO LITCHFIELD - FRANCIS SALTUS SALTUS 521 Grace Denio Litchfield MY LETTER FROM far away, from far away, It crossed the ocean's trackless waste. No voice cried out through all the land, Straight, swift, and sure, it brought me word! Francis Baltus Baltus THE ANDALUSIAN SERENO WITH Oaken staff and swinging lantern bright, He strolls at midnight when the world is still Through dismal lanes and plazas plumed with light, Guarding the drowsy thousands in Seville. Gazing upon his ever star-thronged sky, With careless step he wanders to and fro; And the Sereno knows that he has seen THE SPHINX SPEAKS CARVED by a mighty race whose vanished hands Formed empires more destructible than I, In sultry silence I forever lie, Wrapped in the shifting garment of the sands. Below me, Pharaoh's scintillating bands With clashings of loud cymbals have passed by, And the eternal reverence of the sky I have with worlds of blazing stars been crowned, But none my subtle mystery hath known Save one, who made his way through blood and sea, The Corsican, prophetic and renowned, To whom I spake, one awful night alone! THE BAYADERE NEAR strange, weird temples, where the Ganges' tide Bathes domed Lahore, I watched, by spicetrees fanned, Her agile form in some quaint saraband, A marvel of passionate chastity and pride. Nude to the loins, superb and leopardeyed, With fragrant roses in her jewelled hand, Before some Kaât-drunk Rajah, mute and grand, Her flexile body bends, her white feet glide. The dull Kinoors throb one monotonous tune, And wail with zeal as in a hasheesh trance; Her scintillant eyes in vague, ecstatic charm Burn like black stars below the Orient moon, While the suave, dreamy languor of the dance Lulls the grim, drowsy cobra on her arm. BONDAGE "AND this is freedom!" cried the serf; "At last I tread free soil, the free air blows on me;" And, wild to learn the sweets of liberty, With eager hope his bosom bounded fast. But not for naught had the long years amassed Habit of slavery; among the free He still was servile, and, disheartened, he Crept back to the old bondage of the past. Long did I bear a hard and heavy chain Wreathed with amaranth and asphodel, But through the flower-breaths stole the weary pain. I cast it off and fled, but 't was in vain; For when once more I passed by where it fell, I took it up and bound it on again. THE BURDEN OF LOVE I BEAR an unseen burden constantly; And winter's snows it still abides with me. I cannot let it fall, though I should be Nor can the bands that bind it on me rust Or break, nor ever shall I be set free. Sometimes 't is heavy as the weight that bore Atlas on giant shoulders; sometimes light As the frail message of the carrier dove; But, light or heavy, shifting nevermore. What is it thus oppressing, day and night? The burden, dearest, of a mighty love. |