Poems (Dorr)/The Legend of the Baboushka

by Julia Caroline Dorr

LATER POEMS

THE LEGEND OF THE BABOUSHKA  A CHRISTMAS BALLAD

"There's a star in the East!" he cried,
 Jasper, the gray, the wise,
To Melchior and to Balthazar
 Up-gazing to the skies.

"Last night from my high tower
 I watched it as it burned,
While all my trembling soul
 In awe and wonder yearned.

"For I know the midnight heavens;
 I can call the stars by name—
Orion and royal Ashtaroth.
 And Cimah's misty flame.

"I know where Hesper glows,
 And where, with fiery eye,
Proud Mars in burning splendor leads
 The armies of the sky.

"But never have I seen
 A star that shone like this—
The star so long foretold
 By sage and seer it is!

"When first I, sleepless, saw it
 Slow breaking through the dark—
Nay, hear me, Balthazar,
 And thou, O Melchior, hark!—

"When first I saw the star
 It bore the form of a child,
It held in its hand a sceptre,
 Or the cross of the undefiled.

"Lo! somewhere on the earth
 It shines above His rest—
The Royal One, the Babe,
 On mortal mother's breast.

"Now haste we forth to find Him—
 To worship at His feet,
To Him of whom the prophets sang
 Bearing oblations meet!

Then the Three Holy Kings
 Went forth in eager haste,
With servants and with camels,
 Toward the desert waste.

Ah! knew they what they bore?
 Gold for the earthly king—
Frankincense for the God—
 Myrrh for man's suffering.

With breath of costly spices
And precious gums of Isis,
 The desert air was sweet,
As on they fared by day and night
 Judea's King to greet.

The strange star went before them,
 They followed where it led;
"'Twill guide us to His presence,"
 Jasper, the holy, said.

They crossed deep-flowing rivers,
 They climbed the mountains high,
They slept in dreary places
 Under the lonely sky.

One day, where stretched the desert
 Before them far and wide,
They saw a smoke-wreath curling
 A spreading palm beside;

And from a lowly dwelling,
 On household cares intent,
A woman gazed upon them,
 In mute bewilderment.

"O come with us!?" cried Melchior,
 And ardent Balthazar,
"We go to find the Christ-child,
 Led by yon blazing star!

"Thou knowest how the prophets
 His coming long foretold;
We go to kneel before Him
 With gifts of myrrh and gold."

But she, delaying, answered,
 "My lords, your words are good,
And I your pious mission
 Have gladly understood,

"Yet I, ere I can join you,
 Have many things to do:
I must set my house in order,
 Must spin and bake and brew.

"Go ye to find Messiah!
 And when my work is done
I will your footsteps follow,
 Mayhap ere set of sun."

Across the shining desert
 The slow train passed from sight;
She set her house in order,
 She bleached her linen white.

With busy hands she labored
 Till all at last was done—
But thrice the moon had risen,
 And thrice the lordly sun!

Then bound she on her sandals,
 Her pilgrim staff she took;
With bread of wheat and barley,
 And water from the brook;

And forth she went to find Him—
 The babe Emmanuel,
Who should be born in Bethlehem
 By David's sacred well.

All that long day she journeyed;
 She scanned the desert wide,
In all its lonely reaches
 There was no soul beside—

No track to guide her onward,
 No footprints in the sand,
Only the vast, still spaces
 Wide-stretched on either hand!

Night came—but where the Wise Men
 Had seen His burning star,
No glorious sign beheld she
 Clear beaming from afar,

Though Orion and Arcturus
 Shone bright above her head,
And up the heavenly arches
 Proud Mars his legions led!

······

She did not find the Christ-child.
 'Tis said she seeks Him still,
Over the wide earth roaming
 With swift, remorseful will.

Her thin white locks the dew-fall
 Of every clime has wet—
In palace and in hovel
 She seeks Messiah yet!

In every child she fancies
 The Hidden One may be,
On each bright head she gazes
 The mystic crown to see.

She twines the Christmas garlands,
 She lights the Christmas fires,
She leads the joyful carols
 Of all the Christmas choirs;

She feeds the poor and hungry,
 And on her tender breast
She soothes all suffering children
 To softest, sweetest rest.

Attend her, holy Angels!
 Guard her, ye Cherubim!
For whatsoe'er she does for these
 She does it as to Him!