Poems (Hardy)/Gratian by the fountain
GRATIAN BY THE FOUNTAIN
"YEA, I am that Gratian; and I stood byAnd saw, as all the cohort, there amongThe olive trees, where he, the Man,—they saidHe was a Galilean,—came fearless forth.And I fell prostrate, face to ground—'From awe?'I know not, yet I know I could not choose,—They could not choose. My brother was the chief;He says the Man was else a wizard, or a god,For he, my brother, fell, the strongest manIn Cesar's guard. A Jew there was that stoodWith us, and nearest me, there in the press;—'T was he that led us to the place. I heardHim curse and felt his breath across my cheekAnd drew away the hand his mantle touched.Next day, I saw a withered tree with leavesHeart-shaped that hung like clots of blood; they saidThat black-browed man of wrath hung dead upon itBefore the dreadful hour which put the sun outAnd covered all the world with darkness chillyAs the grave's mould and terrible as death.I know not, but I saw its leaves all deadThat were before so tender with the glow of spring.
"'That darkness was?' Ay, so, that darkness was.(Sit still, thou restless child beside the fount.Crowd not my feet, young Varus, into shade;I like the sunshine better now than thouCanst like the wrestling games at school at play,Or sight of lithe long tigers in the densAlong the circus walls.—Run, Lelia dear,And bring me figs from that low-branching treeThou knowest I love,—the yellow, not the blue,— And hasten ere I tell the tale of wolves'That dwell among Carrara's hills.)'Didst seeHim near?' Ay, so; it fell to me that dayTo stand and watch; and with the rabble crowdOf raging Jews I saw that Man who spokeNo single word, but looked—he looked a godThat had no fear of men! And yet as oneWho could have wept for men. They buried himWhen he was dead.—Nay, ask me not,—dead, dead,He was, I say; I saw them take him down.Shaken with the rocking earth was all around,There in the dark when he gave up his breathAnd died. And I was one who watched at nightBeside his tomb. O, what I saw and heard—Let me tell this:I know not if the godsWe serve in Rome be gods; them have I seenIn no time of my life; when I have calledAt sorest need, none seemed to answer; thriceIn battle was I hurt, as 't were to death;And once by robbers was I set uponIn arms with two who watched a road with me.Left for dead we were, all three; Varus breathedEnough to say, 'Live, Gratian; kill with my spearThat Captain of the thieves; 'tis Barrabas; heThat slew my father; 'tis my father's spear.'He died, but Sextus never spoke; all threeWere soldiers of the guard; they two were dead,And I lay fever-smitten with my woundsA month ere I could speak to tell our tale.Then in that city times of tumult rose,And when I walked the streets again, a stormOf trouble swept Judea's world; but Rome Was mistress; Rome was power by shore and sea.But everywhere the Jews were many minds,Mostly evil toward our gods; unagreedAs touching theirs, and swayed among themselves,Torn by factions, bitter even to deathAnd prison walls.The Man whose tale you seek?Him I knew at Nazareth; he made a chest for meOf cedar wood,—a boy, there, in the shopUpon a certain narrow street that creptThus, and thus, toward the hills as 't were the wayThe shepherds take. Some said the Boy grew upA trifling man that went about amongThe country places idly babbling wordsOf strange import to gaping crowds,—strange wordsOf what he most averred he was; some saidHe cured the sick, ay, raised the dead. I metOne man who showed both arms and hands as wholeAs yours,—a common man I once had knownWith withered, dead right arm; but he was scornedBy his own people if he said 't was so.Ah, well, 'tis hard to know the truth, I find,Even when you see and hear; but none shall wrestFrom me these things I know, because I sawWith open eye. What I do know, I know.And so men say of me,—"Ay, Gratian knowsWhat Gratian says he knows." Well, then, believe,—You may believe,—these other marvels that I tell:
"Yes, when he died upon the cross, the sunWas darkened and the earth trembled; some sayThat greater wonders were, for from their gravesThe dead came forth and walked the streets and praisedThe living God. 'T was dark, the earth did shake;These things I felt; but those I know not of. Aulus, my centurion, was afraid; he cried,'This was, this was, the son of God!' We watchedTogether at the tomb; we saw the stone rolled back,But who came forth, or what, we saw not,—no,—For we were blinded, thrown to earth by light,—A blaze of wondrous light,—and terrors shookOur hearts till we were near to death; for hoursWe spoke no word,—were dumb as are the dead.There was a man, a little hawk-faced manWith piercing eyes, who held a thumb-pinched coinBeneath the face of Him they killed, and cried,'To Cæsar, thou hast said! So shall it be,Thou blasphemer.' And there was one who mockedWith bitter laugh,—O, none showed pity,—none!But most I thought,—and still that thought will comeAt night when I am waked by dream of Him,—He was a god, and I to Him beholden am;And glad the feeling is, for surely, then,If there be gods have I seen one; and lifeMust still go on wherever He may be.Ay, so I will believe, I will believe."