Poems (Jackson)/The Gift of Grapes
THE GIFT OF GRAPES.
A LEGEND OF THE FOURTH CENTURY.
HE desert sun was sinking red;Hot as at noon the light was shed.Bareheaded, on the scorching sands,Macarius knelt with clasped hands,And prayed, as he had prayed for years,With smitings and with bitter tears.
"Good hermit, here!"—a hand outstretched,—It was as if an angel fetched
The purple clusters, dewy blue,—"Good hermit, here! These grapes for you!"
Swift swept the rider by. The grapesLay at the hermit's feet. "Like shapes
"Of magic, sent to tempt my sense,"Macarius thought. "Sathanas, hence!"
He cried. "I will not touch nor taste.Yet, were it not wrong such fruit to waste?"
He paused. "I'll leave it at his door,My neighbor, who with illness sore
"Is like to die. He may partake,And sin not. Ay, for Jesus' sake,
"I will his dying lips beseech,Command, as if I were his leech."
Thus speaking, trembling as he spoke,Such parched desire within him woke,
To taste the grapes, he swiftly ran,And, kneeling by the dying man,
Held up the clusters, crying, "See,O brother! these were given me.
"I may not eat them; I am strong;But thou—it were for thee no wrong.
"Thy fever they will cool, allay;Thy failing strength revive and stay."
Reproachful turned the dying eyes,The whispers came like dying sighs:
"Brother, thou mightst do better deedThan tempt the dying in his need.
"Thy words are but the devil's mesh,To snare at last my carnal flesh."
Silent, Macarius went his way.Untouched the purple clusters lay
Beside the dying hermit's bed.They found them there who found him dead,—
Two brother hermits who each morn,Water and bread to him had borne.
"He drinks of living waters now,"They pious said, and smoothed his brow,
And prayed, and laid him in the ground,Envying the rest he had found.
The purple grapes still lying there,Filled with sweet scent the desert air.
"Where could these luscious clusters grow?""He tasted not," they whispered low;
"But fairer fruit glads now his eyes:He feasts to-day in paradise."
On each a longing silence fell."Brother, they tempt our souls to hell!"
Cried one. The other: "Ay, how weakOur flesh Strange that so long we seek
"In vain to dull its carnal sense.Brother, we 'll bear these clusters hence.
"That aged hermit, in the cave,Perchance these grapes his life might save.
"Thou knowest, but yesterday 't was saidHe starves; eats neither pulse nor bread."
Slow braiding baskets, in his doorThe aged hermit sat, his store
Of rushes and his water-jarIn reach. He heard their steps afar,
And, as they nearer drew, up-raisedHis well-nigh sightless eyes, and gazed
Bewilderedly. "Eat, father, eat!"The brothers cried, and at his feet,
Rev'rent, the purple clusters laid.Trembling, but stern, the right hand made
Swift gesture of reproof. "Away!"In feeble voice he cried, "and pray
"To be forgiven! Heinous sinIs his who lets temptation in."
Meek-bowed, the brothers turned to go."Stay!" said the hermit, whispering low:
"Leave them not here to tempt my sight.I may not eat. Some other might.
"As each man thinketh in his heart,So must he reckon duty's part.
"Mayhap some brother, in sore straitEven this hour doth sit and wait,
"To whom God sends these clusters sweetBy your pure hands. Be true! Be fleet!"
From cave to cave, from cell to cell,The brothers did their errand well.
In Nitria's desert, hermits thenBy scores were dwelling, holy men,
Mistaken saints, who thought to saveTheir souls, by making life a grave.
From cave to cave, from cell to cell,The brothers did their errand well.
At every hermit's feet they laidThe tempting grapes, in vain, nor stayed
Till, at the desert's utmost bound,Macarius's cell they joyful found,—
Macarius, oldest, holiest saintOf all the desert. Weary, faint,
They knelt before him. "Father, seeThese grapes they must be meant for thee!
"These many days we bear them now;And yet they do not withered grow.
"No brother will so much as taste.'T was Isidore who bade us haste
"To find the man to whom God sentThe luscious gift. They must be meant
"For thee. Thou art the last." "Ay," saidThe good Macarius, flushing red
With holy joy, "Ay; meant for me,As token of the constancy
"Of all our brothers! Blessed dayIs this, my brothers! Go your way!
"Christ fill your souls with lasting peace!The time is near of my release."
Then, kneeling on the scorching sands,He stretched toward heaven his clasped hands,
And prayed, as he had prayed for years,With smitings and with bitter tears.
Untouched, the grapes lay glowing there,Filling with scent the desert air.