War Drums (Scharkie)/Phigenia
PHIGENIA.
Down in his golden grave, the sun had dipt,
And on his bier, upborne by golden spars,
Evening, reclining, through the glimmer wept.
Calm silence, like the moon in midnight hours,
Lingered alone round her empurpled bowers.
No leaflet rustled, and no wavelet stirred—
Nature's great heart seemed still—no sound was heard.
Hushed like a dreamer in the arms of sleep,
Too languid-lidded, and too tired to weep,
The long, broad valley languishingly lay,
In the soft splendour of declining day.
While the pale moon, in silver garments stoled,
Poured out her limpid beams among the gold;
And shadows, checquering on the paling light,
Swift-heralded the fast approach of night.
In Mizpeh's loftiest tower, e'er dusky bars
Of shadow checquered on th'empurpling deep,
And night, empanoplied in blazoned stars,
Spilled the sweet opiates of rest and sleep,—
In that old tower, where voiceless silence seemed
Its guarding sentinel, and only guest,
A maiden, thought-enfolded, sat, as streamed
Out-flung, day's purple partings round the west.
Scarce would you deem that life existed there—
No motion save the lips that breathed a prayer.
Calm, statue-like, she sat serenely still,
With model grace that mocks the sculptor's skill.
When lo! she rose—intent, as if in thought—
One gold-drenched sunset cloud, round-rimmed, athwart
The twilight leaning, past adown, fire-bound,
Deep-silent spaces, purple-city-crowned.
And betwixt her and the twilight,
Gathering dense athwart the eye-light,
Tall and stately, dimly-dun set,
Bathed with purple, shot with sunset,
Gibeah's domes and towers together,
Parted the empurpled ether.
And, descending like the silence,
Which o'erveils eve's airy islands,
When the moonbeams, crost by starlight,
East-new-risen with their far-light,
Wrap them pallid with their sheen,
Fell a silence on the scene,
Till a clarion, breathing lowly,
Breathing gently, breathing slowly,
Gathering nearer, clattered deeper
Blasts of power through the meadow,
Through the grave-yard, where the sleeper
Slumbered stilly on his shadow;
And a voice, as sudden thunder,
Shouting deeper than the pealing
Of the music, cut asunder
Every sense of sound and feeling.
Thus it shouted "Israel! waken;
Jordan's fords are thick with spearmen;
Nebo's sides are trumpet-shaken,
Blown by lips of savage Kirmen.
Warriors! heed the timely warning;
Rise, and gird ye e'er the morning."
Then a trumpet blast was given,
Crashing like an oak-tree, shattered
With a lightning bolt from heaven";
Crashing in with hooves that clattered,
Iron-belted onwards; crashing
Down the hearts of men with more
Of dread and omen, like the roar
At midnight heard, when the dashing
Of the seas on some lone shore,
Sounds high through tempest, storm, and wild-bird screech,
And sailors' corses, wrack-wrapt, strew the beach.
Lo! Venus rose, soft-trembling into light,
Bright'ning with each convulsive gust of night.
Scarce had she risen than a wind arose,
And stirred the cedars till they sought repose.
Stars, like white lamb-flocks in the vales of noon,
Followed the silver footsteps of the moon.
And wandering gusts, from blossom'd alleys borne,
Blew fitful to the glimmering verge of dawn,
When timorous shadows, struck with lightening bars,
Dew-dropping cool, withdrew with all the stars,
And bird and stream, with new-born being rife,
Voluptuous, beat another day to life.
And on his bier, upborne by golden spars,
Evening, reclining, through the glimmer wept.
Calm silence, like the moon in midnight hours,
Lingered alone round her empurpled bowers.
No leaflet rustled, and no wavelet stirred—
Nature's great heart seemed still—no sound was heard.
Hushed like a dreamer in the arms of sleep,
Too languid-lidded, and too tired to weep,
The long, broad valley languishingly lay,
In the soft splendour of declining day.
While the pale moon, in silver garments stoled,
Poured out her limpid beams among the gold;
And shadows, checquering on the paling light,
Swift-heralded the fast approach of night.
In Mizpeh's loftiest tower, e'er dusky bars
Of shadow checquered on th'empurpling deep,
And night, empanoplied in blazoned stars,
Spilled the sweet opiates of rest and sleep,—
In that old tower, where voiceless silence seemed
Its guarding sentinel, and only guest,
A maiden, thought-enfolded, sat, as streamed
Out-flung, day's purple partings round the west.
Scarce would you deem that life existed there—
No motion save the lips that breathed a prayer.
Calm, statue-like, she sat serenely still,
With model grace that mocks the sculptor's skill.
When lo! she rose—intent, as if in thought—
One gold-drenched sunset cloud, round-rimmed, athwart
The twilight leaning, past adown, fire-bound,
Deep-silent spaces, purple-city-crowned.
And betwixt her and the twilight,
Gathering dense athwart the eye-light,
Tall and stately, dimly-dun set,
Bathed with purple, shot with sunset,
Gibeah's domes and towers together,
Parted the empurpled ether.
And, descending like the silence,
Which o'erveils eve's airy islands,
When the moonbeams, crost by starlight,
East-new-risen with their far-light,
Wrap them pallid with their sheen,
Fell a silence on the scene,
Till a clarion, breathing lowly,
Breathing gently, breathing slowly,
Gathering nearer, clattered deeper
Blasts of power through the meadow,
Through the grave-yard, where the sleeper
Slumbered stilly on his shadow;
And a voice, as sudden thunder,
Shouting deeper than the pealing
Of the music, cut asunder
Every sense of sound and feeling.
Thus it shouted "Israel! waken;
Jordan's fords are thick with spearmen;
Nebo's sides are trumpet-shaken,
Blown by lips of savage Kirmen.
Warriors! heed the timely warning;
Rise, and gird ye e'er the morning."
Then a trumpet blast was given,
Crashing like an oak-tree, shattered
With a lightning bolt from heaven";
Crashing in with hooves that clattered,
Iron-belted onwards; crashing
Down the hearts of men with more
Of dread and omen, like the roar
At midnight heard, when the dashing
Of the seas on some lone shore,
Sounds high through tempest, storm, and wild-bird screech,
And sailors' corses, wrack-wrapt, strew the beach.
Lo! Venus rose, soft-trembling into light,
Bright'ning with each convulsive gust of night.
Scarce had she risen than a wind arose,
And stirred the cedars till they sought repose.
Stars, like white lamb-flocks in the vales of noon,
Followed the silver footsteps of the moon.
And wandering gusts, from blossom'd alleys borne,
Blew fitful to the glimmering verge of dawn,
When timorous shadows, struck with lightening bars,
Dew-dropping cool, withdrew with all the stars,
And bird and stream, with new-born being rife,
Voluptuous, beat another day to life.