Classic Poem

I was a naturalist, and had crossed the sea
And come to Theodosia, to find
A monstrous spider of which I had heard.
The people of the town wagged doubting heads,
When asked about it; but one day I met
A sturdy fisherman who once had seen
The spider, though he knew not his abode.
He said the spider was as long as he,
And that the woof whereof he wove his web,
Was thick as any cordage on his boat.
At night, belated 'mid the tumuli
That mound the hill-side and the vernal vale,
Like the raised letters of an ancient page
Made for the blind gropers of to-day to read,
He entered a dark tomb, and therein slept,
Until the world, like some round shield upraised,
Splintered the thrown spears of dawn. As he woke,
He found himself ensnared in some thick web,
Yet reached his knife, and slowly cut it through;
Then when he stood, a monstrous spider fled.

At this recital on the slanted shore,
Another joined us from the cottage near--
A vine-clad cottage, lit for love's abode.
A lily-croft, with trees, encinctured it;
Like Ahab in his house of ivory
Dining on sweets, the king bee here
Sipped in the snowy lily's palace hall;
And here were yellow lilies strewn about,
As though the place had been the banquet grove
Of Shishak, king of Egypt; for the flowers
Seemed like the cups of gold that Solomon
Wrought for the holy service of the Lord.

"This is my daughter," said the fisherman.
Her head and face were covered with a scarf,
But large dark eyes looked forth, and in their depths
I saw a soul all tenderness and truth.

(Often, in dreams, I thought it sweet to die,
And reft of this gross vision, see at last,
As the large soul, quit of the body can,
Another soul set free and purified.)

The modest maid a crimson jacket wore,
And to her knee the broidered skirt hung down;
While 'neath, the Turkish garment was confined
In plaits about the ankles; but her shoes
Revealed the naked insteps of her feet.
I bade her there adieu, upon the shore
Of the clear Bospore. As I wandered back,
I thought much of the spider that I sought;
But more of two dark eyes, that seemed two stars
Which shone down in my heart; while the far space
Behind them, pure, but unknown, was the soul.

I thought to test this maiden's charity;
And so, one friendly day, put on a robe
Tattered and soiled with use. As she went by,
I strode abruptly from behind a wall,
And faced her with a face disguised, and held
My hand out while I begged for some small alms.
She gave abundantly from her lean purse,
And with a look of tender pity, passed.
It matters little who it is that asks,
Or whether he deserves the alms or not;
That given with free heart, is given to God,
And not to him who takes.

Day after day,
Henceforth, I strode a coastward way, to meet
The dark-eyed daughter of the fisherman.
Beneath her roof she made my welcome sweet,
And yielded both her hands, and drew the scarf
That veiled the wondrous beauty of her face.
If painter, or if sculptor, in some dream,
Could mingle Faith with Love and Charity,
And give them utterance in one pure face,
I know the face would be a face like hers.

Her eyes were diamond doors of her true soul,
And with their silken latches softly closed,
When, couched beneath his poppy parachute,
Inactive Sleep came by. Her glances seemed
Like gold-winged angels sent from heavenly doors.
Yet she was often sad when I was near.
Once, tarrying late, I told her of my life,
And of the monster I had come to find;
But now, lo! she around my heart had wound
The close web of her love, and held me fast
As any fly caught in a spider's toils.

Clothed in the sackcloth of regret, she said,
She long had wept the past; but for my sake
She now would cast it off, and live for me.

I said that few could exculpate the past
From stormy doing with the ships of hope.

She said it made her sad to think upon
Their present dwindled fortune, and the yoke
Her people chafed their necks in, on the hills.
Her father was a brave Circassian chief;
But here he dwelt disguised, till once again
He could lead on his race, and wound the heel
That ground them to the dust.

Our hearts made new,
We kissed good-night, and parted. As I went,
A distant hill, all shadow, took new shape,
And seemed a sprawling spider, while two trees
That grew upon it, were his upraised arms
Clutching at two red fire-flies, that were stars.