Classic Poem

The hour has come, my hour of yearly rest
From the long madness while I grope my way
With eager hands through these black clueless vaults,
For ever tracking my unceasing steps
To the same sharp angles and the same low niches,
From day to night not knowing day from night,
Through day and night, not knowing any rest,
Not knowing any thought save that slow horror,
That breathless agony of hope more keen
With hopeless pangs than utter-hopelessness,
Not knowing that I am, not knowing aught
Save that I wander, chill with creeping dread,
Seeking in vain through darkness big with death
An egress into life, while my worn limbs
Shiver with terror and my palsied lips
Tremble too much to call upon the gods.
And now I rest! A dreadful rest, accursed,
Made weary with despair and furious
With the old hate and the old bitter love:
Because I must, despite myself, remember.
Oh me! this added curse of memory
That burns like hissing iron through my soul,
This deadliest undying memory!
And I undying! Heavens; is there no taunt
No curse so loathsome to this angered Power
Who holds me here, that I might hurl it at him
And rouse such flame of wrath as must perforce
Smite me to ashes with its shrivelling breath?
Oh! but to cease to be! to cease to know!
My throat is choked; I writhe in agonies,
Fierce agonies of thought; my life and soul
Are all one pain — Oh! but to cease to know!
I rave in vain. For who should hear me here,
One live among the dead, who shriek for aid
Out from this darkness where the gods look not?
To cease to know? yea, I shall cease to know
In a little while. The blood chills at my heart,
And I grow faint and shudder at the foretaste —
In a little while! and the horrible cold dread
Will have fallen on me; I shall be again
Groping my endless way among the tombs.
In a little while! Oh! back ye eager hours,
Why will ye press so to defraud my rest? —
My rest! my rest! Oh! rest that is all pain!
The hours are slow enough for so much pain.
For till the glow of this mysterious light
Glimmering unearthly o'er the worn gray slab —
Woe! woe! its lettering burns into my brain,
I see it though I turn away my eyes,
" L UCILLA A SWEET SOUL ASLEEP IN C HRIST .
And G LAUCON LOVING HER, MORE LOVING C HRIST " —
Till that pale ghastly glow, like the void rays
That look back to the sun from dead men's eyes,
Fades sudden in the darkness whence it came,
And the fear-anguish once more drives me on,
I, waiting here, perforce must have in mind
That which these Christian fools would call my sin.
My sin? my glory. Do ye sleep, ye gods,
The guardians and the worshipped of great Rome,
That ye will yield me to the vengeful might
Of this new demon whom these heaven-accursed
Would set above you mocking at your thrones,
This new-found god whose anger I have earned
Because I warred against him, having care
To keep the honours of your temples pure?
Are ye asleep, great gods, or are ye wroth
That in my love for her I would have saved
One who had dared to mock you with her scorn?
I would have saved, Lucilla. But thy fear
Of thy new god was stronger than thy fear
Of even death. Thyself didst choose to die,
It was not I who sent thee with the herd
I hounded from their earths to glut the mart
Of creatures for our shows. It was not I.
Oh Child, thou knowest I would have had thee live
To love me — Oh! the tender maiden limbs
Wrenched on the rack! torn by the torturer! —
Oh gods! that death! — The panther's dripping jaws!
Their white teeth clotted with —
But I did love thee.
Oh best and fairest! Oh! my love, my light,
When saw I love or light except in thee?
What music was there but when thou didst speak?
What beauty was there save what was in thee?
What joy or hope was there in all the earth
That was not thou? What more could the gods give?
And yet, not giving thee, what had they given?
I would have laid my whole life in thy hand,
And found no aim, no will, but to work thine;
I would have died for thee; I would have sinned
Against all laws of heaven or earth, but so
To bring thee one small pleasure; would have met
All agony, yea even this doom, for thee;
All things have done for thee, all things endured
Save but to yield thee, thou who wast my all.
And only this thou wouldst! yes, I dare front
Thy pale face rising on me through my dream,
With its accusing eyes, and answer thee:
Thou madest me suffer more than I did thee.
" LUCILLA A SWEET SOUL ASLEEP IN CHRIST. "
What is this Christ, that he can give thee sleep
Which is not death? Sleep! shall I call on him
That he may give me sleep? Sleep! — but he sleeps,
" GLAUCON MUCH LOVING HER, MORE LOVING CHRIST. "
And shall I sleep with him, I wake with him,
The hated, hated that she did not hate?
Shall I ask mercy from this cross-hung god
Whom Glaucon loved? Gods of our city, no!
Asleep, Lucilla? once I saw thee sleep,
The smile of a pure dream upon thy lips,
Thy light breath heaving thy fair breast as winds
In a mild moonlight surge a sleeping sea,
And but to look on thee was to be calm,
And, for a moment, happy. Now what means
The foolish word asleep? That thou art there
In the clammy earth, a nothing, thou that wast
My all. Would I could feel thee what thou art,
And know thee only as the dead are known
Or else forgotten. But my memory throbs
With such a living sentience that to think
On the once themes is to be my once self.
And I am driven to think of them. And they,
They are thou, Lucilla, thou art made my curse.
I must re-live it all — the sudden love,
The months of longing, and the fever waking
When, through my dreams, I knew my one life-hope,
Thy love, was stolen by that boy-beauteous Greek
Whose false voice whispered music in thine ears
That lured thee from the hymnings of our gods.
Through all my soul there stirs the bitter past,
Through all my soul there stirs the happy past
More bitter than the bitter by the touch
Of that great bitterness that curdles all
Its sweetness into gall. I see thy face
Set in the glimmer of that lustrous hair
Rippling all over into dappled waves,
Some like the autumn brambles browning leaf,
And some all shimmering as with burnished gold;
I see thy child-like eyes, blue as the sky,
Dark as the purple thundercloud, their whites
All latticed o'er with little azure veins;
I see the soft pink pallor of thy cheek,
Thy sweet slow smile — Lucilla! Oh! forgive.
Oh! fade strange light, and let my mind again
Lose this sharp knowledge of the sad foregone.
Ah me! I must remember. So my love
Grew a great madness; till thy startled glance
Would shrink from mine in fear and thy dear hand
Would tremble as I touched it — not with love.
No, that was all for him — Oh! hate thou him,
If thou canst hate, Lucilla, for thy death;
Call it his deed not mine. Yea, but for him
It had not been. Yea, but for him, thy love,
My curse upon him! I had not been thus:
And, who can tell? I might have slept with thee,
My soul with thine in Christ, or, with me, thou
Have wandered godlike in the happy fields.
So my strong hate of him through love for thee
Grew ever, flaming through my veins like fire,
Till all my life was but as one black hate,
Till even love for thee seemed like a hate,
Thyself half hateful that thou couldst love him.
My heart burned in me like a poisoned wound
At speech of him, at inward thought of him. —
And how could I once cease to think of him?
Thy name upon my lips was as a curse,
A thousand deepest curses, hurled on him;
My burning lids at night were scorched with sight,
I saw thy smile on him. And in my ears
Was ever sound of thy low voice that spoke
That sweet sweet word of love I heard it speak,
Once while I listened to thine every breath,
And not to me. My fitful fevered sleep
Was mad with dreams of passion and despair,
Yea mad, far worse than all, with dreams of hope
That made the waking sudden misery;
And in the days I writhed, my aching brain
Grew dizzy with its torment. Oh! those days!
That waking to an utter hopelessness,
That dreary sickening loneness at the heart;
And yet to love her, have no wish save her!
And he had brought me this. Was not love hate?
Could I love thee and not hate him, thy love?
They say that love can tame the roughest tongue
To soft-voiced sadness, gentle cadences;
Oh! false; there is such power alone in hate.
Hate gave it me, and I could blend my voice
To well-put words of doubt and half belief
And trembling hope to find in that sweet creed
A happy haven for my broken soul.
And thou didst trust me, Oh! thou guileless; yea
Thou leddst thy convert to the secret vaults
Where prayers were made to the forbidden god.
And the fond idiots prated brotherhood,
And Glaucon, I was Glaucon's brother too!
And so the poor fools let me come and go
Holding their lives in my hand.
They perished: well,
What scathe? Rome is well rid of such a scum —
Why did they mock our gods, and flout our lives
With their fine preachments? But she perished too,
Lucilla! But I meant it not. I dreamed,
Knowing thy tender spirit that would shrink
From even thought of pain to aught that feels,
Knowing thy timid spirit that would quail
At the light terrors its own dread had shaped
In the long shadows of a darkling eve,
I dreamed that thou wouldst cleave unto the grace
My care had made thy right, and buy thy life
At price of one small homage to the gods.
Alas! I thought, and gloried in my heart,
Thou wouldst have rested in my shielding arms
Thy weakness and thy fears, too true to doubt
My truth to the vain faith I swore thy god
And thee, who hadst forgotten thou to me
Wast more than truth could give. I thought that death
Should part thee from that Glaucon through all time,
And lo! it weds thee to him through all time;
Thou art with him in death, and I, alone
Look on thy tomb and am thy murderer.
And yet it had not been if even then,
When thy clear voice scorned at the rites of Jove,
I had been by thee. But my awful doom
Held me a madman in the place of tombs.

*****

The sunshine burst out through a ridge of gloom
And flashed a promise on me where I watched
The answer of the gods; without a bleat
The victim fell; the haruspex laughed content
Reading the entrails " See the gods approve.
Go, prosper in thy deed. " Prosper! I went
Heading my band along the darksome vaults,
They fearless, but I feared not knowing why.
And then in the long cavern's outer gloom
Fronting the dusk arch of the chamber vault
Where their trapped prey were sure, I stayed their haste,
Saying, " It fits that I should go before
Alone; because these Christians must not know
Who led you to their den; but pass ye on
In a short half hour where I shall enter now:
For I will seem to pray before their cross. "
Thee I could see, Lucilla, by the cross,
But swiftly came an awful flame of light —
Then darkness. And I rushed with a great dread
Through the dark maze that gave me no return,
Seized by my everlasting doom.
How then,
How comes it that I know that which I know?
Was my freed spirit borne among the clouds,
By some strange power, away from my void frame,
Or did I see it as a god might see,
Being far off but having mystic sight?
Woe! woe! I look upon the place of shows
Red with dark pools, ghastly with mangled limbs
And shapeless dead. I hear the buzz of tongues,
The murmur of a huddled multitude
Mocking the death-pangs, mocking the death-prayers
Of bleeding forms that call upon their Christ.
I hear the eager cry that urges on
The crouching lions glutted with their prey,
Gazing with sullen eyes upon the crowd —
" Loose more, loose more " — the call rings in my ears —
" Loose more; these make no sport. There are victims yet. "
I see her a fair maiden robed in white,
Standing calm-eyed amid the place of blood,
Standing amid the corpses, not afraid,
Her hand firmed clasped in his all hateful hand —
Lucilla! His Lucilla — never mine.
I hear the echo of her quiet voice,
Oh shuddering hear, " I will not serve nor pray
These dream-born gods, but I will rather die.
My Lord will take me to his rest of love. "
I hear the hum of anger through the throng,
I hear low whisperings of pity grow,
And voices call on Glaucon to stand forth
And save his dainty damsel and himself,
Bending with her one moment to great Jove;
And his strong words peal like a trumpet-blast
" Yes, I love her; but more do I love Christ. "
And then — I will not see — Oh! save her! save her!
Drag them off her. Am I powerless to reach her
And yet behold?
And I must gaze on this —
Out of some dream? A dream that will return
For ever and for ever!
Oh! the curse
Is my own earning. Rightly am I doomed.
Her blood, his blood, the blood of many dead
Is on my soul.
But did she pray for me?
Could even her gentleness so well forgive?
It was as if, in a deep pulseless hush
Stiller than sleep, I heard within my heart
While dying she prayed softly to her god
" Oh Lord, forgive him, lead his soul to thee, "
And knew she prayed for me, and loved her prayer,
While for a moment quivered at my heart
A yearning for that rest of love in Christ,
And a quick impulse stirred me to fall down
And call upon her god as she had called.
But he replied, that Glaucon, " Lord, forgive. "
And I cried fiercely, clamouring out my wrath,
" Thou Christ, if thou hast any power to hear,
" Hear me, not him — hurl all thy wrath on me,
" I will not be forgiven at his prayer.
" If thou canst hear, hear me. "
Then I awoke,
And knew myself as one without a soul
Urged by the furies through these endless vaults.
But this long hour of thought? Why came it first?
After what length of days? I cannot judge,
Having in that long fear no breathing time,
Going on and on and on, through ceaseless turns,
In the dead murk and in the ghastly glimmer
Of the far daylight straggling through the shafts,
Going on and on and on towards escape
That never may be reached, my mind a blank
To all save terror and that one vain hope.
It came. I found me as I find me now
Within the place of prayer where that swift flame
Seared me for ever from the lot of men,
And an unnatural radiance, even as now,
Came from the darkness, falling on that tomb —
L UCILLA A SWEET SOUL ASLEEP IN C HRIST ,
And G LAUCON LOVING HER, MORE LOVING C HRIST .
And gazing, there seemed borne upon my mind —
Or did she whisper it from that still tomb? —
That there should be to me each year a space
Of rest and memory enforced beside
Her resting place, that so I might call back
My prayer and " wash away " (the words seem so)
" My sin in weeping and a Saviour's blood,
" And fall asleep in Christ. "
Yea, I would sleep,
Oh! sleep! if I could sleep — yea, sleep in Christ
Whom my gods loathe — yea sleep with her in Christ.
But Glaucon whom I hate — Oh! never rest
Be mine with him, be mine through Glaucon's god.
Hear me, not him, thou Christ.
The radiance pales —
Is dead. Oh gods! my madness drives me on.
Darkness, all dark — I know not what I say.