Classic Poem

Now in the city was a gentle maid,
Alca by name, who whiled away the hours
Petting her birds and weaving wreathes of flowers
Within her father's dwelling, in the shade.

He was a warrior stationed on the walls,
And gave his daughter his large share of spoil,
So that her dainty fingers might not toil,
So that she might spill perfume in her halls.

And she was pure, and no intrepid youth
Had lured her fancy by a glittering gem;
Nor had a beard been pressed unto her hem,
Nor had she lingered in a merchant's booth.

And she was beautiful, with ebon hair
Scented and braided with new fillets, and
She wore a jasper signet on her hand,
And roses in her bosom round and fair.

Yet she was wise and knew that Beltis claimed
Her beauteous body in the temple's shrine,
For one sweet night of ecstasy divine;
Yea, this she knew, and yet was unashamed.

And all her heart was bursting with young pride,
For she, the humble maiden, white and pure,
Had once beheld the king, Bel-shar-uzzúr,
Pass in his chariot on the bastions wide.

And he had gazed upon her as he passed,
Ay, the great king! and this sweet knowledge sent
A sense of joy and much bewilderment
Through her warm flesh and made her heart beat fast.

The time was nigh when she would have to pass
Within the temple to await the gold
Of any passing stranger, and enfold
His body with her jeweled arms, alas!

And this annoyed her soul, because her love
Was pledged to Ammarac, a warrior tall,
Who was her pride, her passion and her all,
Strong as a god and humble as a dove.

And through the sultry day, when he would come
To sit and sing beside her in the shade,
She longed to be another than a maid,
And passions woke and triumphed that were dumb.

And, lo! he spake to her, and softly said:
“When to the temple thou art taken in state,
Fear naught, sweet Alca, do not hesitate;
I will be there; harbor no evil dread.

“Thy ransom-coin will be of graven gold,
And I will press it in thy furtive palm,
Then I can fearless taste thy kisses' balm,
And all the whiteness of thy body hold!

“That brutal Tammac, who pursues thee now
With gifts of ointment and great lustful sighs,
With braided beard and hot and swinish eyes,
Will never touch the fillets of thy brow.

“Thou shalt be mine, and I will love thee much,
And prove my love in manly loving ways.
Mine ears shall reap the harvest of thy praise,
When thou dost pant to Vul beneath my touch!”

And Alca smiled and kissed his bearded face,
Saying: “'Tis well! Thy whim I will obey,
And I shall wait thy coming on that day,
When the vast temple shelters my disgrace!”

Then she arose, and placing milk and fruit
With spicy gums before him, she reclined
Upon her silks, and to becalm his mind
She summoned forth the spirit of her lute.

And he was tame, and lingered at her feet,
Kissing her limbs and toying with her hair;
For there was peace and much contentment there,
And all his dreams were fruitful and complete.

The sacred daylight broke, and Alca, draped
In lovely garments and her choicest gems,
Entered the temple of Mylitta, where
She took her place amid a thousand maids,
There to await the coming of the coin,
And in the scented gloom she could discern,
Vaguely at first, and lucidly at last,
A cluster of women who had had no coin,
Ay, women who had lingered there for years,
Hopelessly captives till the silver came!
And some were young, but marked by moles or scars,
And some were old and spake with wrinkled cheeks,
And Alca pitied them and cried: “O Bel!
I pray to thee that I may ne'er be thus!”
While, as she prayed, the women who were spurned
Circled the altar, and in desolate tones
Sang to the god who had not heard their prayers:
“Oh! will no great warrior stern
To allure us hence return?
Must we now remain forever in the temple's halls prodigious
We have faces white and fair,
With keen eyes and lustrous hair,
And with fervor we have yielded to all rites and rules religious
“Yet in vain we stretch our hand,
And with faltering voice demand
The bright salvatory silver that will save us from this prison!
Yet full many a gentle maid,
In enticing silks arrayed,
From her corner near the altar for long years has not arisen!
“Oh Mylitta! in the might
Of thy all-absorbing light,
See us bow before thine altars, slaves of love, and law, and duty!
Let us gaze but once again
On the lovely leafy plain,
Take us hence ere Time rapacious hurls its javelin at our beauty!
“We are sacred as the sun,
And our task we dare not shun,
Yet in vain we tempt the comers with alert, voluptuous glances!
Must we linger here and die,
As the solemn years go by,
And lose pleasure, hope and beauty, and the joy of wines and dances?
“Even thy priests, who boil and burn
With all lechery, will turn
From our naked bosoms tempting, knowing death is swift and certain.
If they fall from thy high grace
By one unallowed embrace
On our lips or on our bodies near the sacred altar's curtain.
“Oh great queen of night, Ashtar!
That in heaven dost shine afar,
We are dying for deliverance and the frenzy of caresses!
Deign to send our spirit gleams
Of a hope to light our dreams,
And thy name will be unto us as a balm that soothes and blesses!”

But no bright coin was dropped upon their laps,
And no one even paused to market them.

Vast crowds assembled at the temple's gates,
Awaiting entrance when the doors unbarred
Should give to all an enviable choice
Of supple flesh and animated eyes;
And Ammarac was present, with a bit
Of flashing gold held firmly in his hand,
Destined for Alca, and his bosom leaped
When thoughts of love went soaring through his heart,
Thoughts of her nudity and drooping eyes,
Thoughts of the rich allurement of her breasts.

Impatient, ardent, he stood waiting there,
While the grave priests, heedless of his desire,
Exasperating, in their scented cloaks,
Sang unto Bel, as if the massive doors
Were destined never to be flung apart: