Classic Poem

Oh, that was a quickening sight to see
In the quiet fields of Galilee, —
A beautiful lady seated aloft
In a painted car, and with jewels coifed, —
Drawn by asses more white than milk
In harness of silver and tassels of silk,
While after her followed another car
Loaded down to the swingle-bar,
With chests of ivory, cedar and gold.
The harvesters gaped as past she rolled,
With her smile so warm and her eyes so cold,
And a whisper ran rustling from near and far; —
" 'Tis the golden harlot of Magdala...
She hath bided with Caesar a year or more,
Now she would knock at Herod's door,
For her face is set toward Jerusalem...
May Jah protect the diadem! "
But the Magdalene kept her faint, fixed smile,
Though she knew every thought in these hearts of guile.
Now on a sudden came oaths and shouts
And the crowding forward of curious louts,
For the oxen that hauled the treasure wain
Had yawed aside, and split in twain
Was the yoke that held them obedient.
The Magdalene down from her chariot leant;
In the voice that made mammets of men she spoke:
" To him who first will mend me that yoke,
I'll give both silver and gold, " said she.
But they eyed one another sheepishly,
For none had the skill or the tools at hand.
Then a little lad who had ta'en his stand
Apart from the rest, drew shyly near,
And lifted his dark eyes still and clear
To the harlot's face. " If thou 'lt trust to me,
Lady, I'll mend that yoke, " said he,
" For my father he is a carpenter,
And I make good yokes as ever were. "
But the Magdalene could not answer him,
So did the bright fields round her swim —
So did her sins like bats at eve
Round about her flit and heave.
The silence in those boyish eyes
Seemed like as music when it dies
In dreams of innocence long dead.
Oh, heavy, heavy felt her head,
With fumes of lust long vanished.
Still as in dream, she saw him bend
The splintered yoke to smooth and mend,
But when she would have given him gold,
He smiled and said, " I am paid threefold,
Dear lady, in that thou art pleased
And the poor oxen's task is eased,
For easy now, indeed they'll prove
This yoke; their burden light to move. "
Then came her heart out at her eyes,
In a look more terrible than cries:
" If I had borne a son like thee,
I had let the sons of others be! "
Thus having spoken she hid her face
From those clear, unendurable eyes of grace.
The boy gazed on her with soft surmise:
" Mourn not, lady, — in Paradise
A holy saint thou wilt surely be;
The Spirit whispereth it to me. "
But lo! When love in her shame's despite,
Made her look again, he had vanished quite.
Of a gleaner woman, kindly and mild,
She asked, " Oh, who was that wonderful child? "
" Wonderful? Nay, I know not that,
But a dear, douce lad as was ever gat, "
Smiling fondly, the woman saith,
" 'Twas little Jesus of Nazareth. "