But in vain, our works were safer, though we longed for the attack,
And eagerly awaited for the summons of the drum.
Stone by stone a breach was opened in the thin place in the wall,
Till at last we sent a truce flag to the gate of Babel Djed,
Saying to the town, "Surrender, Constantine must surely fall;
If you fail, no soul remaining shall be left to count your dead."
Like a sword-thrust was the answer, "There is plenty in the place
Both of food and ammunition; if 'tis these the French desire,
We can furnish them abundance; but surrender means disgrace,
And our homes shall be defended while one soldier stands to fire."
Should not this town be captured, every man must bear the fault,
And many a one bethought him of his own in sunny France.
Down our line there ran the murmur, "We must take it by assault,"
And we heard the bugles playing for the stormers to advance.
Like great billows never breaking were the rocks of Constantine,
And a cargoed ship the city with its keel in every one;
She was sailing for the future with the barter of the line,
And her mast-like towers were gaudy with the pennons of the sun.
But now a storm had struck her, and a hole was in her side,
And the waters rushed in wildly while she paused upon the brink.
All in vain each brave endeavor; for all on board her tried
To close the leak with fury, that the vessel might not sink.
Our men the angry waters that could not be turned nor checked,
And they bore all straws before them in their mad impetuous way.
So the town, betrayed, was captured; so the great ship had been wrecked;
And with the troops in triumph I rode in upon that day.
VIII. THE WEDDING AND THE FALSE FRIEND.
When the night fell, in the palace all the lights were lit again.
In the hall of silken standards and of Persia-woven mats
There were women fair as houris, there were brave and handsome men;
And the fish leaped up to see them from the fountain's silver vats.
Never yet so fair Eudocia, and she won the wisest praise
From the aliens there assembled to behold our marriage rite;
Not alone her queenly beauty; but the grace of all her ways,
Drew all hearts and eyes toward her, filled like cups with pure delight.
But while yet they said the service, and ere yet I placed the ring
On her tapering heart finger, all the crowd was parted wide,
And I saw my friend the masker his unasked-for presence bring
To the pollen of the wedding, lady-petaled on each side.
"Thus shall die the thankless traitor, whether king or beggar he!"
And a dagger gleamed above us with a fierce glare at the light,
Then was struck upon my bosom near the place the heart might be,
And my false friend, through the people, hastened wildly in his flight.
But the mad bee gained no honey in his hurry to depart;
His sting had been well pointed, but his villainy was loss,
For I wore, with faith, a secret, o'er the throbbing of my heart,
The symbol of a higher life, a simple silver Cross.
This had turned aside the weapon and spared me many years
For one whose heart has been to me a holy pilgrim shrine,
For one for whom I gave away with bitterness and tears
The city of Jugurtha, my own mother Constantine.
We dwell now in a palace near the white surge of a bay;
But at times my good steed wanders, and in the twilight late,
I find me near my city, while the muezzin in the gray,
Shouts, "To prayer, to prayer, ye people, only God is good and great!"
THE STRONG SPIDER.
I. THE CHIEF'S DAUGHTER.
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.