Читать книгу Poems - Julia C. R. Dorr - Страница 17

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Dethroned and crownless, I so late a queen! Forsaken, poor and lonely, I who wore The crown of Persia with such stately grace! But yesterday a royal wife; but now From my estate cast down, and fallen so low That beggars scoff at me! Men toss my name Backward and forward on their mocking tongues. In all the king’s broad realm there is not one To do poor Vashti homage. Even the dog My hand had fondled, in the palace walls Fawns on my rival. When I left the court, Weeping and sore distressed, he followed me, Licking my fingers, leaping in my face, And frisking round me till I reached the gates. Then with long pauses, as of one perplexed, And frequent lookings backward, and low whines Of puzzled wonder—that had made me smile If I had been less lorn—with drooping ears, Dropt eyes, and downcast forehead he went back, Leaving me desolate. So went they all Who, when Ahasuerus on my brow Set his own royal crown and called me queen, Made the air ring with plaudits! Loud they cried, “Long live Queen Vashti, Persia’s fairest Rose, Mother of Princes, and the nation’s Hope!” The rose is withered now; the queen’s no more. To these lorn breasts no princely boy shall cling Or now, or ever. Yet on this poor scroll I will rehearse the story of my woes, And bid them lay it in the grave with me When I depart to join the unnumbered dead.

Oh, thou unknown, unborn, who through the gloom And mists of ages in my vaulted tomb Shalt find this parchment, and with reverent care Shalt bear it outward to the sun and air: Oh, thou whose patient fingers shall unroll With slow, persuasive touch this little scroll: Oh, loving, tender eyes that, like twin stars, I seem to see through yonder cloudy bars: Read Vashti’s story, and I pray ye tell The whole wide world if she did ill or well!

Ahasuerus reigned. On Persia’s throne, Lord of a mighty realm, he sat alone, And stretched his sceptre from the farthest slope Of India’s hills, to where the Ethiop Dwelt in barbaric splendor. Kinglier king Never did poet praise or minstrel sing! He had no peers. Among his lords he shone As shines a planet, single and alone; And I, alas! I loved him, and we two Such bliss as peasant lovers joy in, knew! No lowly home in all our wide domain Held more of peace than ours, or less of pain. But one dark day—O, woeful day of days, Whose hours I number now in sad amaze, Thou hadst no prophet of the ills to be, Nor sign nor omen came to succor me!— That day Ahasuerus smiled and said, “Since first I wore this crown upon my head Thrice have the emerald clusters of the vine Changed to translucent globes of ruby wine; And thrice the peaches on the loaded walls Have slowly rounded into wondrous balls Of gold and crimson. I will make a feast. Princes and lords, the greatest and the least, All Persia and all Media, shall see The pomp and splendor that encompass me. The riches of my kingdom shall be shown, And all my glorious majesty made known Where’er the shadow of my sceptred hand Sways a great people with its mute command!” Then came from far and near a hurrying throng Of skilled and cunning workmen. All day long And far into the startled night, they wrought Most quaint and beautiful devices—still Responsive to their master’s eager will, And giving form to his creative thought— Till Shushan grew a marvel! Never yet Yon rolling sun on fairer scene has set: The palace windows were ablaze with light; And Persia’s lords were there, most richly dight In broidered silks, or costliest cloth of gold, That kept the sunshine in each lustrous fold, Or softly flowing tissues, pure and white As fleecy clouds at noonday. Clear and bright Shone the pure gold of Ophir, and the gleam Of burning gems, that mocked the pallid beam Of the dim, wondering stars, made radiance there, Splendor undreamed of, and beyond compare! Up from the gardens floated the perfume Of rose and myrtle, in their perfect bloom; The red pomegranate cleft its heart in twain, Pouring its life blood in a crimson rain; The slight acacia waved its yellow plumes, And afar off amid the starlit glooms Were sweet recesses, where the orange bowers Dropt their pure blossoms down in snowy showers, And night reigned undisturbed. From cups of gold Diverse one from another, meet to hold The king’s most costly wines, or to be raised To princely lips, the gay guests drank, and praised Their rich abundance. Rapturous music swept Through the vast arches and the secret kept Of its own joy; while in slow, rhythmic time To clash of cymbal and the lute’s clear chime, The dancing-girls stole through the fragrant night With wreathéd arms, flushed cheeks and eyes alight, And softly rounded forms that rose and fell To the voluptuous music’s dreamy swell, As if the air were pulsing waves that bore Them up and onward to some longed-for shore!

Wild waxed the revel. On an ivory throne Inlaid with ebony and gems that shone With a surpassing lustre, sat my lord, The King Ahasuerus. His great sword, Blazing with diamonds on hilt and blade,— The mighty sword that made his foes afraid,— And the proud sceptre he was wont to grasp, With all the monarch in his kingly clasp, Against the crouching lions (guard that kept On either side the throne and never slept), Leaned carelessly. And flowing downward o’er The ivory steps even to the marble floor, Swept the rich royal robes in many a fold Of Tyrian purple flecked with yellow gold. The jewelled crown his young head scorned to wear, More fitly crowned by its own clustering hair, Lay on a pearl-wrought cushion by his side, Mute symbol of great Persia’s power and pride; While on his brow some courtier’s hand had placed The fairest chaplet monarch ever graced, A wreath of dewy roses, fresh and sweet, Just brought from out the garden’s cool retreat.

Louder and louder grew the sounds of mirth; Faster and faster flowed the red wine forth; In high, exulting strains the minstrels sang The monarch’s glory, till the great roof rang; And flushed at length with pride and song and wine, The king rose up and said, “O nobles mine! Princes of Persia, Media’s hope and pride, Stars of my kingdom, will ye aught beside? Speak! and I swear your sovereign’s will shall be On this fair night to please and honor ye!” Then rose a shout from out the glittering throng Drowning the voice of merriment and song, Humming and murmuring like a hive of bees— What would they more each charmèd sense to please?

Out spoke at last a tongue that should have been Palsied in foul dishonor there and then. “O great Ahasuerus! ne’er before Reigned such a king so blest a people o’er! What shall we ask? What great and wondrous boon To crown the hours that fly away too soon? There is but one. ’Tis said that mortal eyes Never yet gazed, in rapturous surprise, Upon a face like that of her who wears Thy signet-ring, and all thy glory shares,— Thy fair Queen Vashti, she who yet shall be Mother of him who reigneth after thee! Show us that face, O king! For nought beside Can make our cup of joy o’erflow with pride.”

A murmur ran throughout the startled crowd, Swelling at last to plaudits long and loud. Maddened with wine, they knew not what they said. Ahasuerus bent his haughty head, And for an instant o’er his face there swept A look his courtiers in their memory kept For many a day—a look of doubt and pain, They scarcely caught ere it had passed again. “My word is pledged,” he said. Then to the seven Lord chamberlains to whom the keys were given: “Haste ye, and to this noble presence bring Vashti, the Queen, with royal crown and ring; That all my lords may see the matchless charms Kind Heaven has sent to bless my kingly arms.”

They did their errand, those old, gray-haired men, Who should have braved the lion in his den, Or ere they bore such message to their queen, Or took such words their aged lips between. What! I, the daughter of a royal race, Step down, unblushing, from my lofty place, And, like a common dancing-girl, who wears Her beauty unconcealed, and, shameless, bares Her brow to every gazer, boldly go To those wild revellers my face to show? I—who had kept my beauty pure and bright Only because ’twas precious in his sight, Guarding it ever as a holy thing, Sacred to him, my lover, lord, and king,— Could I unveil it to the curious eyes Of the mad rabble that with drunken cries Were shouting “Vashti! Vashti?”—Sooner far, Beyond the rays of sun, or moon, or star, I would have buried it in endless night! Pale and dismayed, in wonder and affright, My maidens hung around me as I told Those seven lord chamberlains, so gray and old, To bear this answer back: “It may not be. My lord, my king, I cannot come to thee. It is not meet that Persia’s queen, like one Who treads the market-place from sun to sun, Should bare her beauty to the hungry crowd, Who name her name in accents hoarse and loud.” With stern, cold looks they left me. Ah! I knew If my dear lord to his best self were true, That he would hold me guiltless, and would say, “I thank thee, love, that thou didst not obey!” But the red wine was ruling o’er his brain; The cruel wine that recked not of my pain. Up from the angry throng a clamor rose; The flattering sycophants were now my foes; And evil counsellors about the throne, Hiding the jealous joy they dared not own, With slow, wise words, and many a virtuous frown, Said, “Be the queen from her estate cast down! Let her not see the king’s face evermore, Nor come within his presence as of yore; So disobedient wives through all the land Shall read the lesson, heed and understand.” Up spoke another, eager to be heard, In royal councils fain to have a word,— “Let this commandment of the king be writ, In the law of the Medes and Persians, as is fit,— The perfect law that man may alter not Nor of its bitter end abate one jot.” Alas! the king was wroth. Before his face I could not go to plead my piteous case; But, pitiless, with scarce dissembled sneers, And poisoned words that rankled in his ears, My wily foes, afraid to let him pause, Brought the great book that held the Persian laws, And ere the rising of the morrow’s sun, My bitter doom was sealed, the deed was done!

Scarce had two moons passed when one dreary night I sat within my bower in woeful plight, When suddenly upon my presence stole A muffled form, whose shadow stirred my soul I knew not wherefore. Ere my tongue could speak, Or with a breath the brooding silence break, A low voice murmured “Vashti!” Pale and still, Hushing my heart’s cry with an iron will, “What would the king?” I asked. No answer came, But to his sad eyes leaped a sudden flame; With clasping arms he raised me to his breast And on my brow and lips such kisses pressed As one might give the dead. I may not tell All the wild words that I remember well. Oh! was it joy or was it pain to know That not alone I wept my weary woe? Alas! I know not. But I know to-day— If this be sin, forgive me, Heaven, I pray!— That though his eyes have never looked on mine Since that dark night when stars refused to shine, And fair Queen Esther sits, a beauteous bride, In stately Shushan at the monarch’s side, The king remembers Vashti, even yet Breathing her name sometimes with vain regret, Or murmuring, haply, in a whisper low,— “O pure, proud heart that loved me long ago!”