PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM
I've quench'd my lamp, I struck
it in that start
Which every limb convulsed,
I heard it fall--
The crash blent with my
sleep, I saw depart
Its light, even as I woke,
on yonder wall;
Over against my bed, there
shone a gleam
Strange, faint, and mingling
also with my dream.
It sank, and I am wrapt in
utter gloom;
How far is night advanced,
and when will day
Retinge the dusk and livid
air with bloom,
And fill this void with
warm, creative ray?
Would I could sleep again
till, clear and red,
Morning shall on the mountain-tops
be spread!
I'd call my women, but to
break their sleep,
Because my own is broken,
were unjust;
They've wrought all day,
and well-earn'd slumbers steep
Their labours in forgetfulness,
I trust;
Let me my feverish watch
with patience bear,
Thankful that none with
me its sufferings share.
Yet, oh, for light! one ray
would tranquillize
My nerves, my pulses, more
than effort can;
I'll draw my curtain and
consult the skies:
These trembling stars at
dead of night look wan,
Wild, restless, strange,
yet cannot be more drear
Than this my couch, shared
by a nameless fear.
All black--one great cloud,
drawn from east to west,
Conceals the heavens, but
there are lights below;
Torches burn in Jerusalem,
and cast
On yonder stony mount a
lurid glow.
I see men station'd there,
and gleaming spears;
A sound, too, from afar,
invades my ears.
Dull, measured strokes of
axe and hammer ring
>From street to street,
not loud, but through the night
Distinctly heard--and some
strange spectral thing
Is now uprear'd--and, fix'd
against the light
Of the pale lamps, defined
upon that sky,
It stands up like a column,
straight and high.
I see it all--I know the
dusky sign--
A cross on Calvary, which
Jews uprear
While Romans watch; and
when the dawn shall shine
Pilate, to judge the victim,
will appear--
Pass sentence-yield Him
up to crucify;
And on that cross the spotless
Christ must die.
Dreams, then, are true--for
thus my vision ran;
Surely some oracle has been
with me,
The gods have chosen me
to reveal their plan,
To warn an unjust judge
of destiny:
I, slumbering, heard and
saw; awake I know,
Christ's coming death, and
Pilate's life of woe.
I do not weep for Pilate--who
could prove
Regret for him whose cold
and crushing sway
No prayer can soften, no
appeal can move:
Who tramples hearts as others
trample clay,
Yet with a faltering, an
uncertain tread,
That might stir up reprisal
in the dead.
Forced to sit by his side
and see his deeds;
Forced to behold that visage,
hour by hour,
In whose gaunt lines the
abhorrent gazer reads
A triple lust of gold, and
blood, and power;
A soul whom motives fierce,
yet abject, urge--
Rome's servile slave, and
Judah's tyrant scourge.
How can I love, or mourn,
or pity him?
I, who so long my fetter'd
hands have wrung;
I, who for grief have wept
my eyesight dim ;
Because, while life for
me was bright and young,
He robb'd my youth--he quench'd
my life's fair ray--
He crush'd my mind, and
did my freedom slay.
And at this hour-although
I be his wife--
He has no more of tenderness
from me
Than any other wretch of
guilty life ;
Less, for I know his household
privacy--
I see him as he is--without
a screen;
And, by the gods, my soul
abhors his mien!
Has he not sought my presence,
dyed in blood--
Innocent, righteous blood,
shed shamelessly?
And have I not his red salute
withstood?
Ay, when, as erst, he plunged
all Galilee
In dark bereavement--in
affliction sore,
Mingling their very offerings
with their gore.
Then came he--in his eyes
a serpent-smile,
Upon his lips some false,
endearing word,
And through the streets
of Salem clang'd the while
His slaughtering, hacking,
sacrilegious sword--
And I, to see a man cause
men such woe,
Trembled with ire--I did
not fear to show.
And now, the envious Jewish
priests have brought
Jesus--whom they in mock'ry
call their king--
To have, by this grim power,
their vengeance wrought;
By this mean reptile, innocence
to sting.
Oh! could I but the purposed
doom avert,
And shield the blameless
head from cruel hurt!
Accessible is Pilate's heart
to fear,
Omens will shake his soul,
like autumn leaf;
Could he this night's appalling
vision hear,
This just man's bonds were
loosed, his life were safe,
Unless that bitter priesthood
should prevail,
And make even terror to
their malice quail.
Yet if I tell the dream--but
let me pause.
What dream? Erewhile the
characters were clear,
Graved on my brain--at once
some unknown cause
Has dimm'd and razed the
thoughts, which now appear,
Like a vague remnant of
some by-past scene;--
Not what will be, but what,
long since, has been.
I suffer'd many things--I
heard foretold
A dreadful doom for Pilate,--lingering
woes,
In far, barbarian climes,
where mountains cold
Built up a solitude of trackless
snows,
There he and grisly wolves
prowl'd side by side,
There he lived famish'd--there,
methought, he died;
But not of hunger, nor by
malady;
I saw the snow around him,
stain'd with gore;
I said I had no tears for
such as he,
And, lo! my cheek is wet--mine
eyes run o'er;
I weep for mortal suffering,
mortal guilt,
I weep the impious deed,
the blood self-spilt.
More I recall not, yet the
vision spread
Into a world remote, an
age to come--
And still the illumined
name of Jesus shed
A light, a clearness, through
the unfolding gloom--
And still I saw that sign,
which now I see,
That cross on yonder brow
of Calvary.
What is this Hebrew Christ?-to
me unknown
His lineage--doctrine--mission;
yet how clear
Is God-like goodness in
his actions shown,
How straight and stainless
is his life's career!
The ray of Deity that rests
on him,
In my eyes makes Olympian
glory dim.
The world advances; Greek
or Roman rite
Suffices not the inquiring
mind to stay;
The searching soul demands
a purer light
To guide it on its upward,
onward way;
Ashamed of sculptured gods,
Religion turns
To where the unseen Jehovah's
altar burns.
Our faith is rotten, all
our rites defiled,
Our temples sullied, and,
methinks, this man,
With his new ordinance,
so wise and mild,
Is come, even as He says,
the chaff to fan
And sever from the wheat;
but will his faith
Survive the terrors of to-morrow's
death ?
*
* * *
* * *
I feel a firmer trust--a
higher hope
Rise in my soul--it dawns
with dawning day;
Lo! on the Temple's roof--on
Moriah's slope
Appears at length that clear
and crimson ray
Which I so wished for when
shut in by night;
Oh, opening skies, I hail,
I bless pour light!
Part, clouds and shadows!
Glorious Sun appear!
Part, mental gloom!
Come insight from on high!
Dusk dawn in heaven still
strives with daylight clear
The longing soul doth still
uncertain sigh.
Oh! to behold the truth--that
sun divine,
How doth my bosom pant,
my spirit pine!
This day, Time travails with
a mighty birth;
This day, Truth stoops from
heaven and visits earth;
Ere night descends I shall
more surely know
What guide to follow, in
what path to go;
I wait in hope--I wait in
solemn fear,
The oracle of God--the sole--true
God--to hear. |