  I.—FIRST PANEL: THE HILLOn a day in Maytime mild Mary sat on a hill-top with her child. (Overhead in the calm sky's arching The curled white clouds went slowly marching.... But underneath the blue abyss All was stiller than water is Leagues under the surface of the sea.) And all about her thick and free Blossomed the dear familiar flowers. There, while her boy played through the hours, And the high sun shook gold upon her, Mary plaited a garland in his honour Who should be the King of Kings; And when 'tis done this song she sings, As Jesus, tired and happy, rests Curled in the hollow of her breasts: "In the shadow of my dress, Out of the sun And his fierce caress, Sleep, my son. "Soft the air about the hill, Scented, sunny, clear, and still; Below in the woods the daffodil Nods, and the shy anemone Creeps up from the thicket to look on thee, And ten thousand daisies meet In an ocean of stars about thy feet. "Daisies have I strung for thee, Darling boy, Wee white blossoms that shall be Dappled, ah! so rosily With thy blood, When they nail thee to the wood Cleft from out the crooked tree. Can it be, Daisies innocent and good, That ye star black Calvary? "Buttercups I make thy crown, Darling boy. (Lullaby, O lullaby!) Son of sorrow, son of joy, Pain and Paradise thou art, Thou that sighest nestling down In my breast, over my heart That is a lake Where the hidden tear-drops ache Till mounting upward for thy sake Out they break, Down they plash on me and thee. "And Heaven in her charity Drops seven tears on me and thee. "This thy little childhood's crown, Flower on flower, Wear thou in thy lullaby Till thou facest the soldiers' frown In thine iron hour, Till the thorn they crown thee by They press down: Ah, the sharp points in my heart! Ah, the sword, the sudden smart Flaying me as 'twere a flame! Crowned indeed, my son, thou art With red flowers of pain and shame! "Birds and butterflies and trees, And the long hush of the breeze Shimmering over the silken grass, What wouldst thou have more than these?... In the stall the ox and ass Gazed on thee with tender eyes; All things love thee; yet there lies Brims not falls thy mother's tear. Wherefore, baby, must thou go? Rose, to be torn in sunder so? Little bonny limbs, little bonny face, My lamb, my torment, my disgrace! "O baby, are thine eyelids closed Faster than my eyes supposed? With foxes must thy bed be maken, A beggar with beggars must thou go, To be at last forsworn, forsaken? And bear alone thy cross also Anigh to the foot of a bare hill? To hang gibbeted and abhorred, For passers-by to wish thee ill? And to thrust against thy will Through thy mother's bosom the sharpest sword? "O baby, breathing so quietly, Have thou mercy upon me! That in thy madness On thy lonely journey farest, That understandest not nor carest For me and my sadness! Woe indeed! thou dost not know Man cometh into this world in sorrow To spend in grief to-night, to-morrow In sorrow the third day to go! "O sleep, dear baby, and, heart, sleep; Turn to thy slumber, golden, deep, Of present possible happiness. Let drop the daisies one by one Over his body and his dress; Afflicted eyes, see but thy son Who sleeps secure from hurt, from harm, Clasped to my breast, closed in my arm, Who murmurs as the flowers by the faint wind shaken, And, putting forth sweet, sleepy hands, Feels for the kisses he demands.... Slowly, belov'd, dost thou awaken, And sure, in heaven there is no sign: It is not true that thou shalt be taken, Who for ever, for ever art mine, art mine!" Into the west the calm white sun Floated and sank. The day was done. Mary returned, and as she went, Above her, in the firmament, The stars, that are the flowers of God, Mirrored the flowery earth she trod. Thus bore she on her destined child, And while she wept, behold! he smiled, Softly she kissed him, and a bliss, Deeper than all her human tears, Flooded her and put out her fears. Oxford, Early Spring, 1914. II.—SECOND AND CENTRE PANEL: THE TOWERIt was deep night, and over Jerusalem's low roofs The moon floated, drifting through high vaporous woofs. The moonlight crept and glistened silent, solemn, sweet, Over dome and column, up empty, endless street; In the closed, scented gardens the rose loosed from the stem Her white showery petals; none regarded them; The starry thicket breathed odours to the sentinel palm; Silence possessed the city like a soul possessed by calm. Not a spark in the warren under the giant night, Save where in a turret's lantern beamed a grave, still light: There in the topmost chamber a gold-eyed lamp was lit— Marvellous lamp in darkness, informing, redeeming it! Spoke to the lone apostles as light to men entombed; And spreading his hands in blessing, as one soon to be dead, He put soft enchantment into spare wine and bread. The hearts of the disciples were broken and full of tears, Because their lord, the spearless, was hedgËd about with spears; And in his face the sickness of departure had spread a gloom, At leaving his young friends friendless. They could not forget the tomb. He smiled subduedly, telling, in tones soft as voice of the dove, The endlessness of sorrow, the eternal solace of love; And lifting the earthly tokens, wine and sorrowful bread, He bade them sup and remember one who lived and was dead. And they could not restrain their weeping. But one rose up to depart, Having weakness and hate of weakness raging within his heart, Judas arose and departed: night went out to the night. Then Jesus lifted his voice like a fountain in an ocean of tears, And comforted his disciples and calmed and allayed their fears. But Judas wound down the turret, creeping from floor to floor, And would fly; but one leaning, weeping, barred him beside the door. And he knew her by her ruddy garment and two yet-watching men: Mary of Seven Evils, Mary Magdalen. And he was frighted at her. She sighed: "I dreamed him dead. We sell the body for silver...." Then Judas cried out and fled Forth into the night!... The moon had begun to set; A drear, deft wind went sifting, setting the dust afret; Into the heart of the city Judas ran on and prayed To stern Jehovah lest his deed make him afraid. But in the tiny lantern, hanging as if on air, The disciples sat unspeaking. Amaze and peace were there. In accents humble and happy spoke slow, consoling words. Thus Jesus discoursed, and was silent, sitting upright, and soon Past the casement behind him slanted the sinking moon; And, rising for Olivet, all stared, between love and dread, Seeing the torrid moon a ruddy halo behind his head. Grayshott, July, 1914. III.—THIRD PANEL: THE TREEThe crookËd tree creaked as its loaded bough dipped And suddenly jerked up. The rope had slipped, And hideously Judas fell, and all the grass Was soused and reddened where he was, And the tree creaked its mirth.... Mid the hot sky Appeared immediate dots tiny and high, Till downward wound in batlike herds Black, monstrous, gawky birds, And, narrowing their rustling rings, Alit, talons foremost. And with flat wings Flapped in the branches, and glared, and croaked and croaked, While no compassionate human came and cloaked The thing that stared up at the giddy day With pale blue eyeballs and wry-lipped display Of yellow teeth closed on the blue, bit tongue. Overhead the light in silence hung, Clutching the rope about the swollen glands.... And the birds croaked and croaked, evilly eyeing The thing so lying, Which no commiserate pity came and cloaked, But which soaked The earth, so that the flies Dizzily swung over its winkless eyes, And in a crawling, shiny, busy brood Blackened the sticky blood, And tickled the tongue-choked mouth that sought to cry Bitterly and beseechingly Against the judgment of th' unflinching sky. The poor dead, lonely thing had not a shroud From that still, frightful glare until a cloud Of darkness, flowing like a dye Over the edges of the sky, Browned and put out the silent sun: A benison Of three hours' space. And it had power To put a shadow into that thing's face, And th' invisible birds fell silent by its grace. Thus Judas lay in shadow and all was still.... The sky, and a whisper—came it from the grass, Whispering dry and sparse, Or from the air beyond the neighbouring hill?— Ebbed, as a spirit on a sigh Passing beyond alarm: "It is finished!" And there was calm Under the empty tree and in the brightening sky. Grayshott, July, 1914. |
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