Early Poems (1859-70). Elijah
Into that good old Hebrew's soul sublime The spirit of the wilderness had passed; For where the thunders of imperial Storm Rolled over mighty hills; and where the caves Of cloud-capt Horeb rang with hurricane; And where wild-featured Solitude did hold Supreme dominion; there the prophet saw And heard and felt that large mysterious life Which lies remote from cities, in the woods And rocks and waters of the mountained Earth. And so it came to pass, Elijah caught That scholarship which gave him power to see And solve the deep divinity that lies With Nature, under lordly forest-domes, And by the seas; and so his spirit waxed, Made strong and perfect by its fellowship With God's authentic world, until his eyes Became a splendour, and his face was as A glory with the vision of the seer. Thereafter, thundering in the towns of men, His voice, a trumpet of the Lord, did shake All evil to its deep foundations. He, The hairy man who ran before the king, Like some wild spectre fleeting through the storm, What time Jezreel's walls were smitten hard By fourfold wind and rain; 'twas he who slew The liars at the altars of the gods, And, at the very threshold of a throne, Heaped curses on its impious lord; 'twas he Jehovah raised to grapple Sin that stalked, Arrayed about with kingship; and to strike Through gold and purple, to the heart of it. And therefore Falsehood quaked before his face, And Tyranny grew dumb at sight of him, And Lust and Murder raged abroad no more; But where these were he walked, a shining son Of Truth, and cleared and sanctified the land. Not always was the dreaded Tishbite stern; The scourge of despots, when he saw the face Of Love in sorrow by the bed of Death, Grew tender as a maid; and she who missed A little mouth that used to catch, and cling— A small, sweet trouble—at her yearning breast;* Yea, she of Zarephath, who sat and mourned The silence of a birdlike voice that made Her flutter with the joy of motherhood In other days, she came to know the heart Of Pity that the rugged prophet had. And when he took the soft, still child away, And laid it on his bed; and in the dark Sent up a pleading voice to Heaven; and drew The little body to his breast; and held It there until the bright, young soul returned To earth again; the gladdened woman saw A radiant beauty in Elijah's eyes, And knew the stranger was a man of God.
* [Note.—These lines were suggested by a passage in an unpublished drama by my friend, the author of “Ashtaroth” {A. L. Gordon}—
Henry Kendall’s other poems:
