| |
| FRESHLY the cool breath of the coming eve | |
| Stole through the lattice, and the dying girl | |
| Felt it upon her forehead. She had lain | |
| Since the hot noontide in a breathless trance— | |
| Her thin pale fingers clasp’d within the hand | 5 |
| Of the heart-broken Ruler, and her breast, | |
| Like the dead marble, white and motionless. | |
| The shadow of a leaf lay on her lips, | |
| And, as it stirr’d with the awakening wind, | |
| The dark lids lifted from her languid eyes, | 10 |
| And her slight fingers moved, and heavily | |
| She turn’d upon her pillow. He was there— | |
| The same loved, tireless watcher, and she look’d | |
| Into his face until her sight grew dim | |
| With the fast-falling tears; and, with a sigh | 15 |
| Of tremulous weakness murmuring his name, | |
| She gently drew his hand upon her lips, | |
| And kiss’d it as she wept. The old man sunk | |
| Upon his knees, and in the drapery | |
| Of the rich curtains buried up his face; | 20 |
| And when the twilight fell, the silken folds | |
| Stirr’d with his prayer, but the slight hand he held | |
| Had ceased its pressure; and he could not hear, | |
| In the dead utter silence, that a breath | |
| Came through her nostrils; and her temples gave | 25 |
| To his nice touch no pulse; and at her mouth | |
| He held the lightest curl that on her neck | |
| Lay with a mocking beauty, and his gaze | |
| Ached with its deathly stillness * * * * * It was night— | |
| And softly, o’er the Sea of Galilee, | 30 |
| Danced the breeze-ridden ripples to the shore, | |
| Tipp’d with the silver sparkles of the moon. | |
| The breaking waves play’d low upon the beach | |
| Their constant music, but the air beside | |
| Was still as starlight, and the Saviour’s voice, | 35 |
| In its rich cadences unearthly sweet, | |
| Seem’d like some just-born harmony in the air, | |
| Waked by the power of wisdom. On a rock, | |
| With the broad moonlight falling on his brow. | |
| He stood and taught the people. At his feet | 40 |
| Lay his small scrip, and pilgrim’s scallop-shell, | |
| And staff—for they had waited by the sea | |
| Till he came o’er from Gadarene, and pray’d | |
| For his wont teachings as he came to land, | |
| His hair was parted meekly on his brow, | 45 |
| And the long curls from off his shoulders fell, | |
| As he leaned forward earnestly, and still | |
| The same calm cadence, passionless and deep— | |
| And in his looks the same mild majesty— | |
| And in his mien the sadness mixed with power— | 50 |
| Fill’d them with love and wonder. Suddenly, | |
| As on his words entrancedly they hung, | |
| The crowd divided, and among them stood | |
| JAIRUS THE RULER. With his flowing robe | |
| Gather’d in haste about his loins, he came | 55 |
| And fixed his eyes on Jesus. Closer drew | |
| The twelve disciples to their Master’s side; | |
| And silently the people shrank away, | |
| And left the haughty Ruler in the midst | |
| Alone. A moment longer on the face | 60 |
| Of the meek Nazarene he kept his gaze, | |
| And, as the twelve look’d on him, by the light | |
| Of the clear moon they saw a glistening tear | |
| Steal to his silver beard; and, drawing nigh | |
| Unto the Saviour’s feet, he took the hem | 65 |
| Of his coarse mantle, and with trembling hands | |
| Press’d it upon his lips, and murmur’d low, | |
| “Master! my daughter!”— * * * * * The same silvery light | |
| That shone upon the lone rock by the sea, | |
| Slept on the Ruler’s lofty capitals, | 70 |
| As at the door he stood, and welcomed in | |
| Jesus and his disciples. All was still. | |
| The echoing vestibule gave back the slide | |
| Of their loose sandals, and the arrowy beam | |
| Of moonlight, slanting to the marble floor, | 75 |
| Lay like a spell of silence in the rooms, | |
| As Jairus led them on. With hushing steps | |
| He trod the winding stair; but ere he touch’d | |
| The latchet, from within a whisper came, | |
| “Trouble the Master not—for she is dead!” | 80 |
| And his faint hand fell nerveless at his side, | |
| And his steps falter’d, and his broken voice | |
| Choked in its utterance: but a gentle hand | |
| Was laid upon his arm, and in his ear | |
| The Saviour’s voice sank thrillingly and low, | 85 |
“She is not dead; but sleepeth.”
They pass’d in. | |
| The spice-lamps in the alabaster urns | |
| Burn’d dimly, and the white and fragrant smoke | |
| Curl’d indolently on the chamber walls. | |
| The silken curtains slumber’d in their folds— | 90 |
| Not even a tassel stirring in the air— | |
| And as the Saviour stood beside the bed, | |
| And pray’d inaudibly, the Ruler heard | |
| The quickening division of his breath | |
| As he grew earnest inwardly. There came | 95 |
| A gradual brightness o’er his calm, sad face; | |
| And, drawing nearer to the bed, he moved | |
| The silken curtains silently apart, | |
And look’d upon the maiden.
Like a form | |
| Of matchless sculpture in her sleep she lay— | 100 |
| The linen vesture folded on her breast, | |
| And over it her white transparent hands, | |
| The blood still rosy in their tapering nails. | |
| A line of pearl ran through her parted lips, | |
| And in her nostrils, spiritually thin, | 105 |
| The breathing curve was mockingly like life; | |
| And round beneath the faintly tinted skin | |
| Ran the light branches of the azure veins; | |
| And on her cheek the jet lash overlay, | |
| Matching the arches pencill’d on her brow. | 110 |
| Her hair had been unbound, and falling loose | |
| Upon her pillow, hid her small round ears | |
| In curls of glossy blackness, and about | |
| Her polish’d neck, scarce touching it, they hung | |
| Like airy shadows floating as they slept. | 115 |
| ’Twas heavenly beautiful. The Saviour raised | |
| Her hand from off her bosom, and spread out | |
| The snowy fingers in his palm, and said, | |
| “Maiden! Arise!”—and suddenly a flush | |
| Shot o’er her forehead, and along her lips | 120 |
| And through her cheek the rallied colour ran; | |
| And the still outline of her graceful form | |
| Stirr’d in the linen vesture; and she clasp’d | |
| The Saviour’s hand, and, fixing her dark eyes | |
| Full on his beaming countenance—AROSE! | 125 |
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