Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882). Complete Poetical Works. 1893.
Christus: A MysteryPart I. The Divine Tragedy. The Second Passover. II. Herod’s Banquet-Hall
These torn and faded garments? On thy road
Have demons crowded thee, and rubbed against thee,
And given thee weary knees? A cup of wine!
Why hast thou sent for me?
One day when I, a schoolboy in the streets
Of the great city, met thee on my way
To school, and thou didst say to me: Hereafter
Thou shalt be king?
I am of humble birth; whereat thou, smiling,
Didst smite me with thy hand, and saidst again:
Thou shalt be King; and let the friendly blows
That Manahem hath given thee on this day
Remind thee of the fickleness of fortune.
It shall be well with thee if thou love justice
And clemency towards thy fellow-men.
Hast thou done this, O King?
But these thou wilt forget; and at the end
Of life the Lord will punish thee.
When will that come? For this I sent to thee.
How long shall I still reign? Thou dost not answer!
Speak! shall I reign ten years?
Nay, thirty years. I cannot name the end.
This is my birthday, and a happier one
Was never mine. We hold a banquet here.
See, yonder are Herodias and her daughter.
Of ministering angels, clothed with air,
That they may be inhabitants of earth,
And lead man to destruction. Such are these.
Who knows him not?
Said that it was not lawful I should marry
My brother Philip’s wife, and John the Baptist
Is here in prison. In my father’s time
Matthias Margaloth was put to death
For tearing the golden eagle from its station
Above the Temple Gate,—a slighter crime
That John is guilty of. These things are warnings
To intermeddlers not to play with eagles,
Living or dead. I think the Essenians
Are wiser, or more wary, are they not?
My words a meaning foreign to my thought.
And see the daughter of Herodias dance.
Cleopatra of Jerusalem, my mother,
In her best days, was not more beautiful.
Compared to this one?
Dancing at funerals among the women,
When men bear out the dead! The air is hot
And stifles me! Oh for a breath of air!
Bid me depart, O King!
Salome, thou enchantress! Ask of me
Whate’er thou wilt; and even unto the half
Of all my kingdom, I will give it thee,
As the Lord liveth!
Of John the Baptist on this silver charger!
Regard John as a prophet.
Let him die quickly. Oh, accursed oath!
Give me thy hand. I love the Essenians.
He ’s gone and hears me not! The guests are dumb,
Awaiting the pale face, the silent witness.
The lamps flare; and the curtains of the doorways
Wave to and fro as if a ghost were passing!
Strengthen my heart, red wine of Ascalon!