PART II.
Of costly cedar, rarely carved, the royal chambers ceiling,
The columned walls, of marble rich, its brightest hues revealing;
Around the room a starry smile the lamp of crystal shed,
But warmest lay its lustre on a noble lady’s head;
Her dark hair, bound with burning gems, whose fitful lightning glow,
Is tame beside the wild, black eyes that proudly flash below:
The Jewish rose and olive blend their beauty in her face;
She bears her in her high estate with an imperial grace;
All gorgeous glows with orient gold the broidery of her vest;
With precious stones its purple fold is clasped upon her breast;
She gazes from her lattice forth. What sees the lady there?
A strange, wild beauty crowns the scene,—but she has other care!
Far off fair Moab’s emerald slopes, and Jordan’s lovely vale;
And nearer,—heights where fleetest foot of wild gazelle would fail;
While crowning every verdant ridge, like drifts of moonlit snow,
Rich palaces and temples rise, around, above, below,
Gleaming thro’ groves of terebinth, of palm, and sycamore,
Where the swift torrents dashing free, their mountain music pour;
And arched o’er all, the Eastern heaven lights up with glory rare
The landscape’s wild magnificence;—but she has other care!
Why flings she thus, with gesture fierce, her silent lute aside?
Some deep emotion chafes her soul with more than wonted pride;
But, hark! a sound has reached her heart, inaudible elsewhere,
And hushed, to melting tenderness, the storm of passion there!
The far-off fall of fairy feet, that fly in eager glee,
A voice, that warbles wildly sweet, some Jewish melody!
She comes! her own Salomé comes! her pure and blooming child!
She comes, and anger yields to love, and sorrow is beguiled:
Her singing bird! low nestling now upon the parent breast,
She murmurs of the monarch’s vow with girlish laugh and jest:—
“Now choose me a gift and well!
There are so many joys I covet!
Shall I ask for a young gazelle?
’Twould be more than the world to me;
Fleet and wild as the wind,
Oh! how I would cherish and love it!
With flowers its neck I’d bind,
And joy in its graceful glee.
“Shall I ask for a gem of light,
To braid in my flowing ringlets?
Like a star thro’ the veil of night,
Would glisten its glorious hue;
Or a radiant bird, to close
Its beautiful, waving winglets
On my bosom in soft repose,
And share my love with you!”
She paused,—bewildered, terror-struck; for, in her mother’s soul,
Roused by the promise of the king, beyond her weak control,
The exulting tempest of Revenge and Pride raged wild and high,
And sent its storm-cloud to her brow, its lightning to her eye!
Her haughty lip was quivering with anger and disdain,
Her beauteous, jewelled hands were clenched, as if from sudden pain.
“Forgive,” Salomé faltering cried, “Forgive my childish glee!
’Twas selfish, vain,—oh! look not thus! but let me ask for thee!”
Then smiled,—it was a deadly smile,—that lady on her child,
And “Swear thou’ll do my bidding, now!” she cried, in accents wild:
“Ah! when, from earliest childhood’s hour, did I thine anger dare!
Yet, since an oath thy wish must seal,—by Judah’s hopes, I swear!”
Herodias stooped,—one whisper brief!—was it a serpent’s hiss,
That thus the maiden starts and shrinks beneath the woman’s kiss?
A moment’s pause of doubt and dread!—then wild the victim knelt,—
“Take, take my worthless life instead! Oh! if thou e’er hast felt
A mother’s love,—thou canst not doom—no, no! ’twas but a jest!
Speak!—speak! and let me fly once more, confiding, to thy breast!”
A hollow and sepulchral tone was hers who made reply:
“The oath! the oath!—remember, girl! ’tis registered on high!”
Salomé rose,—mute, moveless stood as marble, save in breath,
Half senseless in her cold despair, her young cheek blanched like death!
But an hour since, so joyous, fond, without a grief or care,
Now struck with wo unspeakable,—how dread a change was there!
“It shall be done!” was that the voice that rang so gaily sweet,
When, innocent and blest she came, but now, with flying feet?
“It shall be done!” she turns to go, but, ere she gains the door,
One look of wordless, deep reproach she backward casts,—no more!
But late she sprang the threshold o’er, a light and blooming child,
Now, reckless, in her grief she goes a woman stern and wild.