The Epic of Paul

by William Cleaver Wilkinson

A trireme that had wintered in the isle—
By stress of weather hindered in her way
From Egypt to the shores of Italy—
Refitted now was ready to pursue
Her destined voyage to Puteoli.
The master's thought had been to put to sea
That selfsame day whose beamy morn beheld
The meeting on the hill in Melita;
But the centurion intervened to bid
Delay the sailing yet another day:
His mind was with his prisoners to embark
Himself on that Egyptian ship for Rome;
And, partly out of kindly complaisance
Toward Paul, and partly from a sympathy
Unconscious, or ashamed and unconfessed
Of interest in the tale that Mary told,
He would not let the purposes he knew
Engaged the Christians for that morn be crossed.

The morrow morn full early they put forth
On a smooth sea beneath a smiling sky.
A concourse of the grateful islanders
Flowed to the quay with signals of farewell
And blessing and with honors manifold
Lavished on Paul and for Paul's sake on them
That with him sailed; nor only eager words
Brought they and tears of reverence and of love,
But bounty in unbounded store of all
Things needful to sustain those travellers' cheer.

So, sail and oar, they steered for Syracuse;
There for three days they tarried, and thence north
Warping their way in variance with the wind
Touched Rhegium where another day they bide.
Then, the south blowing, they once more set sail
And the next day attained Puteoli.

Of those who sailed on that good ship for Rome
Were Felix and Drusilla with their train;
And their train was, by one addition, more
Than when the shipwreck cast them on the isle.
This was a slave, a Phrygian runaway,
Out of Colossæ strayed to Melita
But in his wish and purpose aimed for Rome:
He should be safely lost in multitude
Drowned in the depths of that metropolis.
The shifty Syrus, fond of his device,
And not without true kindness in his heart,
Meeting the fugitive had befriended him.
Onesimus—such name the bondman bore—
He wisely warned that, wandering unattached
And destitute (for spent long since was all
He had in starting from his lord purloined),
He advertised himself for what he was,
A vagrant slave, and ran a needless risk.
"Attach thyself," said Syrus, "to the train
Of my lord Felix; I will manage it
He shall receive thee; he delights in pomp
And show as does Drusilla too his spouse,
And they would gladly swell their retinue
With one head more to make them great at Rome.
This gets thee thither whither thou wouldst go;
Once there, thou quittest at thine own good will
Thy dear adoptive master's service—no
Exchanges of farewells betwixt you twain—
And hast thy freedom, safe of course from him,
Lord Felix, who will have no claim on thee,
And well removed from fear of thine own lord."
He added in pathetic humor half:
"Remember Syrus when thou art thine own
And hast perhaps some small peculium gained,
And in turn help who freely now helps thee."
Onesimus, so doing as Syrus planned
His part, was reckoned of lord Felix slave,
And on that vessel sailed with him to Rome.

Now that which Syrus had, on Stephen's behalf
And on Eunicé's, done and dared, the day
That Felix in his lust threatened to them
In his own house in Melita such harm—
This, Stephen in time had come to know; nor ceased
Thenceforth to wish that he might recompense
In some kind to the bondman his good will.
His grateful wish Stephen had signified
To Syrus, which emboldened him in turn
To make the Hebrew youth a confidant
Of his devices for Onesimus.
Thus Stephen with Onesimus had talked;
Not often, for need was that all should be
Transacted as in secret to avoid
Felix's, more, Drusilla's, jealous watch—
Not often but so many times as served
To yield some true impression to the youth
Of what the slave was in his manhood's worth,
And to inflame a generous desire
Of rescue for him to a nobler life.
Stephen spoke of Onesimus to Paul,
And Paul on shipboard came to speech with him.
The runaway's heart was wholly won to Paul;
And ere those parted at Puteoli
Onesimus had gladly promised Stephen
To seek his uncle out, arrived in Rome.
A sequel thence redounded to the slave
Of boundless blessing he had dreamed not of;
Likewise of good to men in every age
Wherever might be found fit soul to be
Ennobled to the touch of noble thought,
In answerable style with nobleness
Conveyed, and purified fine feeling, borne
To perfect heavenly-mindedness yet sweet
And tender with a pulsing human love.

For Felix and Drusilla, disembarked,
No welcome waited and no warm godspeed;
They went their Romeward way in lonely state,
The showiest that in their impoverished plight
They could make shift to invest themselves withal.
But Paul with his companions, good heart's cheer
Met at Puteoli; a brotherhood
Of lovers greeted them and bade them bide
Seven days for rest and for refreshment there:
The kindly Julius suffered this to them
For Paul's sake easily, seeing to Paul he owed
His own life snatched from those shipwrecking waves.
A week of opportunity it was
To Paul for service of his fellow-men;
For he most rested when he labored most,
Unhindered, with the joy of harvest his,
Winning men to the obedience of his Lord.
Fed with a full refection of such toil
And gladdened with the cordial dearest to him,
Comfort of love from mutual human hearts,
The prisoner apostle, those seven days
Ended, was ready to move on toward Rome.

Dusty and weary footing many a mile
To him and to his fellow-prisoners,
As to those willing sharers of his lot,
Lay stretched before them on the Roman road.
Eastward a stage by the Campanian Way
To Capua—city famous then as since
For lulling in her too luxurious lap
To loss of manhood in enervate sloth
Those warriors who, with the great Hannibal
For leader, late had spurned the barrier Alps,
Thence, like a loosened avalanche, had fallen
On Italy—and might have taken Rome!
A different conqueror now in captive's chains
Was marching on that world-metropolis:
No battle of the warrior would he wage,
With confused noise and garments rolled in blood;
Yet wrested from the Cæsars Rome should be
And from the empire of her gods no gods!

From Capua northwestward breaking sharp,
The Way, now Appian from Campanian, led
Over the stream Vulturnus; then across
Savo to Sinuessa by the sea;
Onward thence, climbing the Falernian hills
Vine-clad, until the Massic, last of these,
Descended on their northward-sliding slope,
Shut off behind the wayfarers their view
Of the bright summit of Vesuvius
(His fiery heart uneasily asleep)
And the blue circlet of the Lucrine Lake.

Like a stream flooded level with its banks,
The Appian Way was filled from side to side
With travel flowing double to and fro.
Now centuries of soldiers, foot or horse,
Clanged iron hoof or heel with rhythmic beat
Along the bedded rock that paved their way;
Now pomps of embassy in various garb,
Returning from their suits at Cæsar's feet
Or thither tending vexed with hope or fear;
Then some gay reveller to Baiæ bound,
Behind his foaming steeds urged ever on,
Dashed in his biga down the crowded road
And recked not what might meet his whirling wheels;
Next, moving slowly in more solemn state—
Outriders either hand and nigh before—
The chariot of some rich patrician rolled
Who sought the spring of southern Italy:
Huge wains there were, that creaked along the way
Laden with beasts from Afric or from Ind,
Lions and tigers, and hyenas dire;
These—destined to dye red, perhaps with blood
Of human ravin, the arena sands
Of mighty amphitheaters, a feast
Of foul and fell delight to avid eyes
Of Roman lords and ladies gathered there
With scum and dross plebeian to behold—
Now winked and glared behind their prison-bars
Or frothed and fretted out their fierce disdain.
Luxurious litters borne of sinewy slaves—
Who softly eased them, bending as they went
With well-timed flexure and compliant gait
Their supple knees in perfect unison—
Were thickly sown between, with ladies fair
Reposing in them sunk in silk and down,
Or senators of Rome effeminate;
Besides, were foot-wayfarers, motley groups
Or single, messengers that hasted post,
Slaves trusted by their masters to convey
Letters of import out of lands remote
To Rome or out of Rome abroad; with those,
Idlers and loiterers sauntering without aim,
Vomit from Rome or current thither sucked,
Freemen, but of the dregs of populace
And shameless feeders at the public crib.

Beholding all this various spectacle
Of life lived wholly without God, and vain,
Paul sighed in spirit and thought: 'The world, the world!
How vast and dreadful, overshadowing all!
How strong and dreadful, dominating all!
Kingdom and usurpation in the earth!
What power shall overthrow thee, so enthroned
As thou art at the center of all things
In Rome, and wielding, thou unshaken there,
Thence wielding all the shaken universe
Implement in thy hand to wreak thy will?
Appalling! Yea, yet am I not appalled.
"Be of good cheer," said Jesus, then when He
Seemed to be sinking vanquished by the world,
Even then, "Be of good cheer," said He, "lo, I
Have overcome the world." O, hollow show
And mockery of power browbeating me!
Browbeaten am I not, though in myself
Nothing, nay, less than nothing, vanity.
There is One in me who is mightier far
Than is that mighty who is in the world.
Not carnal are the weapons of my war;
But potent through my God they yet shall prove
Unto the pulling down of all strong holds,
And false imaginations of the minds
Of men, with every overweening high
Thing that exalts itself against the Lord!