SAUL AND RACHEL.
Saul thus forlorn, a voice smote on his ear,
Voice other than of Shimei, clear and sweet;
The very sound was balsam to his pain.
Rachel's the voice was, who, with deep distaste,
As jealous for her brother, had perceived
The entering in to Saul of his late guest
Ill-favored, and through all his stay had still,
Impatiently awaiting, wished him sped.
He now some moments gone, she issued forth
From out her curtained chamber glimpsing gay
Behind her, through the hangings, as she passed,
With color—stuff of scarlet, linen fine
Embroidered, weft of purple tapestry,
Her handiwork—and sending after her
Sweet scent of herb and flower, her husbandry—
Forth issued, and across the inner court
Open to heaven—small close of paradise,
A tall palm by a fountain, bloomy shrubs,
And vines that clad with green the enclosing walls—
Stepped lightly to Saul's side. Saul sat beneath
A tent-cloth canopy outspread, his own
Tent-making skill—the high noon of the sun
To fend, if place perchance one then might wish
In which free air to breathe safe from the heat—
There sat relapsed, deep brooding gloomy thoughts,
When now his sister pausing stood by him.
A lovely vision! Moving, or at rest,
Ever a rapture Rachel seemed of grace
Which but that moment that felicity
Of posture or of gesture had attained,
By accident, yet kept it, through all change,
Inalienably hers, by right divine
Of inward rhythm that swayed her heart in tune.
The sister had, with love's observance, watched
Some days the phases of her brother's mood,
Biding her time to speak; and now she spoke.
"Brother," she murmured softly, "thou art sad.
Thy brow is written over like a scroll
With lines of trouble that I try to read.
Unbind thy heart, I pray, to me, who grieve
To see thee grieve, and fain at least would share
Such brother's sorrow as I may not soothe."
This suave appeal of sister's sympathy
Won upon Saul to wean him from himself—
A moment, and that moment he partook
Comfort of love, nepenthe to his pain,
While thus he answered Rachel:
"Nay, but thou,
My sister, thou thyself art to me rest
And solace. Sit thee down, I pray, beside
Thy brother. But to have thee nigh as now
Refreshes like the dew. I bathe my heart
In thee as in a fountain. Ask me not
To ease its aching otherwise than so.
Pillow me on thy love and let me rest
In silence from the sound of my own voice.
I hate myself, Rachel."
"But I love thee,
My own dear, noble brother," Rachel said;
"I love thee, and I will not let thee hate
Thyself. Brother and sister should be one
In love and hate. Hate what I hate, and what
I love, love thou—that is true brotherhood."
"Safe law of brotherhood indeed for me,
With thee for sister, Rachel," Saul replied,
With fondness and self-pity, as he kissed
The pure young brow upturned toward him; "but me,
Thou dost not know me as I know myself."
"O nay, but better, brother," Rachel said;
"Right hate is good, as good as love. So, hate,
But not thyself, Saul. Shall I tell thee one
To hate? I hate him, and I counsel thee,
Hate, Saul, that evil man I saw but now
Steal from his too long privilege at thine ear."
"Him, Rachel," Saul replied, "I cannot hate;
Hatred is made impossible by scorn."
"Thou scornest him," she said, "but not too much
To have been disturbed by him. The cloudy brow,
So unlike my brother—I have brought it back,
I see, dear Saul, by only mentioning him.
Hate him well, Saul, and be at peace again.
To hate is safer, better, than to scorn.
We scorn with pride, we must with conscience hate,
Such hating as I mean. Thou art too proud, Saul."
Saul answered, "For my pride I hate myself."