Salome was a woman pressed by fate
And overcome by fierce disaster; say
She was a woman not more weak than others,
But that she was o'erpowered by fiercer foes;
That calmest waters in her sea of life
Opened a whirlpool, and that she went down
In wilder tumults than Charybdis whirleth
To deeper depths; she struggled as she could,
And struggling sank. She was more forced to sin
Than sinning; yet was weak, and so was forced ;
But, mourning what she has done, could not again
Do otherwise. That she was like her sex,
Too strong for weakness and too weak for strength.
And, thus excusing her to injustice, say,
In the great court of human prejudice
She prayed consideration of her woes.
O noble heart! O courage most sublime!
Oh, let me win thee from this cursed belief.
My heart is breaking; naught can bind it up.
I love thee so I would not have thee suffer.
And yet didst thou not suffer I should be
In tenfold misery. Nay, be not sad—
It is the will of God; we must submit.
Salome! wilt thou surely leave me thus ?
Hast thou preserved me from oblivion
To put me in the flood with Tantalus?
To make me live knowing that thou dost live,
But that I ne'er can see thee, speak to thee,
Console thee in thy grief, nor hear thee speak,
Quenching the thirst unquenchable of love
By assurance that thou lovest, giving me
The holy right to kiss away thy tears?
Salome! O Salome! think of this-
How lonely, lifeless, woe-begone the world!
Sextus, thy words have ta'en from me my will,
And I am feeble as a little child,
Am torn in twain by duty and desire.
I cannot stay with thee, it were the price
Of my great crime; for when she urged me on
The queen consented that I should be thine.
Thus from the very gates of Elysium,
For which we have toiled so long, endured so much, Prayed waiting, hoping, longing, weeping, nay,
Ready to take the battlements by storm,
Thou castest me to torments by a word.
I know not how to leave thee; gods exact
The sacrifice and they will give me strength.
I never loved thee as I love thee now.
I never knew before the depth of joy
To feel thine arms protecting, holding me;
To hear thy voice dispelling all alarm
And filling me with calmness, making life
One joy concentrated of every joy.
Yet, ere the sun shake from his glittering locks
The gleaming dust caught from his golden pillow
I must be far beyond the city walls.
When cometh weeping night with dewy tears
And the sad nightingale mourneth her mate
Then will I dare to weep for thee and me,
Nor fear to sin in feeling such regrets
As our first mother felt when forth she went
From Paradise, as I have heard relate,
Since such regrets are my great punishment.
Salome! this is death, long, living death!
Dawn moveth on before the coming day.
I dare not longer tarry, fare thee well.
The gods preserve thee, gods almighty bless,
Comfort and counsel thee, Sextus, my love,
My life, my hope, my future, present, past.
Abhor me not, farewell-farewell-farewell.
HERODIAS WITH JOHN BAPTIST'S HEAD.
Ar length I am avenged! Drink, drink, my soul,
The sweet conviction, drink till thou be drunk!
The king, smitten of God before his time,
Eaten alive of worms, in torment howleth,
Calleth for death that cometh not, shall not come,
Till all the horrors of the sepulchre,
The rodent maggots and slow-feeding fires
Which open their dull phosphorescent eyes
Only in darkness, putrefaction black,
And stifling mould, that shooteth creeping roots
And groweth forests crushing flesh to dust,
Shall in his life be felt. His body thus
Not dying but consumed, his soul shall go
Swift to black Hades and Tartarian woe.
Salome, from the world self-banished,
Seeketh to find her exile in the world,
And by self-punishment to make amends,
Self-judging, self-accused, and ignorant
That man may pray and pray and still be damned,
May practise charity and still be damned,
Inflict self-punishment and still be damned;
Forgetful that, if there be real offence,
The offended power alone can name the price
Of full forgiveness. 'Tis her fantasy,
Led on by virtue-virtue is such a fool!
And thou, sweet head, yea, thou art mine at last!
What! thou canst yet smile while I speak to thee?
I thought my voice, like a storm-breeding wind,
Would chase that smile away and gather frowns
To flash their lightnings from thy brow of heaven.
I would have mingled all thy blood with mine
And sent it forth in such heaven-daring life
That e'en Prometheus in comparison
Should fail in enterprise, and all the Titans
Pigmies and poltroons show; could that not be
I would have given all my blood to thee.
But thou disdainedst me! These smiling lips
Have spoken the only words I ever heard
Since tearful Innocence bade me good-bye
A weary time ago, could make the life
Mount from my heart to watch-towers of my cheeks
To see who thus so loudly summoned it.
Thou hast paid the penalty of thy disdain.
Where was thy God? Could He not save thee? Eh?
Is there then aught a woman may not do?
Now will I even defy thy God Himself,
And in His temple will I make my bed,
And on His altar will dream dreams of thee,
My sweet! Some living semblance of thyself—
What! thou dost frown at last? 'Tis thine old trick
When I did meet thee. 'Twill not fright me now
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