| |
| FRESHLY the cool breath of the coming eve | |
| Stole through the lattice, and the dying girl | |
| Felt it upon her forehead. She had lain | |
| Since the hot noontide in a breathless trance,— | |
| Her thin pale fingers clasped within the hand | 5 |
| Of the heart-broken ruler, and her breast, | |
| Like the dead marble, white and motionless. | |
| The shadow of a leaf lay on her lips, | |
| And as it stirred with the awakening wind, | |
| The dark lids lifted from her languid eyes, | 10 |
| And her slight fingers moved, and heavily | |
| She turned upon her pillow. He was there,— | |
| The same loved, tireless watcher, and she looked | |
| Into his face until her sight grew dim | |
| With the fast-falling tears; and, with a sigh | 15 |
| Of tremulous weakness murmuring his name, | |
| She gently drew his hand upon her lips, | |
| And kissed it as she wept. The old man sunk | |
| Upon his knees, and in the drapery | |
| Of the rich curtains buried up his face; | 20 |
| And when the twilight fell, the silken folds | |
| Stirred with his prayer, but the slight hand he held | |
| Had ceased its pressure, and he could not hear, | |
| In the dead, utter silence, that a breath | |
| Came through her nostrils, and her temples gave | 25 |
| To his nice touch no pulse,—and at her mouth | |
| He held the lightest curl that on her neck | |
| Lay with a mocking beauty, and his gaze | |
| Ached with its deathly stillness. * * * * * | |
| It was night,— | 30 |
| And softly o’er the Sea of Galilee | |
| Danced the breeze-ridden ripples to the shore, | |
| Tipped with the silver sparkles of the moon. | |
| The breaking waves played low upon the beach | |
| Their constant music, but the air beside | 35 |
| Was still as starlight, and the Saviour’s voice, | |
| In its rich cadences unearthly sweet, | |
| Seemed like some just-born harmony in the air, | |
| Waked by the power of wisdom. On a rock, | |
| With the broad moonlight falling on his brow, | 40 |
| He stood and taught the people. At his feet | |
| Lay his small scrip, and pilgrim’s scallop-shell, | |
| And staff,—for they had waited by the sea | |
| Till he came o’er from Gadarene, and prayed | |
| For his wont teachings as he came to land. | 45 |
| His hair was parted meekly on his brow, | |
| And the long curls from off his shoulders fell, | |
| As he leaned forward earnestly, and still | |
| The same calm cadence, passionless and deep, | |
| And in his looks the same mild majesty, | 50 |
| And in his mien the sadness mixed with power, | |
| Filled them with love and wonder. Suddenly, | |
| As on his words entrancedly they hung, | |
| The crowd divided, and among them stood | |
| Jairus the ruler. With his flowing robe | 55 |
| Gathered in haste about his loins, he came, | |
| And fixed his eyes on Jesus. Closer drew | |
| The twelve disciples to their Master’s side; | |
| And silently the people shrunk away, | |
| And left the haughty ruler in the midst | 60 |
| Alone. A moment longer on the face | |
| Of the meek Nazarene he kept his gaze, | |
| And, as the twelve looked on him, by the light | |
| Of the clear moon they saw a glistening tear | |
| Steal to his silver beard; and, drawing nigh | 65 |
| Unto the Saviour’s feet, he took the hem | |
| Of his coarse mantle, and with trembling hands | |
| Pressed it upon his lips, and murmured low, | |
| “Master, my daughter!” * * * * * | |
| The same silvery light | 70 |
| That shone upon the lone rock by the sea | |
| Slept on the ruler’s lofty capitals, | |
| As at the door he stood, and welcomed in | |
| Jesus and his disciples. All was still. | |
| The echoing vestibule gave back the slide | 75 |
| Of their loose sandals, and the arrowy beam | |
| Of moonlight, slanting to the marble floor, | |
| Lay like a spell of silence in the rooms, | |
| As Jairus led them on. With hushing steps | |
| He trod the winding stair; but ere he touched | 80 |
| The latchet, from within a whisper came, | |
| “Trouble the Master not, for she is dead!” | |
| And his faint hand fell nerveless at his side, | |
| And his steps faltered, and his broken voice | |
| Choked in its utterance; but a gentle hand | 85 |
| Was laid upon his arm, and in his ear | |
| The Saviour’s voice sank thrillingly and low, | |
“She is not dead,—but sleepeth.”
They passed in. | |
| The spice-lamps in the alabaster urns | |
| Burned dimly, and the white and fragrant smoke | 90 |
| Curled indolently on the chamber walls. | |
| The silken curtains slumbered in their folds,— | |
| Not even a tassel stirring in the air,— | |
| And as the Saviour stood beside the bed, | |
| And prayed inaudibly, the ruler heard | 95 |
| The quickening division of his breath | |
| As he grew earnest inwardly. There came | |
| A gradual brightness o’er his calm, sad face; | |
| And, drawing nearer to the bed, he moved | |
| The silken curtains silently apart, | 100 |
And looked upon the maiden.
Like a form | |
| Of matchless sculpture in her sleep she lay,— | |
| The linen vesture folded on her breast, | |
| And over it her white transparent hands, | |
| The blood still rosy in their tapering nails. | 105 |
| A line of pearl ran through her parted lips, | |
| And in her nostrils, spiritually thin, | |
| The breathing curve was mockingly like life; | |
| And round beneath the faintly tinted skin | |
| Ran the light branches of the azure veins; | 110 |
| And on her cheek the jet lash overlay, | |
| Matching the arches pencilled on her brow. | |
| Her hair had been unbound, and, falling loose | |
| Upon her pillow, hid her small round ears | |
| In curls of glossy blackness, and about | 115 |
| Her polished neck, scarce touching it, they hung, | |
| Like airy shadows floating as they slept. | |
| ’T was heavenly beautiful. The Saviour raised | |
| Her hand from off her bosom, and spread out | |
| The snowy fingers in his palm, and said, | 120 |
| “Maiden! arise!” and suddenly a flush | |
| Shot o’er her forehead, and along her lips | |
| And through her cheek the rallied color ran; | |
| And the still outline of her graceful form | |
| Stirred in the linen vesture; and she clasped | 125 |
| The Saviour’s hand, and, fixing her dark eyes | |
| Full on his beaming countenance, arose! | |
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