English

Deep in his oaken elbow-chair,
In fur-trimmed gown, the old-world Student
Sits toiling with concentrate air,
And earnest underlip protrudent:
Around him, piled on floor and desk,
His open books in wealth unstinted, —
Black letter chronicles grotesque, —
The mellow pages Aldus printed

A winter sunbeam warms the pane
Where proudly ramps the lion argent;
Fleshless and grim, an Afric crane

Of all the Powers in Heaven or Hell,
Who stood in grace, or madly fell,
None wears a countenance like his,
Death's silent Angel, Azrael

Men shuddering mark him from afar,
High as the hills eternal are;
And far behind his locks of flame
Stream, like a dread portentous star:

From canopy of shrouding gloom
Dimly his pallid features loom, —
Lips locked as are the gates of Hell,
Enclosing words of nameless doom.

But most of all men seek to flee
His eyes' unfathomed mystery,

Against the sunset glow they stand,
Two humblest toilers of the land,
Rugged of speech and rough of hand,
Bowed down by tillage;
No grace of garb or circumstance
Invests them with a high romance,
Ten thousand such through fruitful France,
In field and village.

The day's slow path from dawn to west
Has left them, soil-bestained, distrest,
No thought beyond the nightly rest, —
New toil to-morrow;

Till solemnly the " Ave " bell
Rings out the sun's departing knell,

We readers of the older West
In wonder turn his Eastern page
Who preaches to a self-loved age
That self-forgetfulness is best;

Figures in grave procession shown,
No painted things of wire and wood,
But entities of flesh and blood,
With faiths and passions like our own,

And She, — that soul of grace and pride,
Gripped in the vice of circumstance,
We hear, as in a breathless trance,
Of how she loved, and erred, and died.

So strong a sister's load to share,
To eager Love's behest so frail,

Iltani, the bride, to her Lord the bridegroom, Belânu:
A little song of belief and unbelief on the day after
Marriage.
I believe in love,
I believe in my lord Belânu:
I believe in joy,
I believe in my lord Belânu:
I believe in light,
I do not believe in darkness:
I believe in Ishtar the loving,
I do not believe in Ereshkigal the implacable:
I believe in life,
I do not believe in Arala the place of death;
I believe in my lord Belânu
And in the new-found God of Belânu
The God beyond gods,

Hear, O beloved, another song
Of how longing for worthiness
As bridegroom of Iltani, —
Longing to be in all things worthy
Of that honour the highest, the most delicious,
I, Belânu, upon my bridal eve
Repaired to E-Sagila, to the temple of Marduk
For purification at the shrine of Ishtar
From lesser loves of days gone by,
From loves that were as poisonous gnats
Stinging me in days gone forever,
Stinging my flesh but not my heart
Where now nestles that dove of silver flame
Iltani, the bird of Ishtar.

I

Hear, O my rose!
Rose of roses,
Blossom of blossoms,
Whose heart is a jewel from the sky,
For you all the morning
I have been gathering roses!
Begging them from laughing friends in Babylon,
From smiling friends in Borsippa,
Buying them from the gardens of wondering venders,
Buying them even from the sellers in the streets
Who gaped in amazement,
Thus selling all their roses at one time,
To one man,
Divinely mad!

Full of roses are the gardens of " The Envy of Princes "

Iltani, to Belânu her lord both in life and in death: I send, my lord, dearer to me than heaven and earth, and all that is in heaven and earth, this letter from my friend and mother's sister's daughter, the lady Sikku, wife of Etiatim of Hish in Parâga. The lady Sikku of Hish is to be relied on next to the lady Ishtar of Arbela. Suffer Damgula to return quickly with your consent, O my dear lord, that we may hasten together in secret, bearing the ring of Etiatim and the little lion to the lady Mayoress Ina-Esagila. If this fail, gladly will I go with you to Arala.

Belânu to Iltani who is all his as he is all hers, by the decree of Marduk and Ishtar which changes not:

Iltani, the almost destroyed one, to Sikku in whom is her hope: Woe has overtaken me, Sikku. Black woe has cast me down like a cup of alabaster. I am broken in pieces. My joy is spilt upon the hungry earth. Like a greedy dog the earth has lapped up my joy. I am dry and empty like a broken reed from which the pith has been drawn. My hand shakes for lack of sleep, for fulness of anguish. All this night that is past the night spirits tortured me. Lilu and Lilitu his handmaiden tore my breast, dug into my heart with sharp talons, rent my heart to ribbons.