On the 27th of August, 1857, he had finished the first rough draft of Wenlock Christison, and later resumed his Miles Standish as an idyl. For a while this poem excluded the tragedy, but he took up the latter when the Courtship was completed and began a revision. On the 17th of August, 1858, he notes: “The morning, as usual, worm-eaten with the writing of letters. I am now going to try a scene in Wenlock Christison. I write accordingly scene second of act first. Just as I finish the bells ring noon. There is a distant booming of cannon. F. comes in and says, ‘The Queen’s message has arrived by the Atlantic cable.’” “December 13. I have been at work on Wenlock Christison, moulding and shaping it.”
It was ten years after this that The New England Tragedies emerged from the printing-office. Ten copies at first were printed to guard against accident to the manuscript copy, as the author was about leaving home for a considerable absence in Europe. In October of the same year, 1868, the book was published simultaneously in Boston and London. It would seem as if this whole division of the Trilogy caused the poet great doubt, and that he held back from publication out of distrust of his work. He makes but little reference to it in his diary, recording once that he read a portion to Mr. Fields, who received it rather coldly. In this case more emphatically than in the case of The Golden Legend, the relation of the part to the whole was uppermost in the poet’s mind. It may be that he intended at first to wait until he could write the first part before publishing the third, but finally gave out the modern portion, as before, with no intimation of its place in a larger plan. But The New England Tragedies had no such intrinsic attractiveness as The Golden Legend, and in absence of any explanation of the author’s ulterior design was taken on its own ground with comparative indifference. The title of Wenlock Christison given to the former of the two tragedies was changed, when the book was published, to John Endicott.
Although Mr. Longfellow projected a third drama, the scene to be laid among the Moravians of Bethlehem, by which he hoped to be able to harmonize the discord of The New England Tragedies and thus give a not unfitting close to the work, he never wrote this drama, and it is most probable that Mr. Longfellow finally regarded the Tragedies as satisfying the requirements of the Trilogy, and was thenceforth impelled by an increased desire to complete his task by the preparation of the first and most difficult number. In the latter part of 1870 he began to make essays in it, and early in January, 1871, he writes in his diary: “The subject of The Divine Tragedy has taken entire possession of me. All day pondering upon and arranging it.”
The Divine Tragedy was published thus at the close of 1871, and in the autumn of 1872 Christus appeared as a complete work. It is an interesting illustration of the place which the work held in his mind that he should now incorporate in it the poem of Blind Bartimeus, which, when he wrote, he was disposed to refer in imagination to a monk of the middle ages. The design of the poet now stood revealed.
Introitus
The ANGEL bearing the PROPHET HABAKKUK through the air.
PROPHET.
WHY dost thou bear me aloft,
O Angel of God, on thy pinions
O’er realms and dominions?
Softly I float as a cloud
In air, for thy right hand upholds me, 5
Thy garment enfolds me!
ANGEL.
Lo! as I passed on my way
In the harvest-field I beheld thee,
When no man compelled thee,
Bearing with thine own hands 10
This food to the famishing reapers,
A flock without keepers!
The fragrant sheaves of the wheat
Made the air above them sweet;
Sweeter and more divine 15
Was the scent of the scattered grain,
That the reaper’s hand let fall
To be gathered again
By the hand of the gleaner!
Sweetest, divinest of all, 20
Was the humble deed of thine,
And the meekness of thy demeanor!
PROPHET.
Angel of Light,
I cannot gainsay thee,
I can but obey thee! 25
ANGEL.
Beautiful was it in the Lord’s sight,
To behold his Prophet
Feeding those that toil,
The tillers of the soil.
But why should the reapers eat of it 30
And not the Prophet of Zion
In the den of the lion?
The Prophet should feed the Prophet!
Therefore I thee have uplifted,
And bear thee aloft by the hair 35
Of thy head, like a cloud that is drifted
Through the vast unknown of the air!
Five days hath the Prophet been lying
In Babylon, in the den
Of the lions, death-defying, 40
Defying hunger and thirst;
But the worst
Is the mockery of men!
Alas! how full of fear
Is the fate of Prophet and Seer! 45
Forevermore, forevermore,
It shall be as it hath been heretofore;
The age in which they live
Will not forgive
The splendor of the everlasting light, 50
That makes their foreheads bright,
Nor the sublime
Fore-running of their time!
PROPHET.
Oh tell me, for thou knowest,
Wherefore and by what grace, 55
Have I, who am least and lowest,
Been chosen to this place,
To this exalted part?
ANGEL.
Because thou art
The Struggler; and from thy youth 60
Thy humble and patient life
Hath been a strife
And battle for the Truth;
Nor hast thou paused nor halted,
Nor ever in thy pride 65
Turned from the poor aside,
But with deed and word and pen
Hast served thy fellow-men;
Therefore art thou exalted!
PROPHET.
By thine arrow’s light 70
Thou goest onward through the night,
And by the clear
Sheen of thy glittering spear!
When will our journey end?
ANGEL.
Lo, it is ended! 75
Yon silver gleam
Is the Euphrates’ stream.
Let us descend
Into the city splendid,
Into the City of Gold! 80
PROPHET.
Behold!
As if the stars had fallen from their places
Into the firmament below,
The streets, the gardens, and the vacant spaces
With light are all aglow; 85
And hark!
As we draw near,
What sound is it I hear
Ascending through the dark?
ANGEL.
The tumultuous noise of the nations, 90
Their rejoicings and lamentations,
The pleadings of their prayer,
The groans of their despair,
The cry of their imprecations.
Their wrath, their love, their hate! 95
PROPHET.
Surely the world doth wait
The coming of its Redeemer!
ANGEL.
Awake from thy sleep, O dreamer!
The hour is near, though late;
Awake! write the vision sublime, 100
The vision, that is for a time,
Though it tarry, wait; it is nigh;
In the end it will speak and not lie.
Christus: Part I. The Divine Tragedy.
The First Passover.
I.
Vox Clamantis
JOHN THE BAPTIST.
REPENT! repent! repent!
For the kingdom of God is at hand,
And all the land
Full of the
knowledge of the Lord shall be
As the waters cover the sea, 5
And encircle the continent!
Repent! repent! repent!
For lo, the hour appointed,
The hour so long foretold
By the Prophets of old, 10
Of the coming of the Anointed,
The Messiah, the Paraclete,
The Desire of the Nations, is nigh!
He shall not strive nor cry,
Nor his voice be heard in the street; 15
Nor the bruised reed shall He break,
Nor quench the smoking flax;
And many of them that sleep
In the dust of earth shall awake,
On that great and terrible day, 20
And the wicked shall wail and weep,
And be blown like a smoke away,
And be melted away like wax.
Repent! repent! repent!
O Priest, and Pharisee, 25
Who hath warned you to flee
From the wrath that is to be?
From the coming anguish and ire?
The axe is laid at the root
Of the trees, and every tree 30
That bringeth not forth good fruit
Is hewn down and cast into the fire!
Ye Scribes, why come ye hither?
In the hour that is uncertain,
In the day of anguish and trouble, 35
He that stretcheth the heavens as a curtain
And spreadeth them out as a tent,
Shall blow upon you, and ye shall wither,
And the whirlwind shall take you away as stubble!
Repent! repent! repent! 40
PRIEST.
Who art thou, O man of prayer!
In raiment of camel’s hair,
Begirt with leathern thong,
That here in the wilderness,
With a cry as of one in distress, 45
Preachest unto this throng?
Art thou the Christ?
JOHN.
Priest of Jerusalem,
In meekness and humbleness,
I deny not, I confess 50
I am not the Christ!
PRIEST.
What shall we say unto them
That sent us here? Reveal
Thy name, and naught conceal!
Art thou Elias?
JOHN.
No! 55
PRIEST.
Art thou that Prophet, then,
Of lamentation and woe,
Who, as a symbol and sign
Of impending wrath divine
Upon unbelieving men, 60
Shattered the vessel of clay
In the Valley of Slaughter?
JOHN.
Nay.
I am not he thou namest!
PRIEST.
Who art thou, and what is the word
That here thou proclaimest? 65
JOHN.
I am the voice of one
Crying in the wilderness alone:
Prepare ye the way of the Lord;
Make his paths straight
In the land that is desolate! 70
PRIEST.
If thou be not the Christ,
Nor yet Elias, nor he
That, in sign of the things to be,
Shattered the vessel of clay
In the Valley of Slaughter, 75
Then declare unto us, and say
By what authority now
Baptizest thou?
JOHN.
I indeed baptize you with water
Unto repentance; but He, 80
That cometh after me,
Is mightier than I and higher;
The latchet of whose shoes
I am not worthy to unloose;
He shall baptize you with fire, 85
And with the Holy Ghost!
Whose fan is in his hand;
He will purge to the uttermost
His floor, and garner his wheat,
But will burn the chaff in the brand 90
And fire of unquenchable heat!
Repent! repent! repent!
II.
Mount Quarantania
I
LUCIFER.
NOT in the lightning’s flash, nor in the thunder,
Not in the tempest, nor the cloudy storm,
Will I array my form;
But part invisible these boughs asunder,
And move and murmur, as the wind upheaves 5
And whispers in the leaves.
Not as a terror and a desolation,
Not in my natural shape, inspiring fear
And dread, will I appear;
But in soft tones of sweetness and persuasion, 10
A sound as of the fall of mountain streams,
Or voices heard in dreams.
He sitteth there in silence, worn and wasted
With famine, and uplifts his hollow eyes
To the unpitying skies; 15
For forty days and nights he hath not tasted
Of food or drink, his parted lips are pale,
Surely his strength must fail.
Wherefore dost thou in penitential fasting
Waste and consume the beauty of thy youth? 20
Ah, if thou be in truth
The Son of the Unnamed, the Everlasting,
Command these stones beneath thy feet to be
Changed into bread for thee!
CHRISTUS.
‘T is written: Man shall not live by bread alone, 25
But by each word that from God’s mouth proceedeth!
II
LUCIFER.
Too weak, alas! too weak is the temptation
For one whose soul to nobler things aspires
Than sensual desires!
Ah, could I, by some sudden aberration, 30
Lead and delude to suicidal death
This Christ of Nazareth!
Unto the holy Temple on Moriah,
With its resplendent domes, and manifold
Bright pinnacles of gold, 35
Where they await thy coming, O Messiah!
Lo, I have brought thee! Let thy glory here
Be manifest and clear.
Reveal thyself by royal act and gesture
Descending with the bright triumphant host 40
Of all the highermost
Archangels, and about thee as a vesture
The shining clouds, and all thy splendors show
Unto the world below!
Cast thyself down, it is the hour appointed; 45
And God hath given his angels charge and care
To keep thee and upbear
Upon their hands his only Son, the Anointed,
Lest he should dash his foot against a stone
And die, and be unknown. 50
CHRISTUS.
‘T is written: Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God!
III
LUCIFER.
I cannot thus delude him to perdition!
But one temptation still remains untried,
The trial of his pride,
The thirst of power, the fever of ambition! 55
Surely by these a humble peasant’s son
At last may be undone!
Above the yawning chasms and deep abysses,
Across the headlong torrents, I have brought
Thy footsteps, swift as thought; 60
And from the highest of these precipices,
The Kingdoms of the world thine eyes behold,
Like a great map unrolled.
From far-off Lebanon, with cedars crested,
To where the waters of the Asphalt Lake 65
On its white pebbles break,
And the vast desert, silent, sand-invested,
These kingdoms all are mine, and thine shall be,
If thou wilt worship me!
CHRISTUS.
Get thee behind me, Satan! thou shalt worship 70
The Lord thy God; Him only shalt thou serve!
The sun goes down; the evening shadows lengthen,
The fever and the struggle of the day
Abate and pass away;
Thine Angels Ministrant, we come to strengthen 75
And comfort thee, and crown thee with the palm,
The silence and the calm.
III.
The Marriage in Cana
THE MUSICIANS.
RISE up, my love, my fair one,
Rise up, and come away,
For lo! the winter is past,
The rain is over and gone,
The flowers appear on the earth, 5
The time of the singing of birds is come,
And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.
THE BRIDEGROOM.
Sweetly the minstrels sing the Song of Songs!
My heart runs forward with it, and I say:
Oh set me as a seal upon thine heart, 10
And set me as a seal upon thine arm;
For love is strong as life, and strong as death,
And cruel as the grave is jealousy!
THE MUSICIANS.
I sleep, but my heart awaketh;
‘T is the voice of my beloved 15
Who knocketh, saying: Open to me,
My sister, my love, my dove,
For my head is filled with dew,
My locks with the drops of the night!
THE BRIDE.
Ah yes, I sleep, and yet my heart awaketh. 20
It is the voice of my beloved who knocks.
THE BRIDEGROOM.
O beautiful as Rebecca at the fountain,
O beautiful as Ruth among the sheaves!
O fairest among women! O undefiled!
Thou art all fair, my love, there ‘s no spot in thee! 25
THE MUSICIANS.
My beloved is white and ruddy,
Delphi Complete Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Delphi Poets Series Book 13) Page 88
