POEMS BY CURRER BELL. PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. I'VE quenched my lamp-I struck it in that start How far is night advanced, and when will day And fill this void with warm, creative ray? Would I could sleep again till, clear and red, Morning shall on the mountain-tops be spread! I'd call my women, but to break their sleep, Because my own is broken, were unjust. They've wrought all day, and well-earned slumbers steep Their labours in forgetfulness, I trust. Let me my feverish watch with patience bear, Yet, oh for light! one ray would tranquillize These trembling stars at dead of night look wan, Wild, restless, strange, yet cannot be more drear Than this my couch, shared by a nameless fear. All black-one great cloud, drawn from east to west, Conceals the heavens, but there are lights below; Torches burn in Jerusalem, and cast On yonder stony mount a lurid glow. I see men stationed there, and gleaming spears; Dull, measured strokes of axe and hammer ring Is now upreared; and fixed against the light I see it all I know the dusky sign A cross on Calvary, which Jews uprear While Romans watch; and when the dawn shall shine Pilate, to judge the victim, will appear, Pass sentence, yield Him up to crucify; And on that cross the spotless Christ must die. Dreams, then, are true-for thus my vision ran. The gods have chosen me to reveal their plan, I do not weep for Pilate. Who could prove Forced to sit by his side and see his deeds; A soul whom motives fierce, yet abject, urgeRome's servile slave, and Judah's tyrant scourge ? How can I love, or mourn, or pity him— I who so long my fettered hands have wrung, I who for grief have wept my eyesight dim, Because, while life for me was bright and young, He robbed my youth, he quenched my life's fair ray, He crushed my mind, and did my freedom slay? And at this hour, although I be his wife, Less, for I know his household privacy, Has he not sought my presence, dyed in blood- Ay, when, as erst, he plunged all Galilee Then came he-in his eyes a serpent smile, And now the envious Jewish priests have brought Accessible is Pilate's heart to fear, Omens will shake his soul like autumn leaf. Could he this night's appalling vision hear, This just man's bonds were loosed, his life were safe, Unless that bitter priesthood should prevail, And make even terror to their malice quail. Yet if I tell the dream— But let me pause. What dream? Erewhile the characters were clear, Graved on my brain; at once some unknown cause Has dimmed and razed the thoughts, which now appear, Like a vague remnant of some by-past scene- I suffered many things. I heard foretold A dreadful doom for Pilate,-lingering woes, In far, barbarian climes, where mountains cold Built up a solitude of trackless snows— There he and grisly wolves prowled side by side— There he lived famished-there, methought, he died; But not of hunger, nor by malady. I saw the snow around him stained with gore; I said I had no tears for such as he; And, lo! my cheek is wet, mine eyes run o'er ; I weep for mortal suffering, mortal guilt, I weep the impious deed, the blood self-spilt. More I recall not, yet the vision spread Into a world remote, an age to come; And still the illumined name of Jesus shed A light, a clearness, through the unfolding gloom; And still I saw that sign, which now I see— That cross on yonder brow of Calvary. What is this Hebrew Christ? To me unknown The ray of Deity that rests on Him The world advances; Greek or Roman rite To guide it on its upward, onward way. Our faith is rotten, all our rites defiled, Is come, even as He says, the chaff to fan Rise in my soul; it dawns with dawning day. Lo! on the Temple's roof, on Moriah's slope Appears at length that clear and crimson ray Which I so wished for when shut in by night. Oh, opening skies, I hail, I bless your light! appear ! Part, clouds and shadows! Glorious sun, This day Time travails with a mighty birth; I wait in hope, I wait in solemn fear, The oracle of God-the sole, true God—to hear. |