Part 9

AHASUERAS

Thou wouldst have me go— So soon thy heart hath wearied?

ESTHER

My heart is bursting with its love for thee! Canst thou not feel its fervour? But great men Need wiser guidance than a woman’s heart. My pride in thee is equal to my love, And I would have thee greater than thou art— Ay, greater than all other men on earth— Though forced long years to feed my hungry heart On food of memories and wine of tears, Wert thou but winning glory and renown.

AHASUERAS

Thou art most noble, Esther; thou art fit To be the consort of a king of kings. But I have chewed upon ambition’s husks And starved for love through all my manhood’s years; And now the mighty gods have seen it fit To spread love’s banquet and to name thee host, May I not feast my fill? O Esther, take The tempting nectar of those lips away And give me wine to rouse the brute in me, To make me thirst for blood instead of love! Wine! Wine! I say!

ESTHER

Ahasueras, wait! Methinks good music is wine turned to sound. Here comes thy minstrel with an offering Pressed from the ripened fruit of my fond heart. Mine own the words and mine the melody And may it linger longer in thine ear Than on thy lip would stay the taste of wine. Sing on!

MINSTREL

When from the field returning, Love is a warrior’s yearning, Love in his heart is burning, Love is his dream. Talk not to him of glory, Speak not of faces gory, Sing of love’s tender story, Make it thy theme. Sing of his lady’s tresses, Sing of the smile that blesses, Sing of the sweet caresses, And yet again Sing of fair children’s faces, Sing of the dear home graces, Sing till the vacant places, Ring with thy strain. Yet as the days go speeding, Shall he arise unheeding Love songs or words of pleading, Strong in his might! Helmet and armour wearing, Hies he to deeds of daring, Forth to the battle faring, Back to the fight. Sing now of ranks contending, Sing of loud voices blending, Sing of great warriors sending Death to their foes! Sing of war missiles humming, Strike into martial drumming, Sing of great victory coming, As forth he goes. Back to the battle faring, Back into deeds of daring, Back to the fight.

AHASUERAS

No less a lover but a greater man, A better warrior and a nobler king, I will be from this hour for thy dear sake.

THE COST

God finished woman in the twilight hour And said, ‘To-morrow thou shalt find thy place: Man’s complement, the mother of the race— With love the motive power— The one compelling power.’

All night she dreamed and wondered. With the light Her lover came—and then she understood The purpose of her being. Life was good And all the world seemed right— And nothing was, but right.

She had no wish for any wider sway: By all the questions of the world unvexed, Supremely loving and superbly sexed, She passed upon her way— Her feminine fair way.

But God neglected, when He fashioned man, To fuse the molten splendour of his mind With that sixth sense He gave to womankind. And so He marred His plan— Ay, marred His own great plan.

She asked so little, and so much she gave, That man grew selfish: and she soon became, To God’s great sorrow and the whole world’s shame, Man’s sweet and patient slave— His uncomplaining slave.

Yet in the nights (oh! nights so dark and long) She clasped her little children to her breast And wept. And in her anguish of unrest She thought upon her wrong; She knew how great her wrong.

And one sad hour, she said unto her heart, ‘Since thou art cause of all my bitter pain, I bid thee abdicate the throne: let brain Rule now, and do his part— His masterful, strong part.’

She wept no more. By new ambition stirred Her ways led out, to regions strange and vast. Men stood aside and watched, dismayed, aghast, And all the world demurred— Misjudged her, and demurred.

Still on and up, from sphere to widening sphere, Till thorny paths bloomed with the rose of fame. Who once demurred, now followed with acclaim: The hiss died in the cheer— The loud applauding cheer.

She stood triumphant in that radiant hour, Man’s mental equal, and competitor. But ah! the cost! from out the heart of her Had gone love’s motive power— Love’s all-compelling power.

THE VOICE

I dreamed a Voice, of one God-authorised, Cried loudly thro’ the world, ‘Disarm! Disarm!’ And there was consternation in the camps; And men who strutted under braid and lace Beat on their medalled breasts, and wailed, ‘Undone!’ The word was echoed from a thousand hills, And shop and mill, and factory and forge, Where throve the awful industries of death, Hushed into silence. Scrawled upon the doors, The passer read, ‘Peace bids her children starve.’ But foolish women clasped their little sons And wept for joy, not reasoning like men.

Again the Voice commanded: ‘Now go forth And build a world for Progress and for Peace. This work has waited since the earth was shaped; But men were fighting, and they could not toil. The needs of life outnumber needs of death. Leave death with God. Go forth, I say, and build.’

And then a sudden, comprehensive joy Shone in the eyes of men; and one who thought Only of conquests and of victories Woke from his gloomy reverie and cried, ‘Ay, come and build! I challenge all to try. And I will make a world more beautiful Than Eden was before the serpent came.’ And like a running flame on western wilds, Ambition spread from mind to listening mind, And lo! the looms were busy once again, And all the earth resounded with men’s toil.

Vast palaces of Science graced the world; Their banquet tables spread with feasts of truth For all who hungered. Music kissed the air, Once rent with boom of cannons. Statues gleamed From wooded ways, where ambushed armies hid In times of old. The sea and air were gay With shining sails that soared from land to land. A universal language of the world Made nations kin, and poverty was known