Voices for the Speechless Part 10

One afternoon, as in that sultry clime It is the custom in the summer-time, With bolted doors and window-shutters closed, The inhabitants of Atri slept or dozed; When suddenly upon their senses fell The loud alarum of the accusing bell!

The Syndic started from his deep repose, Turned on his couch, and listened, and then rose And donned his robes, and with reluctant pace Went panting forth into the market-place, Where the great bell upon its cross-beam swung Reiterating with persistent tongue, In half-articulate jargon, the old song: "Some one hath done a wrong, hath done a wrong!"

But ere he reached the belfry's light arcade He saw, or thought he saw, beneath its shade, No shape of human form of woman born, But a poor steed dejected and forlorn, Who with uplifted head and eager eye Was tugging at the vines of briony.

"Domeneddio!" cried the Syndic straight, "This is the Knight of Atri's steed of state!

He calls for justice, being sore distressed, And pleads his cause as loudly as the best."

Meanwhile from street and lane a noisy crowd Had rolled together like a summer cloud, And told the story of the wretched beast In five-and-twenty different ways at least, With much gesticulation and appeal To heathen G.o.ds, in their excessive zeal.

The Knight was called and questioned; in reply Did not confess the fact, did not deny; Treated the matter as a pleasant jest, And set at naught the Syndic and the rest, Maintaining, in an angry undertone, That he should do what pleased him with his own.

And thereupon the Syndic gravely read The proclamation of the King; then said: "Pride goeth forth on horseback grand and gay, But cometh back on foot, and begs its way; Fame is the fragrance of heroic deeds, Of flowers of chivalry and not of weeds!

These are familiar proverbs; but I fear They never yet have reached your knightly ear.

What fair renown, what honor, what repute Can come to you from starving this poor brute?

He who serves well and speaks not, merits more Then they who clamor loudest at the door.

Therefore the law decrees that, as this steed Served you in youth, henceforth you shall take heed To comfort his old age, and to provide Shelter in stall, and food and field beside."

The Knight withdrew abashed; the people all Led home the steed in triumph to his stall.

The King heard and approved, and laughed in glee, And cried aloud: "Right well it pleaseth me!

Church-bells at best but ring us to the door; But go not in to ma.s.s; my bell doth more: It cometh into court and pleads the cause Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws; And this shall make, in every Christian clime, The Bell of Atri famous for all time."

_Tales of a Wayside Inn, second day, 1872._

AMONG THE n.o.bLEST.

"Yes, well your story pleads the cause Of those dumb mouths that have no speech, Only a cry from each to each In its own kind, with its own laws; Something that is beyond the reach Of human power to learn or teach,-- An inarticulate moan of pain, Like the immeasurable main Breaking upon an unknown beach."

Thus spake the poet with a sigh; Then added, with impa.s.sioned cry, As one who feels the words he speaks, The color flus.h.i.+ng in his cheeks, The fervor burning in his eye: "Among the n.o.blest in the land, Though he may count himself the least, That man I honor and revere Who without favor, without fear, In the great city dares to stand The friend of every friendless beast, And tames with his unflinching hand The brutes that wear our form and face, The were-wolves of the human race!"

_Tales of a Wayside Inn, second day, 1872._

THE FALLEN HORSE.

Mr. George Herbert's love to music was such that he went usually twice every week, on certain appointed days, to the Cathedral Church in Salisbury. When rector of Bemerton, in one of his walks to Salisbury, he saw a poor man with a poorer horse, that was fallen under his load; they were both in distress, and needed present help, which Mr. Herbert perceiving, put off his canonical coat and helped the poor man to unload, and after to load his horse. The poor man blessed him for it, and he blessed the poor man; and was so like the good Samaritan, that he gave him money to refresh both himself and his horse; and told him, "_That if he loved himself_, HE SHOULD BE MERCIFUL TO HIS BEAST."

Thus he left the poor man: and at his coming to his musical friends at Salisbury, they began to wonder that Mr. George Herbert, who used to be so trim and clean, came into that company so soiled and discomposed; but he told them the occasion. And when one of the company told him "he had disparaged himself by so dirty an employment," his answer was: "That the thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight; and that the omission of it would have upbraided and made discord in his conscience, whensoever he should pa.s.s by that place; for if I be bound to pray for all that be in distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far at it is in my power, to practise what I pray for. And though I do not wish for a like occasion every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pa.s.s one day of my life without comforting a sad soul, or showing mercy, and I praise G.o.d for this occasion."

IZAAK WALTON'S _Lives_.

THE HORSE.

Hast thou given the horse strength?

Hast thou clothed his neck with his trembling mane?

Hast thou taught him to bound like the locust?

How majestic his snorting! how terrible!

He paweth in the valley; he exulteth in his strength, And rusheth into the midst of arms.

He laugheth at fear; he trembleth not, And turneth not back from the sword.

Against him rattle the quiver, The flaming spear, and the lance.

With rage and fury he devoureth the ground; He will not believe that the trumpet soundeth.

At every blast of the trumpet, he saith, Aha!

And snuffeth the battle afar off,-- The thunder of the captains, and the war-shout.

_Job, chap._ 39, NOYES' _Translation_.

THE BIRTH OF THE HORSE.

FROM THE ARABIC.

When Allah's breath created first The n.o.ble Arab steed,-- The conqueror of all his race In courage and in speed,--

To the South-wind He spake: From thee A creature shall have birth, To be the bearer of my arms And my renown on earth.

Then to the perfect horse He spake: Fortune to thee I bring; Fortune, as long as rolls the earth, Shall to thy forelock cling.

Without a pinion winged thou art, And fleetest with thy load; Bridled art thou without a rein, And spurred without a goad.

BAYARD TAYLOR.

TO HIS HORSE.

Come, my beauty! come, my desert darling!

On my shoulder lay thy glossy head!

Fear not, though the barley-sack be empty, Here's the half of Ha.s.san's scanty bread.

Thou shalt have thy share of dates, my beauty!

And thou know'st my water-skin is free: Drink and welcome, for the wells are distant, And my strength and safety lie in thee.

Bend thy forehead now, to take my kisses!

Lift in love thy dark and splendid eye: Thou art glad when Ha.s.san mounts the saddle,-- Thou art proud he owns thee: so am I.

Let the Sultan bring his boasted horses, Prancing with their diamond-studded reins; They, my darling, shall not match thy fleetness When they course with thee the desert plains!

We have seen Damascus, O my beauty!

And the splendor of the Pashas there; What's their pomp and riches? why, I would not Take them for a handful of thy hair!

BAYARD TAYLOR.