The Fall Of Nineveh. Book The Twenty-Sixth Poem by Edwin Atherstone

Resplendent as on that great morn he rose,
When, from the inmost depth of heaven's immense,
The bright eternal solitude of God,
Came forth the word,--unspoken, yet through all
The palpitating heart of nature felt,--
Bidding the waters of the flood dry up,
And the drowned earth a second life begin,--
The ardent sun, from his long night of cloud,
Triumphantly arose--again to urge,
Through heaven's clear depths, above a smiling world,
His dazzling car of fire, and lightning steeds.

Yet not to that crushed city heralding
Advent of life renewed: despairing eyes
Met his uprising; eyes that all the night
In sleep had never closed: and, for the hymn
Of joy that should have hailed his coming up,
Was heard the cry of lamentation loud:
For the sweet placid hour of opening day,
When men, refreshed, look forth on earth and sky,
And bless the sweet breath of the youthful morn,--
Was now a time of anguish, and of toil.
They who all night had labored, labored still:
Yet were the fires unquenched; yet unremoved
The ruins under which lay thousands crushed.

Distractedly along the torrent's marge
Ran many, seeking if, among the drowned,
Were father, son, or mother, or young child,
Husband, or lover, lost. Some, on the wall,
Like moping idiots,--with dull staring eye,
And mouth agape,--upon the mighty wreck
Of that once deemed eternal, gazing sat.

With burning brow, and look of care, toiled some,
Their silver, gold, and jewels,--with aught else
Of rare, and costly,--for a hasty flight,
To set in order: some, with hearts bowed down,
Sat pale and helpless; 'gainst their fate to strive,
Deeming all labor vain. Throughout the walls
Of that stupendous city, was not one
Who on that morning with light heart arose.

Far otherwise, within the Median camp,
Was hailed the glorious sunrise. With the dawn,
Upstarted every man; and every eye,
As though even yet might all be but a dream,
Looked eagerly, to see again the work
Of flood, and earthquake, on the rock--like wall.

Exulting, they beheld the ghastly chasm,
And the fierce river, like a stormy sea,
Boiling and foaming 'mid the giant wreck;
For there they saw the broad and sure highway
Through which, erelong, their banners should be borne
To triumph, and to vengeance. All the day
The sounds of joy were heard: with food, and wine,
Their limbs were strengthened: and impatiently
The time they waited, when the flooded stream
Should ebb, and give them passage. While the day
Was yet but young, Arbaces to his tent
The leaders summoned, and brief conference held.
Then Azareel, the faithful, and, with him,
Almelon, reverend in his weight of years,
He singled from the rest, and thus bespake.
``A herald call; and to the city speed:
Yet, to the presence of the king go not:
But, when the rulers and the chiefs are met,
Calmly thus speak to them: `Why longer now
Should ye against us struggle? The just gods
A gate have opened to us; and no strength
Of man again can close it. Then, submit.
Lay down your arms: unto your conquerors swear
Lasting allegiance; and untouched may all
The city leave: your daughters, and your wives,
Unharmed may pass: and, wheresoe'er ye will,
There may ye go. But take not with you gold,
Silver, or precious stones; for these, a debt
To the long plundered nations shall be held.
One man except, to every living soul
Within your gates, we life and safety pledge:
The tyrant and the murderer, alone,
Must die the death. For him let no man plead:
Mercy herself 'gainst him would shut the ear;
So unto gods and man alike is he
Loathsome, abominable! But, if ye
Our offer scorn, and blindly still resist,--
Then surely every man that beareth arms
Ye doom to perish! ye for bondslaves give
Your mothers, and your daughters, and your wives,
Your fathers, and your sons,--yea, every soul
That shall escape the sword.' ``Thus to the chiefs
Say ye; yet not with bearing arrogant,
Word, look, or tone offensive. Bid them think,
Their wall is overthrown; their city in flames;
Their armies wasted; help for them a dream.
As to an ill inevitable, then,
Let them with grace submit; nor, weakly proud,
By vain opposal, tenfold bitterness
Pour in the cup from which, by Fate's decree,
Perforce they all must drink.'' Here ceased the Mede:
The council was dissolved; and, with all haste,
Almelon, and the ardent Azareel,
A herald summoning, into a car
Joyfully rose, and toward the nearest gate
Urged the swift horses. Warders, looking out,
Beheld them; and,--their solemn mission heard,--
Drew bolt, raised massive bar, and opened wide.

Meantime, in hurried council, at the house
Of Jerimoth, the anxious leaders sat.
For, to the king when they that morn had sent,
His will to know, or for a conference sue,--
Sternly had he the trembling messengers,
With words like these, repulsed. ``Trouble me not;
Nor dare to vex me more. All talk is vain:
Let every man that would from ruin 'scape,
Gather his silver, gold, and precious gems;
And, ere the enemy block up the gates,
Take parents, wife, and children; and make speed
To leave the city: for the day is nigh
When she shall utterly perish!'' At these words,
Sad were the hearts of all: but some, with wrath
Against the monarch burned,--seeing that thus,
In their great strait, did he abandon them.
Some, counselled parley with the enemy,
Time so to gain; till, haply, might arrive
Strong succour; by whose aid, the tide of war,
Even yet, might back be turned. Some, urged to build
An inner wall, and to the last resist.
Others derided, saying, ``ere the stones
Be got together, or the trench be dug,
The enemy will enter like a flood.''

Apart unto their fellows whispered some,
``The city burns, and none the flames can quench:
The wall is open; and the foe at hand,
Couched like a lion ready for the spring:
Sardanapalus leaves us in our need;
Why should we spend our blood for him, who nought
Cares for himself, or us? Better at once
Choose for our king Arbaces: ruled by him,
No enemy need we dread: of small account
Were then the breach, now threatening fate to all;
And, with his myriads for our aid, erelong,
The fires that, else, will the whole city burn,
Were speedily extinct.'' Among their friends,
Thus whispered some; but none, with open voice,
Dared yet propound it; for in reverence still,
Though censuring, did the nobler spirits hold
That last link of the long and splendid chain
Of great Assyria's kings. While thus, confused
By clashing counsels, sat the troubled chiefs,--
Word came that, with a herald, from the Mede,
Two captains conference craved. At once was hushed
The tumult: and, in low tone, man with man
Closely conferred; conjecturing anxiously
On what might be the message of the foe;
And what should be replied. But, in brief time,
The Medes arrived; and, when all silent sat,
Almelon, in few words, and with such look
And tone as best might sweeten the sour draught,
Their message fully spake. On him all eyes
Were fixed attentive; every ear was quick,
Ere yet 'twas spoken, to catch up the word.
Nor, at the first, seemed great their discontent;
For, than submission, what less could be claimed
By an all--powerful foe: but when, at last,
With sterner voice, Almelon spake the doom
Against the king decreed,--then from his seat
Leaped Jerimoth, his eye--balls flashing fire:
``Enough, enough!'' vehémently he cried:
``Sacred your office makes you, or these words,
Accursed, and insolent, had been your last!
To them who sent you, haste. This our reply.
`Our rampart is cast down; our city in flames;
But, while one stone upon another stands;
While foot can move, and arm can lift a sword,--
To death will we defy you!' What base things
Are we, then, held, that, with such infamy,
Ye dare insult us! Death, or slavish bonds,--
Forced on us,--were less ignominy far
Than such vile traffic for a little breath!
We'll hear no more. Go hence, and speedily.
Bear back our answer: soften not a word;
And bid them do their worst.'' While hotly thus,
With gesture fierce, and countenance inflamed,
Spake Jerimoth,--Almelon raised his hand,
Signing forbearance, craving to be heard.
With look not less imploring, Azareel
His hands uplifted also; and, two steps
Toward the hot chief advancing, raised his voice.

But, through the assembly, now, wild tumult raged:
At once a hundred tongues spake eagerly;
And no man from the rest could hearing gain.

At length Nebaioth, and Sennacherib,
Apart led Jerimoth; and, with mild words,
Counselled forbearance; and his rage appeased.

Nebaioth then unto the Median chiefs
Spake privately: ``Ye see with what amaze
Your message, stern and unexpected all,
Hath overcome us; and that none aright
Knoweth, as yet, what it were well to do.
Give us, then, still a little time for thought,
And for debate: for, in the fiery speech
Of Jerimoth, ye have not heard the mind
Of all the council. To Arbaces, then,
Bear not his testy answer: but retire
Where I shall lead you; and in patience wait,
Till on reply we fix.'' These temperate words
Pleased well the Medes: and Azareel, the hand
Of his young enemy taking, thus replied:
``Nebaioth, though against us hast thou stood
With hottest zeal,--yet, for a generous foe,
We all do know thee. When the time shall come
That we as friends in one great cause shall stand,--
Then be our love more ardent than, ere yet,
Our fiercest enmity. But now, oh! now,
With words of wisdom, and of eloquence,
Unto the hearts of the proud chiefs lay siege.
The earthquake that rent wide your rock--like wall,
Not more resistless than the fate which now
Heaven hath decreed against you! Then, submit.
From one man only, mercy is shut out.
Hath he deserved that, in devotion blind,
Myriads for him their lives should sacrifice,--
And vainly?--for, though tens of myriads first
For him should perish, not less sure his doom.
Oh! bid them ponder, then; and wiser thoughts
Call to direct them: else, will misery,
Unutterable, come upon you all!''

To him Nebaioth: ``Cruel is the strait
In which we stand: nor see I well, as yet,
How best to counsel, so that honor pure,
By prudence be not fouled. Yet, not my thoughts,
But those of the assembled chiefs, must rule.
Come with me now; lest, by your presence checked,
Men speak not out their minds: and, when, at length,
On purpose we decide, I will return,
And hither bring you, our reply to hear.''

So he; and to an inner chamber led
The ambassadors,--well pleased, and hopeful now
Of happy issue. But, not unobserved
Had they retired: and, when Nebaioth now
Returned among them,--many voices rose,
Enquiring, whither they had gone, and why.
And, when he answered them, among the most
Was gladness, that yet time remained for thought:
And that the first hot words of Jerimoth
Stood not for their reply. In close debate,
Angry and loud, at times, then entered they.
But when, like meeting rivers, which, long while
Warring together, mix at last their waves,
And, in one channel, murmuring, take their way,--
The long contending wranglers ceased to jar;
And answer was agreed on,--to the Medes
Nebaioth went, though with slow foot, and sad,--
For much he feared the issue,--and once more
Before the rulers brought them, and the chiefs,
That they might hear it. When all silent sat,
Rose Jerimoth; and, on the expecting Medes
His bright eye fixing, bluntly thus began.
``The words I spake,--unpleasing to the rest,--
Give, or withhold; for, either way, to me
Nought matters it: yet, mark ye,--as my own,
Not as the answer of the assembled chiefs,
Let them be spoken. For the general voice,
Thus the reply. ```To your most stern demand,
An iron fate compels us to give ear.
If, by the gods' decree, our towers of strength
Must yield to you,--submissively we bow:
Even let our women, and our little ones,
Our sons, and aged parents, wander forth,
That ye may riot in our quiet homes,
And wallow in our spoil: even let our walls,
Or stand, or in thick smoke go up to heaven,
As best shall please you: but, of noble men,
Why ask ye that, which, for all time to come,
Must black them with dishonor? Why to us
Proffer ye life; and liberty to go,
Unquestioned, unmolested, wheresoe'er
Choice, or blind chance, may lead us,--yet, to him,
Who all our homage, all our duty claims,--
And now the most, when by fate's ruthless heel
Trampled, and strengthless--grace, or favor, none
Will grant at all; but death inevitable
Pronounce upon him? Why 'gainst him alone
This pestilent malice? And what dastard slaves,
Hateful to all the world, should we become,
Him in his last great need abandoning,
Our own brief lives to save! Leave free the king:
From us no oath of blind allegiance claim:
Let him, like us, another city seek,
Or other empire found,--then, to your hands
We yield ourselves, and will the gates throw wide,
That ye may enter: but, if for his blood,
Tiger--like, still ye thirst,--then blood for blood,
A deluge will be shed; for not one foot,
Save with the lives of thousands, shall ye gain.
All men must die: and, to the noble mind,
Whether to--morrow, or long ages hence,
Small matter, so he but with honor die.
Long life, with infamy, were but a curse,
And we reject it. Then with you it rests,
A poor revenge on one man to forego,
Or, that to gain, the blood of myriads shed!'

``Such is our answer: and the eternal rock
Not more unbending than our fixed resolve.
Reply not then; but, with what speed ye may,
Haste to report it.'' Silently, and sad,
The Medes arose, and to the camp returned.

Amid the assembled leaders when they stood,
And told their tidings,--all awhile sat mute.
But, with a smile upon his lips, at length,
Belesis rose, and to Arbaces thus:
``Declared I not all labor would be vain,
Their hearts to change; or, from the fate decreed,
To save the guilty city? Their own will,
Maugre the will of man, the gods still work;
And, from the earth's foundations, have they doomed,
At the due time, this city's overthrow,
And utter desolation. Lo! their wall
Is rent asunder; and the ravenous fires
Devour their dwellings; yet still hard as stone
Remain their hearts; and will, till in one heap
Of smoking ruins the proud city lie.''

To him no answer made the sorrowing Mede;
But, with few words the chiefs dismissing, passed
To the inner tent; alone and silent there
With his own heart to counsel. Dark, and stern,
That morning from his bed had risen the king.
His fate inevitable now he knew;
And how to meet it pondered. With harsh words,
He to his captains conference refused:
And when, with cheeks tear--sprinkled, Tartan came,
And told the summons of the haughty Mede,
And what had been replied,--his answer still
Was but the same: ``Let no man trouble me,
Nor for me care; but each, as best he may,
Take what he hath of costly,--gold, or gems,--
And, with his parents, wife, and children, flee,
Ere yet the enemy block up the gates,
And chain you to your doom. Let no man hope:
Help is impossible; nor Bel himself
Could from destruction his own city save.
Then, while the way yet open lies, bid all,
Who still would live, haste forth. But, as for me,
Here, where the glory of my life hath been,
Shall be my death--place too. I cannot fly;
I cannot yield me to a rebel's arm;
But I can die: and, dying, shall be still
Their master,--snatching from their insolent grasp
The monarch whom, with most pestiferous breath,
They would insult, then slay. Of this enough:
Wipe from thine eyes those womanish drops; then list.
To thee his last command Assyria's king
Hath yet to give. From out the walls this night
My children shall I send; and treasure such,
That unto each a monarch's wealth will be.
In Paphlagonia, with mine ancient friend
The satrap Cotta, a brave, upright man,
Will they find safety. Tartan, to thy charge,
As from my death--bed, I commit them now.
Take all my chariots, for no heavy wains
Must cumber your swift flight: take likewise all
That once were hers--my noble, beauteous queen!
Ah! blest so soon to die! for life had now
Been torture insupportable! Great gods!
I have been mad--mad--mad!'' He ceased; tore out
Distractedly his hair; his garments rent;
Beat on his bosom; moaned, and wailed aloud.

Tartan, his head averting, with both hands
Covered his face, and wept. But, in brief time,
His soul re--manning, thus, with faltering tongue,
The grief--struck king pursued: ``Forbear, forbear:
Sorrow is useless now: when thou art far
From this lost city; and no task remains,
Calling to action,--then thy tears pour forth;
And mourn for him who, had he not been king,
Perchance had been less wretched, and less wrong.
Mark now my last command. Two thousand horse,
In mail complete, the choicest of the host,
Have thou at sunset nigh the palace gate,
Fronting the south. The chariots in the court
Shall bide their coming. With my children place
Thy blooming wife: and whomsoe'er beside
From ruin thou would'st save, them also place
In chariots nigh at hand. Of gems, and gold,
Take, as thy guerdon, amply, royally.
For thy whole life to come must thou provide;
Since all thine own possessions soon will pass
To rebel hands, or perish in the flames.
Go through my palace then; take what thou wilt;
For nought to me is estimable more;
And what thou shalt not take, will be the spoil
Of the detested Mede. Three cars apart,
With richest treasure laden, are prepared:
Each by a hundred, picked from out the best,
Night and day guarded. Unto Cotta, two,
One, to Nitocris take. When, first, in care
Of that just man thou hast my children placed;
And their great riches to his upright hands
Surrendered duly,--to Nitocris then,
The sister of my queen, and once, alas!
By me too foully wronged,--speed instantly.
Thou know'st of old her dwelling. Keep with thee
The mail--clad horse whom hence thou wilt lead forth;
For precious is the freight; and robbers now,
And plundering troops, will swarm throughout the land.

``The car, by Uriel ruled, conduct thou then
With jealous care: and, when within her gates
It shall be taken,--to Nitocris thus,
Say thou in private. `From Assyria's lord,
Sardanapalus, last of that long line
Of monarchs most illustrious, am I come.
As from his tomb, receive the words I speak;
For in the shades of death he wanders now!
Thus said the king: Behold! the gods, incensed,
Have brought destruction over all my realm.
The earthquake, and the flood, have overthrown
My wall, deemed everlasting: foes at hand,
Innumerable, soon will pour within.
My days are few; my heart is desolate;
Yet mighty still. Assyria's lord shall ne'er,
For insolent rebels be a mockery:
Nor will ingloriously by flight prolong
A life he loathes: nor o'er the wreck of power,
In moping melancholy, idiot--like,
Sit brooding: but, as he a king hath lived,
By his own hand will, still a king, expire.
Nitocris, sister to my noble queen,--
Ah timely gone!--as from the grave, I ask
Thy full forgiveness. All intoxicate
With power; and to my passions still the slave,
I knew not what I did. Be then the offence
With my cold ashes buried: and when thought
Of the lost king ariseth, be his name
Not with dishonor spoken. For a gift
Of brotherly love, from this great treasure sent,
Take thou the third: wealth for thy utmost wants;
Yea, for the splendor of a kingly throne,
Amply sufficient: but the rest remains
For them who have found refuge in thy gates.'

``When, Tartan, to the sister of my queen
Thou hast thus spoken; earnestly implore
That to thy presence may my child be brought,
Nehushta; and the youth who with her fled,
Prince Dara,--for with her do they abide,--
As I this very morn have surely learned
From one who there beheld them,--and are bound,
In knot of marriage. Haply, had I still
Been the world's monarch, this had roused my wrath.
But noble is the youth; of royal blood;
And well he loves her. I am then content;
Yea joyful; for, of parents both bereft,
Peril had else beset her. To thy words
Nitocris will give heed: and, when they come
Into thy presence,--on my daughter's head
Place thou thy hands, as mine I place on thee,
And say, `The blessing of thy father, dead,
Be on thee evermore; and on the youth
Whom thou hast wedded! Long and happy years
Be yours; contentment, health, and virtuous life!
And may your children, and their children live
An honor and a blessing to your age;
And leave to all posterity a name
Beloved and worshipped!' ``Then, when she hath risen,--
For she will kneel; I know my child will kneel,
To the deputed blessing,--speak thou on.
`Thus to the daughter of his love doth say
Assyria's fallen king. Forgive, my child,
That, in extremity of threatening fate,
Thy life I seemed to peril: but, be sure,
No power of man, nor even the gods' command,
Audibly spoken, could have forced me on
To the abhorred completion. Auguries,
Boldly delivered as the voice of heaven;
And visions of the night, deceitful all,
Had taught me that mere show of that dire act,--
Obedience 'tokening,--by the wrathful gods
Would be accepted; and the sacrifice
Demanded not. My people then to save,
I bade prepare the altar. Thee had Fate,--
Or what appeared the hand of heaven itself,--
As victim singled: and a tongue accursed,
Frenzied, or fiendish, urged me ever on,
Even to the last dire end,--if in the fight
Should still the foe prevail: but crown, and life,
Power, and dominion, all had I resigned,
Rather than with thy pure and innocent blood
Insured them, though had tenfold been their worth.
Show of obedience only, to the black,
The hellish mandate, did I sanction then;
But, with most stern command, on pain of death,
The act did interdict. Thus, seemingly,
But never in the truth,--thy wretched sire
Did to thy death consent. Even from his grave,
He calleth on thee to forgive him then;
Nor speak his name with curses,--as, perchance,
Malicious men, or ignorant of the truth,
Might, else, have taught thee.' ``Tartan, when thou thus
Unto my child hast spoken; and when she,
After awhile, her tears hath wiped away,--
Then, to the chamber be the treasures brought;
Thyself the work o'erlooking. And now, mark.
When the strong oaken planks, with iron bound,
Which all the chariot's cavity enclose,
Shall have been opened,--thou wilt find within
Three roomy chests: of sandal wood is one,
Two are of cedar. Task for four strong men,
Picked from a host, would be each chest to lift.
Then, to the chamber when they shall be borne,--
Upon the single chest of sandal wood
Lay thou thy hand, and to Nitocris say;
`This gift, while yet he lived, and was a king,
Sardanapalus to the sister loved
Of his most noble and lamented queen,
Did send, to be her own for evermore.
Take it; be happy; and the past forget.'

``And when she hath her hand upon it placed,
Accepting it, and hath the answer given,--
Then, on the boxes twain of cedar wood
Lay thou thy hands, and to my daughter say:
`These gifts, Assyria's most unhappy king,
Unto his child, his loved Nehushta, sends,
To be her own for ever. Take them then;
Be happy, and be good; both thou and thine!
Thy father pardon; but forget him not.'

``These words when thou hast said; and when my child
Upon the chests her tender hands hath placed,
Accepting them,--then is thy task performed;
The last injunction of thy sometime lord
Is well discharged; and thou art ever free.
And if, as some have taught, the spirit of man,
From flesh disjoined, doth wander o'er the earth,
Noting the deeds of men; and o'er their fate
Not powerless, or for evil, or for good,
Then shall my grateful ghost thee aid and bless
Through all thy life to come.--Yet, for myself,
Total oblivion, endless night, a blank
Such as to me was all ere life began,
Were happiest, best! for, in what future time,
Could I forget the past: and what, to me,
Dis--throned, and powerless, were eternity,
Save an unending anguish! But enough:
For private thought be this. Thou now hast heard,
And well dost understand, the last behest
Of one, to thee no tyrant, whatsoe'er
By others he be deemed. Farewell! be true;
Be just; in all things honorable be,
As thou hast ever been: and, when this storm,
Now desolating, shall have passed away,
Again wilt thou be happy.'' Having said,
Around the weeping youth his arms he cast,
And strained him to his bosom. With bowed head,
Sobbing, and trembling, Tartan went: and he,
The miserable king, upon his couch
Heavily groaning, sank: yet tears shed none:
Their fountain was dried up. As, in one night,
Had twenty years upon him laid their weight,
His face was shrunk, and agëd. All alone,
Corpse--like he lay; and unto none would speak;
Nor food, or wine, would taste. But, toward the night,
When word was brought him, that, in safety all,
And undisturbed, unthreatened by the foe,
His children, with the chariots and the horse,
Had from the Phrygian gate, in order firm,
Gone forth; and now were far upon the plain,--
Then, as a load were suddenly uplift
From soul and body, he, with brightening face,
Bade set before him food: and, eagerly
As a parched traveller in the desert drinks
Of the cool liquid diamond, drank he,
In long and copious draughts, inspiring wine.

Anon to him was said; ``Behold! my lord,
The watchers on the southern battlement
Have seen from far the torches moving on,
Till now in utmost distance are they lost;''
Then more his heart was glad. But when, at length,
Again the word was brought, ``O king of kings!
The men who on the highest pinnacles,
And on the mound of Ninus, keep the watch,
Have seen the torches, even like sinking stars,
Beyond the farthest stretch of sight go down;
Yet sign or sound of foe there hath been none,''--
Then, with loud voice, and with a ringing laugh,--
That seemed like joy, yet was but merriment
Of madness mocking misery,--he called,
And bade musicians play, and women sing,
And dance before him, as in times of old.
And, ever and anon, he lifted up
The ruby goblet, and cried out, ``Ha! ha!
'Tis brave; 'tis beautiful; again, again.''

His eyes were bright as tiger's in the gloom;
Red as hot coals his cheeks: but, as the worm
That gnaws the dead, already were within,
Eating his heart,--on every feature stamped,
Was a strange ghastliness; a grave--like mark;
As though the cold and bony hand of Death
Had pressed, and shrunk the flesh; or, as the life
That glowed within the burning body yet,
Were but the stirring of some fiendish thing,
Within a new--made corpse. So revelled he,
As ne'er before he revelled; as no more,
Save once, he e'er should revel. Hot, and loud,
Delirious, but not joyful, through the night
Thus on he fared: and, when the sun arose,
Starring with gems each dewy blade of grass,
And from their night of slumber calling up,
As with a voice of gladness and of love,
All birds, and beasts, and every happy thing,
That on the earth, or in the waters lives,--
The wretched master of the world's great throne,
In a hot darkness, covering, as a pall,
Body and soul alike, sank down to sleep.