Come hither, Salome, thou enchantress! Ask of me Whate'er thou wilt; and even unto the half Of all my kingdom, I will give it thee, As the Lord liveth! DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS, kneeling.
Give me here the head Of John the Baptist on this silver charger! HEROD.
Not that, dear child! I dare not; for the people Regard John as a prophet.
DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS.
Thou hast sworn it.
HEROD.
For mine oath's sake, then.

Send unto the prison; Let him die quickly.

Oh, accursed oath! MANAHEM.
Bid me depart, O King! HEROD.
Good Manahem, Give me thy hand.

I love the Essenians.
He's gone and hears me not! The guests are dumb, Awaiting the pale face, the silent witness.
The lamps flare; and the curtains of the doorways Wave to and fro as if a ghost were passing! Strengthen my heart, red wine of Ascalon! III UNDER THE WALLS OF MACHAERUS MANAHEM, rushing out.
Away from this Palace of sin! The demons, the terrible powers Of the air, that haunt its towers And hide in its water-spouts, Deafen me with the din Of their laughter and their shouts For the crimes that are done within! Sink back into the earth, Or vanish into the air, Thou castle of despair! Let it all be but a dream Of the things of monstrous birth, Of the things that only seem! White Angel of the Moon, Onafiel! be my guide Out of this hateful place Of sin and death, nor hide In you black cloud too soon Thy pale and tranquil face! A trumpet is blown from the walls.
Hark! hark! It is the breath Of the trump of doom and death, From the battlements overhead Like a burden of sorrow cast On the midnight and the blast, A wailing for the dead, That the gusts drop and uplift! O Herod, thy vengeance is swift! O Herodias, thou hast been The demon, the evil thing, That in place of Esther the Queen, In place of the lawful bride, Hast lain at night by the side Of Ahasuerus the king! The trumpet again.
The Prophet of God is dead! At a drunken monarch's call, At a dancing-woman's beck, They have severed that stubborn neck And into the banquet-hall Are bearing the ghastly head! A body is thrown from the tower.
A torch of red Lights the window with its glow; And a white mass as of snow Is hurled into the abyss Of the black precipice, That yawns for it below! O hand of the Most High, O hand of Adonai! Bury it, hide it away From the birds and beasts of prey, And the eyes of the homicide, More pitiless than they, As thou didst bury of yore The body of him that died On the mountain of Peor! Even now I behold a sign, A threatening of wrath divine, A watery, wandering star, Through whose streaming hair, and the white Unfolding garments of light, That trail behind it afar, The constellations shine! And the whiteness and brightness appear Like the Angel bearing the Seer By the hair of his head, in the might And rush of his vehement flight.
And I listen until I hear From fathomless depths of the sky The voice of his prophecy Sounding louder and more near! Malediction! malediction! May the lightnings of heaven fall On palace and prison wall, And their desolation be As the day of fear and affliction, As the day of anguish and ire, With the burning and fuel of fire, In the Valley of the Sea! IV NICODEMUS AT NIGHT NICODEMUS.
The streets are silent.

The dark houses seem Like sepulchres, in which the sleepers lie Wrapped in their shrouds, and for the moment dead.
The lamps are all extinguished; only one Burns steadily, and from the door its light Lies like a shining gate across the street.
He waits for me.