At Tyre

Break off, a little (he, who sings, entreats)
To mark the Master treading Tyre's proud streets;
For then, of all the days of all our years,
Since tale was kept of human hopes and fears,
Since first, through mists of eld, we mark Man climb
From flint and bronze to arts and aims sublime,
Subduing Earth, and stripping from the Sea,
By lordlier might, its power and mystery;
And gaining, race by race, with painful strife,
Slow steps to Law, and sweeter modes of life: —
Then, of all days, Times past and Times to be
Met — touched — and parted; taking silently
Such eye-glance as the Grecian boys might snatch,
One from another, in that antique match
When the enkindled torch went sparkling round,
And each fleet runner o'er the flying ground
Spent his last breath and strained his sinking limb
To bring it, safe and swiftly, on to him
Who — new, and girt and eager — waited near
That lighted brand one more quick stage to bear.
Then did this New Age from the Old Age take
Life's flambeau up; and with strong fingers shake
The sinking fire, and strike away the ash
Of Pagan blackness; making fresh rays flash
Whiter and brighter than what erst had beamed
When Attic grace and Latin lordship seemed
To hold our Earth for ever. Ponder well
What this white Tyre was, when the Writings tell
Jesus stood silent in her crowded ways;
Master and Victor, more than if the blaze
Of steel-clad legionaries at His heels
Had burst her gates; and rattling chariot-wheels
Had borne Him, splashed with scarlet conquest, high
Over her purple Punic Empery.
See, in the Prophet's scroll, how proud she sate,
Queen of the heathen, at her strong Sea-Gate:
'Oh thou!" — he saith — "at entrance of the Sea
Merchant for many peoples! haughtily
Wearing thy perfect beauty; with ships wrought
Of fir from Hermon, and of cedars brought
From Lebanon; and, for thine oars uncounted
Oak-trees of Bashan; and thy benches mounted
With ivories of Chittim; and thy sails
Sendal of Egypt, bellying to the gales
With broidered fringe, and blue and purple, pressed
From byssus of Aeolia! Skilfullest
On all the waves thy timoneers in thee,
Thy grey-haired pilots, sailing every sea!
Zidon and Arvad made thee mariners;
Gebal thy caulkers; Lud and Phut and Perse
And Gammadim, thy men of battle tall,
Who hanged their helms and bucklers on the wall,
Gems for thy terrible beauty! Tarshish sent
Silver and tin to be thine ornament:
Javan and Tubal brought thee slaves, and brass
To mould thy market-vessels; those who pass
Out of Togarmah fetched thee, for thy fairs,
Mules and their riders; stallions stout and mares:
Dedan did traffick many a horn with thee
Of milky elephant, and ebony
From isles of Suph; Syria thronged trader, too,
For corals, emeralds, agates; and the blue
Of sea-fishes; thy mouth was fed with grain
Of Judah, out of Minnith's golden plain;
With honey, oil, and balm; with spice from Hind;
And green Damascus would not be behind
For wine of Helbon, and white wool; and Dan
Sent thee bright iron; and the Ionian
Wine-pots and women-slaves. Kedar did graze
Her flocks to feast thee: for thy power and praise
Sheba and Raamah poured forth gums and gold;
Haran and Canneh, Asshur, Chilmad old,
Blue cloths and broidered work; and chests bound round
With cords — of cedar wood — wherein was found
Glorious apparel, wove with gilded thread,
And the worm's glistening film!"
So — it is said —
The ships did sing of her, on all the seas.

Lovely and strong, in her twin majesties
Of spear and oar, she shone upon her Isle,
Replenished, very splendid. But the toil
Of tearful captives drove her glittering keels
Swift o'er the waves; at mills and water-wheels
Lydian and Lybian slaves, to keep her great,
Groaned their lost lives away with tears and sweat;
And — dark and cruel — at the altar-stair
Of dread Astarte, priests, their red arms bare,
For glory of the Goddess, pierced soft throats
Of Tyrian boys and girls; and, — girt with coats
Of sacrifice, mingling its wine and blood, —
Stained the white marble scarlet, where she stood.
And Woman had no place, nor parity,
Nor grace, with that lewd Lady of the Sea:
But, bought and sold, the maiden bloomed, to live
A Temple-thrall, and her dusk beauty give
Loveless, unloved. And the fierce statutes taught
Hatred to Foes; and vile advantage, wrought
By whatsoever wrong, or force, or fraud
Might spoil the Stranger.

In such midst our Lord
Patiently pacing, surely come to be
Gentle Destroyer of this Heathenry;
Teacher of truth, which, spreading slow, shall shake
The many-breasted Goddess down; and make
The captives free, and tear the accursed knife
From priestly grip; and change to Queen and Wife
The trafficked Temple-harlot; aye! and bring
The Roman to his last of governing;
The Greek — proud of his glorious Gods — to hear
Over Aegean hills that voice of fear
Wailing "Great Pan is dead!" And from the
tongue
Of Caesar's self, — hereafter — shrewdly wrung
By scath and loss, — compel that yielding cry
Vicisti, Galilaee!

Now, go by

Those thrones of Tyre, — the old ill deeds and days-
Heedless and unaware! seeing Him gaze
Wistfully from their Temple-steps. No thought
How the mild eyes and silent steps have brought
End and Beginning!

Yet hath come the End!
Hath dawned Beginning!

Doth no ear attend? —
The sea-waves, softlier in the harbour swinging,
Take part with the sea-breezes, lightly singing:

Peace beginning to be,
Deep as the sleep of the sea,
When the stars their faces find
In its blue tranquillity:
Hearts of Men upon Earth,
That rested not from their Birth,
To rest as the wild waters rest,
With colours of Heaven on their breast.

Love, which is sunlight of peace,
Age by age to increase,
Till Angers and Hatreds are dead,
And Sorrow and Death shall cease.
"Peace on Earth and Goodwill!"
Souls that are gentle and still
Hear the first music of this
Far-off, infinite bliss!