"For instance now, to bring the matter home (I trust I shall not seem officious, Saul, I really must make one suggestion more), Your pristine prestige has been much impaired Through slips and ill-successes on your part. No mean advantage to a man, repute For what the godless Romans call 'good luck,' Piously we, 'the favor of the Lord'; This is forsaking you, I grieve to find, On all sides round, wherever I inquire. Up, and recover it with one bold push, Push that dares hazard all upon a cast. You know twelve men there are in special sort Dubbed the 'apostles' of the Nazarene, Who play a part assigned as witnesses To testify that Jesus rose again, After his crucifixion, from the dead. These fellows boldly in Jerusalem Stay, while the rest run scattering far and wide. Some kind of superstitious charm or awe Surrounds them--that is, in their own conceit And fond illusion of impunity. Boldly arrest them, Saul, and spoil the spell." Thus far, as oft in dreams will chance, Saul lay And helpless heard what irked him sore to hear; But now, the loathing irrepressible Excited by such hateful speech, roused him To spurning that asunder broke the bonds, The nightmare bonds, of sleep. He, full awake, Groped with his hands about, dreading to feel Shimei indeed couched nigh, as he had dreamed, Breathing into his ear. No Shimei there! He sprang upon his feet, and in the light Of the waned moon, now risen, still large and fair, Looked round and round--to find himself alone. "A dream, then," Saul said, "only a hideous dream! Thank God! How horribly real it seemed! How like Must I have grown to _him_, to have had his thoughts! What demon's doom only to have such thoughts! Perhaps a demon whispered these now to me! I could even pity Shimei, to be haunt And harbor of his ceaseless evil thoughts-- Could pity, save that I detest too much. I cannot be like him and loathe him so; Or does he haply also loathe himself? Then were I like, for sure I loathe myself! What travesty it was of those my thoughts! And not ignoble thoughts, though vain, they were. The mad pranks that our dreaming brains will play!" So musing, there Saul, on the mountain's brow, Statue-like stood some moments in suspense; Then slow descending to his house repaired. A deep, deep draught of pure oblivion In sleep drowned him until the morrow noon.