“Here a day onward, towards the eventide, Our men were piping to a Pyrrhic dance Trod by their comrades, when the young women came To fill their pitchers, as their custom was. I proffered help to one—a slim girl, coy Even as a fawn, meek, and as innocent. Her long blue gown, the string of silver coins That hung down by her banded beautiful hair, Symboled in full immaculate modesty. “Well, I was young, and hot, and readily stirred To quick desire. ’Twas tedious timing out The convalescence of the soldiery; And I beguiled the long and empty days By blissful yieldance to her sweet allure, Who had no arts, but what out-arted all, The tremulous tender charm of trustfulness. We met, and met, and under the winking stars That passed which peoples earth—true union, yea, To the pure eye of her simplicity. “Meanwhile the sick found health; and we pricked on. I made her no rash promise of return, As some do use; I was sincere in that; I said we sundered never to meet again— And yet I spoke untruth unknowingly!— For meet again we did. Now, guess you aught? The weeping mother on Calvaria Was she I had known—albeit that time and tears Had wasted rudely her once flowerlike form, And her soft eyes, now swollen with sorrowing. “Though I betrayed some qualms, she marked me not; And I was scarce of mood to comrade her And close the silence of so wide a time To claim a malefactor as my son— (For so I guessed him). And inquiry made Brought rumour how at Nazareth long before An old man wedded her for pity’s sake On finding she had grown pregnant, none knew how, Cared for her child, and loved her till he died. “Well; there it ended; save that then I learnt That he—the man whose ardent blood was mine— Had waked sedition long among the Jews, And hurled insulting parlance at their god, Whose temple bulked upon the adjoining hill, Vowing that he would raze it, that himself Was god as great as he whom they adored, And by descent, moreover, was their king; With sundry other incitements to misrule. “The impalements done, and done the soldiers’ game Of raffling for the clothes, a legionary, Longinus, pierced the young man with his lance At signs from me, moved by his agonies Through naysaying the drug they had offered him. It brought the end. And when he had breathed his last The woman went. I saw her never again . . . Now glares my moody meaning on you, friend?— That when you talk of offspring as sheer joy So trustingly, you blink contingencies. Fors Fortuna! He who goes fathering Gives frightful hostages to hazardry!”