The Leper

The Leper

"Room for the leper! Room!" And as he came
The cry passed on - "Room for the leper! Room!"
Sunrise was slanting on the city gates
Rosy and beautiful, and from the hills
The early risen poor were coming in
Duly and cheerfully to their toil, and up
Rose the sharp hammer's clink, and the far hum
Of moving wheels and multitudes astir
And all that in a city murmur swells
Unheard but by the watcher's weary ear,
Aching with night's dull silence, or the sick
Hailing the welcome light, and sounds that chase
The death-like images of the dark away.

"Room for the leper!" And aside they stood
Matron, and child, and pitiless manhood - all
Who met him on his way - and let him pass
And onward through the open gate he came;
A leper with the ashes on his brow,
Sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip
A covering, stepping painfully and slow,
And with a difficult utterance, like one
Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down,
Crying "Unclean! - Unclean!"

Of the Judean summer, and the leaves
Whose shadows lay so still upon his path,
Had budded on the clear and flashing eye
Of Judah's loftiest noble. He was young
And eminently beautiful and life
Mantled in eloquent fullness on his lip,
And sparkled in his glance; and in his mien
There was a gracious pride that every eye
Followed with benisons - and this was He!
With the soft air of Summer there had come
A torpor on his frame, which not the speed
Of his best barb, nor music, nor the blast
Of the bold huntsman's horn, nor ought that stirs
The spirit to its bent, might drive away,
The blood beat not as wont within his veins;
Dimness crept o'er his eye; a drowsy sloth
Fettered his limbs like palsy, and his port,
With all its loftiness, seemed struck with eld.
Even his voice was changed - a languid moan
Taking the place of the clear, silver key,
And brain and sense grew faint, as if the light,
And very air were steeped in sluggishness
He strove with it awhile, as manhood will,
Ever too proud for weakness, till the rein
Slackened within his grasp, and in its poise
The arrow jeered like an aspen shook.
Day after day he lay as if in sleep,
His skin grew dry and bloodless, and white scales,
Circled with livid purple, covered him,
And then his nails grew black, and fell away
From the dull flesh about them, and the hues
Deepened beneath the hard unmoistened scales,
And from their edges grew the rank white hair,
- And Helon was a leper!

When at the altar of the temple stood
The holy priest of God. The incense lamp
Burned with a struggling light, and a low chant
Swelled through the hollow arches of the roof
Like an articulate wail, and there, alone,
Wasted to ghastly thinness, Helon knelt,
The echoes of the melancholy strain
Died in the distant aisles, and he rose up
Struggling with weakness, and bowed down his head
Unto the sprinkled ashes, and put off
His costly raiment for the leper's garb,
And with sackcloth round him, and his lip
Hid in a loathsome covering, stood still
Waiting to hear his doom: -

Depart! depart, O child

Of Israel, from the temple of thy God,
For he has smote thee with his chastening rod,

And to the desert wild

From all thou lov'st away thy feet must flee,
That from thy plague His people may be free.

Depart! and come not near

The busy mart, the crowded city, more;
Nor set thy foot a human threshold o'er,

And stay thou not to hear

Voices that call thee in the way; and fly
From all who in the wilderness pass by

Wet not thy burning lip

In streams that to a human dwelling glide;
Nor rest thee where the covert fountains hide,

Nor kneel thee down to dip

The water where the pilgrim bends to drink,
By desert well, or river's grassy brink.

And pass not thou between

The weary traveler and the cooling breeze,
And lie not down to sleep beneath the trees

Where human tracks are seen;

Nor milk the goat that browseth on the plain,
Nor pluck the standing corn, or yellow grain.

And now depart! and when!

Thy heart is heavy, and thine eyes are dim,
Lift up thy prayer beseechingly to Him,

Who, from the tribes of men,

Selected thee to feel his chastening rod -
Depart! O leper! and forget not God!

And he went forth - alone! not one of all
The many whom he loved, nor she whose name
Was woven in the fibers of the heart
Breaking within him now, to come and speak
Comfort unto him. Yes - he went his way,
Sick and heart-broken, and alone - to die! -
For God had cursed the leper!

And Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool
In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow,
Hot with the burning leprosy, and touched
The loathsome water to his fevered lips,
Praying that he might be so blessed - to die.
Footsteps approached, and with no strength to flee,
He drew the covering closer on his lip,
Crying "Unclean! Unclean!" and in the folds
Of the coarse sackcloth shrouding up his face,
He fell upon the earth till they should pass
Nearer the stranger came and bending o'er
The leper's prostrate form, pronounced his name,
- "Helon!" - the voice was like a master tone
Of a rich instrument - most strangely sweet;
And the dull pulses of disease awoke,
And for a moment beat beneath the hot
And leprous scales with a restoring thrill.
"Helon! arise;" and he forgot his curse,
And rose and stood before him.

Mingled in the regard of Helon's eye
As he beheld the stranger, He was not
In costly raiment clad, nor on his brow
The symbol of a princely lineage wore;
No followers at his back, nor in his hand
Buckler, or sword, or spear - yet in his mien
Command sat throned serene, and if he smiled,
A kingly condescension graced his lips,
The lion would have crouched to in his lair
His garb was simple, and his sandals worn;
His stature modeled with a perfect grace;
His countenance, the impress of a God,
Touched with the open innocence of a child;

His eye was blue and calm, as is the sky
In the serenest noon; his hair unshorn
Fell to his shoulders, and his curling beard
The fullness of perfected manhood bore.
He looked on Helon earnestly awhile,
As if his heart was moved, and stooping down
He took a little water in his hand
And laid it on his brow, and said, "Be clean!"
And lo! the scales fell from him and his blood
Coursed with delicious coolness through his veins,
And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow
The dewy softness of an infant stole.
His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down
Prostrate at Jesus' feet and worshipped him.

Roy

2:42, p. 168

1838.12.08

From the American Monthly Magazine