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!