BARABBAS IN PRISON

BARABBAS, to his fellow-prisoners
Barabbas is my name,
Barabbas, the Son of Shame,
  Is the meaning, I suppose;
I’m no better than the best,
And whether worse than the rest
  Of my fellow-men, who knows?

I was once, to say it in brief,
A highwayman, a robber-chief,
  In the open light of day. 
So much I am free to confess;
But all men, more or less,
  Are robbers in their way.

From my cavern in the crags,
From my lair of leaves and flags,
  I could see, like ants, below,
The camels with their load
Of merchandise, on the road
  That leadeth to Jericho.

And I struck them unaware,
As an eagle from the air
  Drops down upon bird or beast;
And I had my heart’s desire
Of the merchants of Sidon and Tyre,
  And Damascus and the East.

But it is not for that I fear;
It is not for that I am here
  In these iron fetters bound;
Sedition! that is the word
That Pontius Pilate heard,
  And he liketh not the sound.

What think ye, would he care
For a Jew slain here or there,
  Or a plundered caravan? 
But Caesar!—­ah, that is a crime,
To the uttermost end of time
  Shall not be forgiven to man.

Therefore was Herod wroth
With Matthias Margaloth,
  And burned him for a show! 
Therefore his wrath did smite
Judas the Gaulonite,
  And his followers, as ye know.

For that cause and no more,
Am I here, as I said before;
  For one unlucky night,
Jucundus, the captain of horse,
Was upon us with all his force,
  And I was caught in the flight,

I might have fled with the rest,
But my dagger was in the breast
  Of a Roman equerry,
As we rolled there in the street,
They bound me, hands and feet
  And this is the end of me.

Who cares for death?  Not I! 
A thousand times I would die,
  Rather than suffer wrong! 
Already those women of mine
Are mixing the myrrh and the wine;
  I shall not be with you long.

VIII

ECCE HOMO

PILATE, on the tessellated pavement in front of his palace. 
Ye have brought unto me this man, as one
Who doth pervert the people; and behold! 
I have examined him, and found no fault
Touching the things whereof ye do accuse him. 
No, nor yet Herod; for I sent you to him,
And nothing worthy of death he findeth in him. 
Ye have a custom at the Passover;
That one condemned to death shall be released. 
Whom will ye, then, that I release to you? 
Jesus Barabbas, called the Son of Shame,
Or Jesus, Son of Joseph, called the Christ?

THE PEOPLE, shouting. 
Not this man, but Barabbas!

PILATE. 
                     What then will ye
That I should do with him that is called Christ?