Poems (Jackson)/The Gift of Grapes

by Helen Hunt Jackson

THE GIFT OF GRAPES.

A LEGEND OF THE FOURTH CENTURY.

HE desert sun was sinking red;
Hot as at noon the light was shed.
 
Bareheaded, on the scorching sands,
Macarius knelt with clasped hands,

And prayed, as he had prayed for years,
With smitings and with bitter tears.

"Good hermit, here!"—a hand outstretched,—
It was as if an angel fetched

The purple clusters, dewy blue,—
"Good hermit, here! These grapes for you!"

Swift swept the rider by. The grapes
Lay at the hermit's feet. "Like shapes

"Of magic, sent to tempt my sense,"
Macarius thought. "Sathanas, hence!"

He cried. "I will not touch nor taste.
Yet, were it not wrong such fruit to waste?"

He paused. "I'll leave it at his door,
My neighbor, who with illness sore

"Is like to die. He may partake,
And sin not. Ay, for Jesus' sake,

"I will his dying lips beseech,
Command, as if I were his leech."

Thus speaking, trembling as he spoke,
Such parched desire within him woke,

To taste the grapes, he swiftly ran,
And, kneeling by the dying man,

Held up the clusters, crying, "See,
O brother! these were given me.

"I may not eat them; I am strong;
But thou—it were for thee no wrong.

"Thy fever they will cool, allay;
Thy failing strength revive and stay."

Reproachful turned the dying eyes,
The whispers came like dying sighs:

"Brother, thou mightst do better deed
Than tempt the dying in his need.

"Thy words are but the devil's mesh,
To snare at last my carnal flesh."

Silent, Macarius went his way.
Untouched the purple clusters lay

Beside the dying hermit's bed.
They found them there who found him dead,—

Two brother hermits who each morn,
Water and bread to him had borne.

"He drinks of living waters now,"
They pious said, and smoothed his brow,

And prayed, and laid him in the ground,
Envying the rest he had found.

The purple grapes still lying there,
Filled with sweet scent the desert air.

"Where could these luscious clusters grow?"
"He tasted not," they whispered low;

"But fairer fruit glads now his eyes:
He feasts to-day in paradise."

On each a longing silence fell.
"Brother, they tempt our souls to hell!"

Cried one. The other: "Ay, how weak
Our flesh Strange that so long we seek

"In vain to dull its carnal sense.
Brother, we 'll bear these clusters hence.

"That aged hermit, in the cave,
Perchance these grapes his life might save.

"Thou knowest, but yesterday 't was said
He starves; eats neither pulse nor bread."

Slow braiding baskets, in his door
The aged hermit sat, his store

Of rushes and his water-jar
In reach. He heard their steps afar,

And, as they nearer drew, up-raised
His well-nigh sightless eyes, and gazed

Bewilderedly. "Eat, father, eat!"
The brothers cried, and at his feet,

Rev'rent, the purple clusters laid.
Trembling, but stern, the right hand made

Swift gesture of reproof. "Away!"
In feeble voice he cried, "and pray

"To be forgiven! Heinous sin
Is his who lets temptation in."

Meek-bowed, the brothers turned to go.
"Stay!" said the hermit, whispering low:

"Leave them not here to tempt my sight.
I may not eat. Some other might.

"As each man thinketh in his heart,
So must he reckon duty's part.

"Mayhap some brother, in sore strait
Even this hour doth sit and wait,

"To whom God sends these clusters sweet
By your pure hands. Be true! Be fleet!"

From cave to cave, from cell to cell,
The brothers did their errand well.

In Nitria's desert, hermits then
By scores were dwelling, holy men,

Mistaken saints, who thought to save
Their souls, by making life a grave.

From cave to cave, from cell to cell,
The brothers did their errand well.

At every hermit's feet they laid
The tempting grapes, in vain, nor stayed

Till, at the desert's utmost bound,
Macarius's cell they joyful found,—

Macarius, oldest, holiest saint
Of all the desert. Weary, faint,

They knelt before him. "Father, see
These grapes they must be meant for thee!

"These many days we bear them now;
And yet they do not withered grow.

"No brother will so much as taste.
'T was Isidore who bade us haste

"To find the man to whom God sent
The luscious gift. They must be meant

"For thee. Thou art the last." "Ay," said
The good Macarius, flushing red

With holy joy, "Ay; meant for me,
As token of the constancy

"Of all our brothers! Blessed day
Is this, my brothers! Go your way!

"Christ fill your souls with lasting peace!
The time is near of my release."

Then, kneeling on the scorching sands,
He stretched toward heaven his clasped hands,

And prayed, as he had prayed for years,
With smitings and with bitter tears.

Untouched, the grapes lay glowing there,
Filling with scent the desert air.