There, they sat them down awhile,
With that terrible joy which cannot smile
Because the heart of it is staid
And stunn'd, as it were, by a too swift pace.
And the dismal Presence abroad on the place
So took them with awe that they rested afraid
Almost to look into each other's face.
Moreover, the nearness of what should change,
Like a change in a dream, their lives for ever
Into something suddenly bright and strange,
Paused upon them, and made them shiver.
The old woman mumbled at length: “I am old:
I have no sight the treasure to find:
I have no strength to rake the red gold;
My hand is palsied, mine eye is blind,
Child of my bosom, I dare not descend
To the horrible pit!”
And Rachel said:
“I fear the darkness, I fear the dead;
But the candle is burning fast to the end:
O Mother, we will go, we twain,
Together.”
The old woman cried again:
“Child of my bosom, I will not descend
To the horrible pit. Go down, thyself.
Young are ye! What your beauty brings
Who knows? I think ye keep the pelf.
Poverty is the worst of things!”
Rachel look'd at the dwindling flame,
And frown'd, and mutter'd, “Mother, shame!
I fear the darkness, because there clings
To my heart a thought, I cannot smother,
Of certain things which, whatever the blame,
Thou wottest of, and I will not name;
For my sins are many and heavy, mother.
Yet because I hunger, and still would save
Some years from sin, and because of my brother
Whom the Greek man sold to be slave to a slave,
(May the Lord requite the lying knave!)
I will go down alone to the pit.
Thou therefore, mother, watch, and sit
In prayer for me, by the mouth of the grave.”