Wedding of the Sisters
Spoke with accents of sternest command: "Thou prince of vain pleasures,
Break off thy scandalous feast, let the juggling fiddles be silent!
Cast off thy panther-skin dress and put on the raiment of sorrow!
For by the stars a sin was foretold." The ninety-year woman,
Pale and bent, would but tell in a whisper that which had happened,
Writhing her hands in despair and terror, while tears without ceasing
Poured down her wrinkled cheeks. The merry high priest, as he heard her,—
He who, most like a child with friendly eyes full of wonder,
Took his days as they came and strewed on him legends and fancies;
He who, soon as a priest bore tidings of grief to the dwelling,
Drove him forth with showers of figs and bunches of wine-grapes,—
He, the lover of scoffing, was smitten with shame and, embarrassed,
Knotted his fingers so tightly around the sable and hairy
Goat-skin bottle of wine, that purple drops of the vintage
Sprinkled his hand.—"My sister, oh wisdom-renowned, my sister"—
Break off thy scandalous feast, let the juggling fiddles be silent!
Cast off thy panther-skin dress and put on the raiment of sorrow!
For by the stars a sin was foretold." The ninety-year woman,
Pale and bent, would but tell in a whisper that which had happened,
Writhing her hands in despair and terror, while tears without ceasing
Poured down her wrinkled cheeks. The merry high priest, as he heard her,—
He who, most like a child with friendly eyes full of wonder,
Took his days as they came and strewed on him legends and fancies;
He who, soon as a priest bore tidings of grief to the dwelling,
Drove him forth with showers of figs and bunches of wine-grapes,—
He, the lover of scoffing, was smitten with shame and, embarrassed,
Knotted his fingers so tightly around the sable and hairy
Goat-skin bottle of wine, that purple drops of the vintage
Sprinkled his hand.—"My sister, oh wisdom-renowned, my sister"—
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