Pilate's Wife's Dream by Charlotte Brontë

I've quenched my lamp, I struck it in that startWhich every limb convulsed, I heard it fallThe crash blent with my sleep, I saw departIts light, even as I woke, on yonder wall;Over against my bed, there shone a gleamStrange, faint, and mingling also with my dream.

It sunk, and I am wrapt in utter gloom;How far is night advanced, and when will dayRetinge the dusk and livid air with bloom,And fill this void with warm, creative ray ?Would I could sleep again till, clear and red,Morning shall on the mountain-tops be spread!

I'd call my women, but to break their sleep,Because my own is broken, were unjust;

They've wrought all day, and well-earned slumbers steepTheir labours in forgetfulness, I trust;Let me my feverish watch with patience bear,Thankful that none with me its sufferings share.

Yet, Oh, for light ! one ray would tranquiliseMy nerves, my pulses, more than effort can;I'll draw my curtain and consult the skies:These trembling stars at dead of night look wan,Wild, restless, strange, yet cannot be more drearThan this my couch, shared by a nameless fear.

All blackone great cloud, drawn from east to west,Conceals the heavens, but there are lights below;Torches burn in Jerusalem, and castOn yonder stony mount a lurid glow.I see men stationed there, and gleaming spears;A sound, too, from afar, invades my ears.

Dull, measured, strokes of axe and hammer ringFrom street to street, not loud, but through the nightDistinctly heardand some strange spectral thingIs now uprearedand, fixed against the lightOf the pale lamps; defined upon that sky,It stands up like a column, straight and high.

I see it allI know the dusky signA cross on Calvary, which Jews uprear

While Romans watch; and when the dawn shall shinePilate, to judge the victim will appear,Pass sentenceyield him up to crucify;And on that cross the spotless Christ must die.

Dreams, then, are truefor thus my vision ran;Surely some oracle has been with me,The gods have chosen me to reveal their plan,To warn an unjust judge of destiny:I, slumbering, heard and saw; awake I know,Christ's coming death, and Pilate's life of woe.

I do not weep for Pilatewho could proveRegret for him whose cold and crushing swayNo prayer can soften, no appeal can move;Who tramples hearts as others trample clay,Yet with a faltering, an uncertain tread,That might stir up reprisal in the dead.

Forced to sit by his side and see his deeds;Forced to behold that visage, hour by hour,In whose gaunt lines, the abhorrent gazer readsA triple lust of gold, and blood, and power;A soul whom motives, fierce, yet abject, urgeRome's servile slave, and Judah's tyrant scourge.

How can I love, or mourn, or pity him ?I, who so long my fettered hands have wrung;

I, who for grief have wept my eye-sight dim;Because, while life for me was bright and young,He robbed my youthhe quenched my life's fair rayHe crushed my mind, and did my freedom slay.

And at this houralthough I be his wifeHe has no more of tenderness from meThan any other wretch of guilty life;Less, for I know his household privacyI see him as he iswithout a screen;And, by the gods, my soul abhors his mien !

Has he not sought my presence, dyed in bloodInnocent, righteous blood, shed shamelessly ?And have I not his red salute withstood ?Aye,when, as erst, he plunged all GalileeIn dark bereavementin affliction sore,Mingling their very offerings with their gore.

Then came hein his eyes a serpent-smile,Upon his lips some false, endearing word,And, through the streets of Salem, clanged the while,His slaughtering, hacking, sacrilegious swordAnd I, to see a man cause men such woe,Trembled with ireI did not fear to show.

And now, the envious Jewish priests have broughtJesuswhom they in mockery call their king

To have, by this grim power, their vengeance wrought;By this mean reptile, innocence to sting.Oh ! could I but the purposed doom avert,And shield the blameless head from cruel hurt!

Accessible is Pilate's heart to fear,Omens will shake his soul, like autumn leaf;Could he this night's appalling vision hear,This just man's bonds were loosed, his life were safe,Unless that bitter priesthood should prevail,And make even terror to their malice quail.

Yet if I tell the dreambut let me pause.What dream ? Erewhile the characters were clear,Graved on my brainat once some unknown causeHas dimmed and rased the thoughts, which now appear,Like a vague remnant of some by-past scene;Not what will be, but what, long since, has been.

I suffered many things, I heard foretoldA dreadful doom for Pilate,lingering woes,In far, barbarian climes, where mountains coldBuilt up a solitude of trackless snows,There, he and grisly wolves prowled side by side,There he lived famishedthere methought he died;

But not of hunger, nor by malady;I saw the snow around him, stained with gore;

I said I had no tears for such as he,And, lo ! my cheek is wetmine eyes run o'er;I weep for mortal suffering, mortal guilt,I weep the impious deedthe blood self-spilt.

More I recall not, yet the vision spreadInto a world remote, an age to comeAnd still the illumined name of Jesus shedA light, a clearness, through the enfolding gloomAnd still I saw that sign, which now I see,That cross on yonder brow of Calvary.

What is this Hebrew Christ ? To me unknown,His lineagedoctrinemissionyet how clear,Is God-like goodness, in his actions shewn !How straight and stainless is his life's career !The ray of Deity that rests on him,In my eyes makes Olympian glory dim.

The world advances, Greek, or Roman riteSuffices not the inquiring mind to stay;The searching soul demands a purer lightTo guide it on its upward, onward way;Ashamed of sculptured godsReligion turnsTo where the unseen Jehovah's altar burns.

Our faith is rottenall our rites defiled,Our temples sullied, and methinks, this man,With his new ordinance, so wise and mild,Is come, even as he says, the chaff to fan

And sever from the wheat; but will his faithSurvive the terrors of to-morrow's death ?

* * * * *

I feel a firmer trusta higher hopeRise in my soulit dawns with dawning day;Lo ! on the Temple's roofon Moriah's slopeAppears at length that clear, and crimson ray,Which I so wished for when shut in by night;Oh, opening skies, I hail, I bless your light !

Part, clouds and shadows ! glorious Sun appear !Part, mental gloom ! Come insight from on high !Dusk dawn in heaven still strives with daylight clear,The longing soul, doth still uncertain sigh.Oh ! to behold the truththat sun divine,How doth my bosom pant, my spirit pine !

This day, time travails with a mighty birth,This day, Truth stoops from heaven and visits earth,Ere night descends, I shall more surely knowWhat guide to follow, in what path to go;I wait in hopeI wait in solemn fear,The oracle of Godthe soletrue Godto hear.