The Dead Solomon

King solomon stood in the house of the Lord, And the Genii silently wrought around, Toiling and moiling without a word, Building the temple without a sound. Fear and rage were theirs, but naught, In mien or face, of fear or rage; For had he guessed their secret thought, They had pined in hell for many an age. Closed were the eyes that the demons feared; Over his breast streamed his silver beard; Bowed was his head, as if in prayer, As if, through the busy silence there, The answering voice of God he heard. Solemn peace was on his brow, Leaning upon his staff in prayer; And a breath of wind would come and go, And stir his robe, and beard of snow, And long white hair; But he heeded not, Wrapt afar in holy thought. King Solomon stood in the house of the Lord, And the Genii silently wrought around, Toiling and moiling without a word, Building the temple without a sound. And now the work was done, Perfected in every part; And the demons rejoiced at heart, And made ready to depart, But dared not speak to Solomon, To tell him their task was done, And fulfilled the desire of his heart. So around him they stood with eyes of fire. Each cursing the king in his secret heart,— Secretly cursing the silent king, Waiting but till he should say “Depart;” Cursing the king, Each evil thing: But he heeded them not, nor raised his head; For King Solomon was dead! Then the body of the king fell down; For a worm had gnawed his staff in twain. He had prayed to the Lord that the house he planned Might not be left for another hand, Might not unfinished remain; So praying, he had died, But had not prayed in vain. So the body of the king fell down, And howling fled the fiends amain; Bitterly grieved, to be so deceived, Howling afar they fled; Idly they had borne his chain, And done his hateful tasks, in dread Of mystic penal pain,— And King Solomon was dead!