VII

BARABBAS IN PRISON

BARABBAS, to his fellow-prisoners Barabbas is my name, Barabbas, the Son of Shame, Is the meaning, I suppose; I'm no better than the best, And whether worse than the rest Of my fellow-men, who knows?

I was once, to say it in brief, A highwayman, a robber-chief, In the open light of day. So much I am free to confess; But all men, more or less, Are robbers in their way.

From my cavern in the crags, From my lair of leaves and flags, I could see, like ants, below, The camels with their load Of merchandise, on the road That leadeth to Jericho.

And I struck them unaware, As an eagle from the air Drops down upon bird or beast; And I had my heart's desire Of the merchants of Sidon and Tyre, And Damascus and the East.

But it is not for that I fear; It is not for that I am here In these iron fetters bound; Sedition! that is the word That Pontius Pilate heard, And he liketh not the sound.

What think ye, would he care For a Jew slain here or there, Or a plundered caravan? But Caesar!--ah, that is a crime, To the uttermost end of time Shall not be forgiven to man.

Therefore was Herod wroth With Matthias Margaloth, And burned him for a show! Therefore his wrath did smite Judas the Gaulonite, And his followers, as ye know.

For that cause and no more, Am I here, as I said before; For one unlucky night, Jucundus, the captain of horse, Was upon us with all his force, And I was caught in the flight,

I might have fled with the rest, But my dagger was in the breast Of a Roman equerry, As we rolled there in the street, They bound me, hands and feet And this is the end of me.

Who cares for death? Not I! A thousand times I would die, Rather than suffer wrong! Already those women of mine Are mixing the myrrh and the wine; I shall not be with you long.