THE RIDER AT THE GATE
John Masefield
A windy night was blowing on Rome,
The cressets guttered on Caesar’s home,
The fish-boats, moored at the bridge, were breaking
The rush of the river to yellow from.
The hinges whine to the shutters shaking,
When clip-clop-clep came a horse hoof raking.
The stones of the rode at Caesar’s gate:
The spear butts jarred at the guard’s awaking.
“Who goes there?” said the guard at the gate.
“What is the news, that you ride so late?”
News most pressing, that must be spoken
To Caesar alone, and that cannot wall.”
The Caesar sleeps: you must show a token
That the news and whence do you come ?
For no light cause may his sleep be broken.”
“Out of the dark of the sands I come.
From the dark of death , with news for Rome.
A word so fell that it must be uttered
Though it strike the soul of the Caesar dumb.”
Caesar turned in his bed and muttered.
With a struggle for breath the lamp flame guttered:
Calpurnia heard her husband moan:
“The house is falling.
The beaten men come into their own.”
“Speak your word,” said the guard at the gate;
“Yes but bear it to Caesar straight;
Say, “ you murderer’s knives are honing.
Your killer’s gang is lying in wait.”
“Out of the wind that is blowing and moaning,
Through the city palace and the country loaning,
I cry For world’s sake, Caesar, beware,
And take this warning as my atoning.
“Beware of the Court of the palace stair,
Of the downcast friend who speaks so fair,
Keep from the senate, for Death is going
On many men’s feet to meet you there.
“I who am dead, have ways of knowing
Of the crop of death that the quick are sowing
I, who was Pompey, cry it aloud
From the dark of death from the wind blowing,
, who was Pompey, once was proud,
Now I lie in the sand without a shroud;
I cry to Caesar out of my pain;
Caesar, beware your death is vowed.
The light grew grey on the window-pane
The windcocks swung in a burst of rain,
The window of Caesar flung unshuttered,
The horse-hoofs died into wind again,
Caesar turned in his bed and muttered,
With a struggled for breath the lamp-flame guttered!
Calpurnia heard her husband moan;
“The house is falling
The beaten men come into their own.”
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