Bring me the sherbet from the ledge and the fast-dried figs.
[_The_ NUBIAN _brings sherbet, figs, and a bowl of ice, and lays
them down_.]
[_She looks curiously at him. He is an immense man with squat,
mule-skinned features: his jet-black curled beard, crisp hair,
glistening nude limbs, appear to her like some heathen idol of
ancient stories._]
[_She thinks to herself._]
Out of the lightning
In a dizzying cloven wink
This apparition stood up,
Of stricken trunk or beast’s spirit,
Stirred by Saul’s blasphemies;
So Saul’s heart feared, aghast.
But lo, he touched the mischance and life ran straight!
Was it the storm-spirit, storm’s pilot,
With all the heaving débris of Noah’s sunken days
Dragged on his loins;
Law’s spirit wandering to us
Through Nature’s anarchy,
Wandering towards us when the Titans yet were young?
Perhaps Moses and Buddha he met.
[_She speaks aloud._]
The shadow of these pomegranate boughs
Is sweet and restful; sit and ease your feet. Eat of these figs;
You have journeyed long.