Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DEER AND THE PROPHET, by AGNES MARY F. ROBINSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DEER AND THE PROPHET, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: A huntsman, enemy of those
Last Line: But may be worthy of a heavenly trust.
Alternate Author Name(s): Duclaux, Madame Emile; Darmesteter, Mary; Robinson, A. Mary F.
Subject(s): Deer; Muhammad, The Prophet (570-632); Mahomet; Mohammed


A HUNTSMAN, enemy of those
Who praise the prophet Mahomet,
Far in the forest laid his net,
And laid it deep in tangled brier-rose
And tufts of daffodil and thyme and violet.

One early morning, pink and grey
As early mornings are in May
A fallow deer went forth to take the air;
And wandering down the forest glades that way
She fell into the snare.

Alas, poor soul, 'twas all in vain
She sought to venture back again,
Or bounded forth with hurrying feet,
Or plucked with horn and hoof the net;
Too well the mazy toils were set
Around her russet ankles neat.

All hope being gone, she bowed her innocent head
And wept. "O Heaven, that is most just," she said,
"In thy mysterious ends I acquiesce;
Yet of thy mercy deign to bless
The little ones I left at home:
Twin fawns, still dreaming on their bracken-bed
When I went forth to roam,
And wandered careless where the net was spread.

"And yet, O Heaven, how shall they live,
Poor yeanlings, if their mother die?
Their only nourishment am I;
They have no other food beside the milk I give,
And save my breast no warmth at night,
While still the frost lies crisp and white,
As lie it will until the roses blow."
And here she fetched so deep a sigh
That her petition could no further go.

Now as she hushed, the huntsman strode in sight
Who every morning went that way
To see if Heaven had led the hoped-for prey
Into his nets by night.
And when he saw the fallow deer,
He stood and laughed aloud and clear,
And laid his hand upon her neck
Of russet with a snowy fleck,
And forth his hunting-knife he drew:
"Aha!" he cried, "my pretty dame,
Into my nets full easily you came;
But forth again, my maiden, spring not you!"
And as he laughed, he would have slit
The throat that saw no help from it.
But lo! a trembling took the air,
A rustling of the leaves about the snare;
And Some-one, dusk and slim,
There, sudden, stayed his hand and smiled at him.

Now, never was there huntsman yet
Who, when the tangled snare was set
And in the snare the comely game,
Endured the loosening of the net.

Our huntsman turned an angry face aflame,
And none the lesser was his wroth
To see none other, by my troth,
Than Mahomet himself, the immortal Mahomet,
Who stood beside the net.

"Ha, old Impostor!" he began --
But "Peace," the prophet said, "my man;
For while we argue, you and I,
The hungry fawns are like to die.
Nay, let the mother go. Within an hour, I say,
She shall return for thee to spare or slay;
Or, if she be not here,
Then I will stand your slave in surety for the deer."
The huntsman turned and stared a while.
"For sure, the fool is void of guile!
Well, he shall be my slave i'sooth,
And work as in his idle youth
He never worked, the rogue!" Our huntsman laughed for glee,
And bent and loosed the tangles joyfully:
And forth the creature bounded, wild and free.

But when she reached the bracken-bed,
Where still the young ones lay abed
Below the hawthorn branches thick --
"Awake," she cried, "my fawns, and milk me quick;
For I have left within the net
The very prophet Mahomet!"

"Ah!" cried the little fawns, and heard
(But understood not half a word).
"Quick, quick, our little mother, quick away,
And come back all the quicklier!" cried the fawns,
And called a last goodbye;
And sat a little sad, they knew not why,
And watched their mother bounding, white and grey,
Dim in the distance, o'er the dewy lawns
And wide, unfriendly forests all in flower.
And so the deer returned within an hour.

"Now," said the prophet, smiling, "kill
Or take the ransom, as you will."

But on his knees the huntsman fell,
And cried aloud: "A miracle!
Nay, by my nets and hunting-knife,
I will not take the creature's life;
And, for a slave, until I die,
Thou hast no trustier slave than I!"

No creature is so hard beset,
But lo! the undreamed-of Angel yet
May interpose his power, and change the end.
And no one is so poor a friend,
Or so diminished to the dust,
But may be worthy of a heavenly trust.





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