upon the Eastern hills
All ruddy fire, and claims her with a kiss.
Yonder the snowy peaks of Hermon float
Unmoving as a wind-dropt cloud. The gulf
Of Jordan, filled with violet haze, conceals
The rivers winding trail with wreaths of mist.
Below us, marble-crowned Samaria thrones
Upon her emerald hill amid the Vale
Of Barley, while the plains to northward change
Their colour like the shimmering necks of doves.
The lark springs up, with morning on her wings,
To climb her singing stairway in the blue,
And all the fields are sprinkled with her joy!

NAAMAN:
Thy voice is magical: thy words are visions!
I must content myself with them, for now
My only hope is lost: Samaria's king
Rejects our monarch's message,--hast thou heard?
"Am I a god that I should cure a leper?"
He sends me home unhealed, with angry words,
Back to Damascus and the lingering death.

RUAHMAH:
What matter where he sends? No god is he
To slay or make alive. Elisha bids
You come to him at Dothan, there to learn
There is a God in Israel.

NAAMAN:
I fear
That I am grown mistrustful of all gods;
Their secret counsels are implacable.

RUAHMAH:
Fear not! There's One who rules in righteousness
High over all.

NAAMAN:
What knowest thou of Him?

RUAHMAH:
Oh, I have heard,--the maid of Israel,--
Rememberest thou? She often said her God
Was merciful and kind, and slow to wrath,
And plenteous in forgiveness, pitying us
Like as a father pitieth his children.

NAAMAN:
If there were such a God, I'd worship Him
For ever!

RUAHMAH:
Then make haste to hear the word
His prophet promises to speak to thee!
Obey it, my dear lord, and thou shalt lose
This curse that burdens thee. This tiny spot
Of white that mars the beauty of thy brow
Shall melt like snow; thine eyes be filled with light.
Thou wilt not need my leading any more,--
Nor me,--for thou wilt see me, all unveiled,--
I tremble at the thought.

NAAMAN:
Why, what is this?
Why shouldst thou tremble? Art thou not mine own?

RUAHMAH: [_Turning to him._]
Surely I am! But take me, take me now!
For I belong to thee in body and soul;
The very pulses of my heart are thine.
Wilt thou not feel how tenderly they beat?
Wilt thou not lie like myrrh between my breasts
And satisfy thy lonely lips with love?
Thou art opprest, and I would comfort thee
While yet