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Which won me more than all the best
Outshining beauties of the rest.
And her alone my eyes could see,
Enchain'd by this sweet mystery;
And her alone I watch'd, as round
She glided o'er that marble ground,
Stirring not more th' unconscious air
Than if a Spirit were moving there.
Till suddenly, wide open flew
The Temple's folding gates, and threw
A splendor from within, a flood
Of glory, where these maidens stood.
While, with that light-as if the same

Rich source gave birth to both-there cams
A swell of harmony, as grand

As e'er was born of voice and hand,
Filling the gorgeous aisles around
With luxury of light and sound.

Then was it, by the flash that blazed

Full o'er her features-oh 'twas then,
As startingly her eyes she raised,

But quick let fall their lids again,
I saw-not Psyche's self, when first
Upon the threshold of the skies
She paused, while heaven's glory burst
Newly upon her downcast eyes,
Could look more beautiful, or blush

With holier shame, than did this maid,
Whom now I saw, in all that gush

Of splendor from the aisles, display'd,
Never-though well thou know'st how much
I've felt the sway of Beauty's star-
Never did her bright influence touch
My soul into its depths so far ;
And had that vision linger'd there
One minute more, I should have flown,
Forgetful who I was and where,

And, at her feet in worship thrown,
Proffer'd my soul through life her own.

But, scarcely had that burst of light
And music broke on ear and sight,
Than up the aisle the bird took wing,
As if on heavenly mission sent,
While after him, with graceful spring,
Like some unearthly creatures, meant
To live in that mix'd element

Of light and song, the young maids went;
And she, who in my heart had thrown
A spark to burn for life, was flown.

In vain I tried to follow ;-bands

Of reverend chanters fill'd the aisle:

Where'er I sought to pass, their wands
Motion'd me back, while many a file
Of sacred nymphs-but ah, not they
Whom my eyes look'd for-throng'd the way
Perplex'd, impatient, 'mid this crowd
Of faces, lights-the o'erwhelming cloud
Of incense round me, and my blood
Full of its new-born fire-I stood,
Nor moved, nor breathed, but when I caught
A glimpse of some blue, spangled zone,
Or wreath of lotus, vhich, I thought,
Like those she wore at distance shone.

But no, 'twas vain-hour after hour,
Till my heart's throbbing tarn'd to pain,
And my strain'd eyesight lost its power,
I sought her thus, but all in vain.
At length, hot-wilder'd-in despair,
I rush'd into the cool night-air,

And, hurrying, (though with many a look
Back to the busy Temple,) took
My way along the moonlight shore,
And sprung into my boat once more.

There is a Lake, that to the north
Of Memphis stretches grandly forth,
Upon whose silent shore the Dead

Have a proud City of their own,'
With shrines and pyramids o'erspread-
Where many an ancient kingly head

Slumbers, immortalized in stone; And where, through marble grots beneath, The lifeless, ranged like sacred things, Nor wanting aught of life but breath, Lie in their painted coverings, And on each new successive race,

That visit their dim haunts below, Look with the same unwithering face,

They wore three thousand years ago. There, Silence, thoughtful God, who loves The neighborhood of death, in groves Of Asphodel lies hid, and weaves His hushing spell among the leavesNor ever noise disturbs the air,

Save the low, humming, mournful sound Of priests, within their shrines, at prayer For the fresh Dead entomb'd around.

'Twas tow'rd this place of death-in mood Made up of thoughts, half bright, half darkI now across the shining flood

Unconscious turn'd my light-wing'd bark.

1 Necropolis, or the City of the Dead, to the south of Memphis.

The form of that young maid, in all

Its beauty, was before me still; And oft I thought, if thus to call

Her image to my mind at will, If but the memory of that one Bright look of hers, forever gone, Was to my heart worth all the rest Of woman-kind, beheld, possess'dWhat would it be, if wholly mine, Within these arms, as in a shrine, Hallow'd by Love, I saw her shineAn idol, worshipp'd by the light Of her own beauties, day and night— If 'twas a blessing but to see

And lose again, what would this be?

ALCIPHRON.

In thoughts like these-but often cross'd
By darker threads-my mind was lost,
Till, near that City of the Dead,
Waked from my trance, I saw o'erhead—
As if by some enchanter bid

Suddenly from the wave to rise-
Pyramid over pyramid

Tower in succession to the skies;

While one, aspiring, as if soon

"Twould touch the heavens, rose o'er all; And, on its summit, the white moon

Rested, as on a pedestal!

The silence of the lonely tombs

And temples round, where naught was heard But the high palm-tree's tufted plumes,

Shaken, at times, by breeze or bird,
Form'd a deep contrast to the scene
Of revel, where I late had been ;
To those gay sounds, that still came o'er,
Faintly, from many a distant shore,
And th' unnumber'd lights, that shone
Far o'er the flood, from Memphis on
To the Moon's Isle and Babylon.

My oars were lifted, and my boat

Lay rock'd upon the rippling stream;
While my vague thoughts, alike afloat,

Drifted through many an idle dream,
With all of which, wild and unfix'd
As was their aim, that vision mix'd,
That bright nymph of the Temple-now,

With the same innocence of brow

She wore within the lighted fane

Now kindling, through each pulse and vein,
With passion of such deep-felt fire
As Gods might glory to inspire ;-
And now-oh Darkness of the tomb,

That must eclipse even light like hers!

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Shall I confess-to thee I may

That never yet hath come the chance Of a new music, a new ray

From woman's voice, from woman's glance, Which-let it find me how it might,

In joy or grief-I did not bless, And wander after, as a light

Leading to undreamt happiness. And chiefly now, when hopes so vain Were stirring my heart and brain, When Fancy had allured my soul Into a chase, as vague and far As would be his, who fix'd his goal In the horizon, or some starAny bewilderment, that brought More near to earth my high-flown thoughtThe faintest glimpse of joy, less pure, Less high and heavenly, but more sure, Came welcome-and was then to me What the first flowery isle must be To vagrant birds blown out to sea.

Quick to the shore I urged my bark,

And, by the bursts of moonlight, shed Between the lofty tombs, could mark

Those figures, as with hasty tread They glided on-till in the shade

Of a small pyramid, which through Some boughs of palm its peak display'd, They vanish'd instant from my view.

I hurried to the spot--no trace
Of life was in that lonely place;
And, had the creed I hold by taught
Of other worlds, I might have thought
Some mocking spirits had from thence
Come in this guise to cheat my sense.

At length, exploring darkly round
The Pyramid's smooth sides, I found
An iron portal-opening high

"Twixt peak and base-and, with a prayer

To the bliss-loving Moon, whose eye
Alone beheld me, sprung in there.
Downward the narrow stairway led
Through many a duct obscure and dread,

A labyrinth for mystery made,

With wanderings onward, backward, round,
And gathering still, where'er it wound,
But deeper density of shade

Scarce had I ask'd myself, "Can aught
"That man delights in sojourn here?"—
When, suddenly, far off, I caught

A glimpse of light, remote, but clear-
Whose welcome glimmer seem'd to pour
From some alcove or cell, that ended
The long, steep, marble corridor,

Through which I now, all hope, descended. Never did Spartan to his bride

With warier foot at midnight glide.
It seem'd as echo's self were dead
In this dark place, so mute my tread.
Reaching, at length, that light, I saw-
Oh listen to the scene, now raised
Before my eyes-then guess the awe,

The still, rapt awe with which I gazed.
'Twas a small chapel, lined around
With the fair, spangling marble, found
In many a ruin'd shrine that stands
Half seen above the Libyan sands.
The walls were richly sculptured o'er,
And character'd with that dark lore,
Of times before the Flood, whose key
Was lost in th' "Universal Sea."--
While on the roof was pictured bright

The Theban beetle, as he shines,
When the Nile's mighty flow declines,
And forth the creature springs to light,
With life regenerate in his wings:-
Emblem of vain imaginings!

Of a new world, when this is gone,
In which the spirit still lives on!

Direct beneath this type, reclined
On a black granite altar, lay
A female form, in crystal shrined,
And looking fresh as if the ray
Of soul had fled but yesterday.
While in relief, of silv'ry hue,

Graved on the altar's front were seen A branch of lotus, broken in two,

As that fair creature's life had been, And a small bird that from its spray Was winging, like her soul, away.

But brief the glimpse I now could spare, To the wild, mystic wonders round;

For there was yet one wonder there,
That held me as by witch'ry bound.
The lamp, that through the chamber shed
Its vivid beam, was at the head

Of her who on that altar slept;

And near it stood, when first I cameBending her brow, as if she kept

Sad watch upon its silent flameA female form, as yet so placed

Between the lamp's strong glow and me, That I but saw, in outline traced,

The shadow of her symmetry.

Yet did my heart-I scarce knew why-
Even at that shadow'd shape beat high.
Nor was it long, ere full in sight
The figure turn'd; and by the light
That touch'd her features, as she bent
Over the crystal monument,

I saw 'twas she-the same-the same-
That lately stood before me, bright'ning
The holy spot, where she but came
And went again, like summer lightning!

Upon the crystal, o'er the breast
Of her who took that silent rest,
There was a cross of silver lying-
Another type of that blest home,
Which hope, and pride, and fear of dying
Build for us in a world to come :-
This silver cross the maiden raised
To her pure lips :-then, having gazed
Some minutes on that tranquil face,
Sleeping in all death's mournful grace,
Upward she turn'd her brow serene,

As if, intent on heaven, those eyes
Saw then nor roof nor cloud between

Their own pure orbits and the skies; And, though her lips no motion made, And that fix'd look was all her speech, I saw that the rapt spirit pray'd Deeper within than words could reach.

Strange power of Innocence, to turn

To its own hue whate'er comes near, And make even vagrant Passion burn With purer warmth within its sphere ! She who, but one short hour before, Had come, like sudden wildfire, o'er My heart and brain-whom gladly, even From that bright Temple, in the face Of those proud ministers of heaven,

I would have borne, in wild embrace And risk'd all punishment, divine And human, but to make her mire ;She, she was now before me, thr: wn By fate itself into my arms

There standing, beautiful, alone,

With naught to guard her, but her charms. Yet did I, then-did even a breath

From my parch'd lips, too parch'd to move, Disturb a scene where thus, beneath Earth's silent covering, Youth and Death

Held converse through undying love? No-smile and taunt me as thou wilt

Though but to gaze thus was delight, Yet seem'd it like a wrong, a guilt,

To win by stealth so pure a sight: And rather than a look profane

Should then have met those thoughtful eyes, Or voice or whisper broke the chain

That link'd her spirit with the skies,
I would have gladly, in that place,

From which I watch'd her heavenward face,
Let my heart break, without one beat
That could disturb a prayer so sweet.
Gently, as if on every tread,

My life, my more than life, depended,
Back through the corridor that led

To this bless'd scene I now ascended, And with slow seeking, and some pain, And many a winding tried in vain, Emerged to upper air again.

The sun had freshly risen, and down

The marble hills of Araby,

Scatter'd, as from a conqueror's crown,

His beams into that living sea. There seem'd a glory in his light,

Newly put on as if for pride

Of the high homage paid this night
To his own Isis, his young bride,
Now fading feminine away
In her proud Lord's superior ray.

My mind's first impulse was to fly

At once from this entangling netNew scenes to range, new loves to try, Or, in mirth, wine, and luxury

Of every sense, that night forget. But vain the effort-spell-bound still, I linger'd, without power or will

To turn my eyes from that dark door, Which now enclosed her 'mong the dead Oft fancying, through the boughs, that o'er The sunny pile their flickering shed, "Twas her light form again I saw

Starting to earth-still pure and bright, But wakening, as I hoped, less awe, Thus seen by morning's natural light, Than in that strange, dim cell at night.

But no, alas-she ne'er return'd:

Nor yet-though still I watch-nor yet,

Though the red sun for hours hath burn'd,
And now, in his mid course, hath met

The peak of that eternal pile

He pauses still at noon to bless, Standing beneath his downward smile, Like a great Spirit, shadowless!-Nor yet she comes-while here, alone, Saunt'ring through this death-peopled place, Where no heart beats except my own, Or 'neath a palm-tree's shelter thrown, By turns I watch, and rest, and trace These lines, that are to waft to thee My last night's wondrous history.

Dost thou remember, in that .sle

Of our own Sea, where thou and I Linger'd so long, so happy a while,

Till all the summer flowers went by— How gay it was, when sunset brought

To the cool Well our favorite maidsSome we had won, and some we soughtTo dance within the fragrant shades, And, till the stars went down attune Their Fountain Hymns' to the young moon?

That time, too-oh, 'tis like a dream-
When from Scamander's holy tide

I sprung as Genius of the Stream,

And bore away that blooming bride, Who thither came, to yield her charms

(As Phrygian maids are wont, ere wed) Into the cold Scamander's arms,

But met, and welcomed mine, insteadWondering, as on my neck she fell, How river-gods could love so well! Who would have thought that he, who roved Like the first bees of summer then, Rifling each sweet, nor ever loved

But the free hearts, that loved again,
Readily as the reed replies

To the least breath that round it sighs-
Is the same dreamer who, last night,
Stood awed and breathless at the sight
Of one Egyptian girl; and now
Wanders among these tombs, with brow
Pale, watchful, sad, as though he just,
Himself, had risen from out their dust!

Yet so it is-and the same thirst

For something high and pure, above This withering world, which, from the first, Made me drink deep of woman's love

1 These songs of the Well, as they were called by the ancients, are still common in the Greek isles.

As the one joy, to heaven most near
Of all our hearts can meet with here-
Still burns me up, still keeps awake
A fever naught but death can slake.

Farewell; whatever may befall-
Or bright, or dark-thou'lt know it all.

LETTER IV.

FROM ORCUS, HIGH PRIEST of MEMPHIS, TO DECIUS, THE PRÆTORIAN PREFECT.

REJOICE, my friend, rejoice:-the youthful Chief
Of that light Sect which mocks at all belief,
And, gay and godless, makes the present hour
Its only heaven, is now within our power.
Smooth, impious school!—not all the weapons aim'd
At priestly creeds, since first a creed was framed,
E'er struck so deep as that sly dart they wield,
The Bacchant's pointed spear in laughing flowers
conceal'd.

And oh, 'twere victory to this heart, as sweet
As any thou canst boast-even when the feet
Of thy proud war-steed wade through Christian
blood,

To wrap this scoffer in Faith's blinding hood,
And bring him, tamed and prostrate, to implore
The vilest gods even Egypt's saints adore.
What!-do these sages think, to them alone
The key of this world's happiness is known?
That none but they, who make such proud parade
Of Pleasure's smiling favors, win the maid,
Or that Religion keeps no secret place,

No niche, in her dark fanes, for Love to grace? Fools!-did they know how keen the zest that's given

To earthly joy, when season'd well with heaven;
How Piety's grave mask improves the hue
Of Pleasure's laughing features, half seen through,
And how the Priest, set aptly within reach
Of two rich worlds, traffics for bliss with each,
Would they not, Decius-thou, whom th' ancient
tie

Twixt Sword and Altar makes our best ally

And, 'stead of haunting the trim Garden's school—
Where cold Philosophy usurps a rule,

Like the pale moon's, o'er Passion's heaving tide,
Till Pleasure's self is chill'd by Wisdom's pride-
Be taught by us, quit shadows for the true,
Substantial joys we sager Priests pursue,
Who, far too wise to theorize on bliss,

Or Pleasure's substance for its shade to miss,
Preach other worlds, but live for only this :—
Thanks to the well-paid Mystery round us flung,
Which, like its type, the golden cloud that hung
O'er Jupiter's love-couch, its shade benign,
Round human frailty wraps a veil divine.

Still less should they presume, weak wits, that they

Alone despise the craft of us who pray ;

Still less their creedless vanity deceive

With the fond thought, that we who pray believe. Believe!-Apis forbid-forbid it, all

Ye monster Gods, before whose shrines we fall-
Deities, framed in jest, as if to try

How far gross Man can vulgarize the sky;
How far the same low fancy that combines
Into a drove of brutes yon zodiac's signs,
And turns that Heaven itself into a place
Of sainted sin and deified disgrace,

Can bring Olympus even to shame more deep,
Stock it with things that earth itself holds cheap,
Fish, flesh, and fowl, the kitchen's sacred brood,
Which Egypt keeps for worship, not for food-
All, worthy idols of a Faith that sees
In dogs, cats, owls, and apes, divinities!

Believe-oh, Decius, thou, who feel'st no care
For things divine, beyond the soldier's share,
Who takes on trust the faith for which he bleeds,
A good, fierce God to swear by, all he needs-
Little canst thou, whose creed around thee hangs
Loose as thy summer war-cloak, guess the pangs
Of loathing and self-scorn with which a heart,
Stubborn as mine is, acts the zealot's part-
The deep and dire disgust with which I wade
Through the foul juggling of this holy trade-
This mud profound of mystery, where the feet,
At every step, sink deeper in deceit.

Oh! many a time, when, 'mid the Temple's blaze,
O'er prostrate fools the sacred cist I raise,
Did I not keep still proudly in my mind

Would they not change their creed, their craft, for The power this priestcraft gives me o'er mankind— ours ?

Leave the gross daylight joys that, in their bowers, Languish with too much sun, like o'erblown flowers,

For the veil'd loves, the blisses undisplay'd
That slyly lurk within the Temple's shade?

A lever, of more might, in skilful hand,
To move this world, than Archimede e'er plann'd-
I should, in vengeance of the shame I feel
At my own mockery, crush the slaves that kneel
Besotted round; and-like that kindred breed
Of reverend, well-dress'd crocodiles they feed,

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