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CIHM/ICMH 
 
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 CIHM/ICMH 
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 1980 
 
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 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
I 
 
 m 
 
fi^B 
 
 I 
 
 NESTORriJS. 
 
 A PHANTaSV 
 
 BY 
 
 E. T. F-. 
 
 OTTAWA: 
 
 A. RUREAU \ FRKKKs. I'RINTKRS. 
 
 1892 
 
r 
 
l^iU^ 
 
 7/. 
 
 i^'Py.-y*. ^ 
 
 -J 
 
 ^-h. .9. 
 
 
 ^J^ 
 
 Ay^ 
 
 TO 
 Ci. VV. NA^ICKSTKEIJ. KS(j.. Q. c. 
 OK OTTAWA 
 
 AMICO, PROPINQUO, SODALI, 
 7'//(Mc ////cj (ir^- inscrilfii. 
 
 Nkw Westminstek, H. C. 
 
 June i6th, 1892. 
 
^^ > 
 
 Nestoriiis the patriarch, llie fourth in Muccs.sioii from C liry.so>io;ii, a- liishop 
 of roiislainitiopit, waN a native of ( Icrinaiiicia Al first a iloistcrtd monk, he 
 aflerwariis became a presbyter of Anlioch. At the inviti'tion of the Kastern 
 emperor, he assumed the patriarchate, A. I). 428. I'o the advantages of ;i tine 
 voice and a commanilinii; person, he added an ahni st irresistible eloquence, and a 
 init.d richly stored with all the theological learning of the time. As a disciple of 
 the Syrian school of Antioch, he hail been taught to ''iscriininate between the divine 
 and hitman natures of Christ, and to ablior their confusion. I'he Virgin Mary was, 
 to him, Christotokos, the mother of Christ, iiot Theotokos, the mother of Cod. 
 Hence he was charged by his opponetits wi.h making two persons out of two 
 nature-, and thus denying the proper p.rsonal divinity ot Christ. The liy^antine 
 clergy, perhaps secr.;tly displea.sed with the i unisiun of a stranger, yfvr>t in general 
 bitterly opposed to the uncompromising ri-^^idity of his tloctrine : and aftt-r a long 
 contest, marked by many vicissitudes, he (inally succumbeil to the jealous emnity of 
 a rival patriarch, Cyril of Ale.\andria. He was condennied ,it the Cotincil of 
 flphesus. deprived of his see, and banished. He died, an exile, in I'.gypt. His 
 tenets spread widely in the Kast, and Ntstorian i.oinmunities are still to be found, 
 partly on Turkish, parti on Persian territory, in the wild and almost inaccessible 
 regions of I'iastern Kurdistan, and, on Persian soil, i:: ihe highly fertile plain to the 
 west of the Lake of Urmia. 
 
\ ' 
 
 NESTORTUS. 
 
 I. 
 
 The old Neslorius, worn witli tnaii}' woos, 
 Casf, out, jiti exile, from the haunts of men, 
 To all a straiii;er and an alien, 
 And Hcckino- only silence and repose, 
 PatsHed to the sands of Egypt. 
 
 Day by day, 
 Wrapped in the splendor of the sunlit air, 
 Which vestured, there, a world so strange and fair. 
 He watched the mighty river glide away, 
 For ever passing, and for ever lliero. 
 
 II. 
 
 Haply ho found, in that mysterious stream, 
 Some semblance to the current of his life : 
 Placid, at first, it rose, and far from strife, 
 Cradled in lotus-blossoms, with the gleam 
 Of dew-drops sparkling in the morning sun ; 
 Then through bare rocks of basalt, dark and grim, 
 Imijctuous forced its way, with widened brim 
 Until, at last, its stormy life-cc done, 
 
 It sank in silence. It was so wi;. m. 
 
— « 
 
 ni. 
 
 All tliintjH had fallen from him. Whore was now 
 
 The mitred patriarch, whose eloquence 
 
 Hekl multitudes enthralled in soul and sense, 
 
 With sainfly aureole around his brow? 
 
 Where now the hier<»|)hant, who sate in state 
 
 So lately, on the throne of (Mirysostom ? 
 
 (ione, like a passing vision, lie had como 
 
 To doubt his own identity. His fate 
 
 Had found him passive: and this was his home. 
 
 IV. 
 
 So, like the ancient Sphinx, whose sightless eyes, 
 
 Sublimely sad, still front the lord of day, 
 
 Yet have no apprehension of his i-ay, 
 
 He turned to stone. To him the mysteries 
 
 Of earth and sky, of morning and deep night, 
 
 Passed as an idle show before his mind, 
 
 Leaving no trace or memory behind : 
 
 Amid all pleasant sounds, and shapes of light, 
 
 Hearing, he hoard not, — seeing, he was blind. 
 
 V. 
 
 Like some huge hull, some battered quinquorome, 
 Wrecked and abandoned on a lonely strand, 
 Or as some vanquished Titan, fi-om whose hand 
 The bolt has fallen, and he sits in dream. 
 Half doubting whether all be come to end, 
 Nestorius sate, with lustrous silver hair 
 Falling in waves upon his chest, half bare; 
 As one whom no calamity could bend. 
 Too proud to mourn, too gentle to despair. 
 
— 1 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yet died ho not, thuH .strickon ; for at luHt 
 There came a voice amid the darknotss Hint,Nii;,', 
 There rose a flower amid the desert (springing, 
 And airs of Kden o'er his spirit passed. 
 — It was M liide maiden, from the shoio 
 Of Arahy, who here had found retreat : 
 She cnme , she saw him : and, witlj gest'iro sweet, 
 Prc>sed to h(!r lips the garment that he wore 
 And kissed his hands, and kissed his naked feet. 
 
 Vll. 
 
 Oh, fair and innocent eyes! Like those hright stars, 
 Tliat wander softly through the summer sky. 
 And shed the halm of theii- serenity 
 On hearts slow breaking behind prison bai-s, 
 So fell your light on him. He woke, lie rose, 
 With life new-throbbing in each pulse and vein, 
 Ke-acting from the tension of that strain ; 
 He passed beyond the shadow of his woes, 
 Flouting the day, and was a man again. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 With tears but half repressed, " Who art thou, child ? " 
 
 He said, "and whence?" " My name is Lois, sire, 
 
 " From Syrian Antioch; there, for shepherd hire, 
 
 •' My father served, at first: then, to the wild 
 
 " That lies about Mount Sinai, we passed; 
 
 " Where died my parents. Orphaned thus, I found 
 
 " A liome among the herdsmen scattered round, 
 
 " ^'x^l journeying with them westward reached at last, 
 
 " This lonely stream, that seems of earth the bound." 
 
— 8 
 
 IX. 
 
 So were they friontlH. And every dny, at morn, 
 When HrHt tlio flnwli of dawning lit the sky, 
 And doHort flovvei-H oxiialod now ffa/^i-anc}', 
 She brought him hncious gohlen fVuitago, born 
 Of broad-leavod troen, kinscd by an biastorn sun, 
 And led him forth, and Hhovved him all the land, 
 The Hha))08 of stono, half hidden in the sand, 
 Sphinxes, and winged lions, gods, whereon 
 Primeval man had gazed with lifted hand. 
 
 X 
 
 The summer waned : the mellow aut<imn camo ; 
 
 Not, as in Northern lands, with I'ain and chill. 
 
 And low clouds trooping over holm and hill, 
 
 But cloudless, warm, with noon-day's ardent flame 
 
 Tempered to soft luxurious dreaminess. 
 
 The shadows lenghtened somewhat, but no sign 
 
 Gave hint or token of the year's decline, 
 
 Save that the wavering films of heat grew less, 
 
 And deeper azure robed the hyaline. 
 
 XI. 
 
 One morn, before the sun arose, the twain, 
 
 Leaving the palms which marked the river's way, 
 
 Rode forth into the vast, unti-odden grey. 
 
 And lonely desert of the Libyan plain. 
 
 F'or many days, through the long hours of sun. 
 
 They journeyed, and, when evening gemmed the sky. 
 
 They sat dismounted, holding converse high, 
 
 And so, each wrapt in Arab cloak, lay down, 
 
 To sleep, amid the lone immensity. 
 
— 9 
 
 XII. 
 
 Stran^'o iluyH wopo IIioho ! When all the visiblo world 
 
 Soemod limilod to that palo disc of sand 
 
 VVhoroof thoy woi'o the centre: all the land 
 
 Withered to dimt, wave here and there im|)earled 
 
 With tronuiloii.s and tiny dosert-hloomM, 
 
 Shrinking, an if in loneline.sH and fear, 
 
 lieneath some shuKering rock. Vet even hero, 
 
 A land of .silence, a,s among the lomhs, 
 
 The voicolos.s found u voice, the dark grow clear. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Tho in vLsi bio took form: the world unseen 
 Became reality: low whisporing.s 
 Came from the void : the beat of angel-wings 
 Seemed always passing: and the dread serene 
 Out of its depths no doubtful answer gave 
 To those mute quorieH, which, an hidden flame, 
 CouHuming, from the questioning spirit came : 
 The unsolved riddles of Trophoniu^' cave, 
 Old as the world,— it» every age the same. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Then Huddonly, the desert seemed to end : 
 
 A line of foliage, indistinct and dim, 
 
 Koso on the far horizon's hazy rim, 
 
 Whose darker shade at tirst appeared to blend 
 
 By soft gradations with the violet hue 
 
 Of recent sunset. Silent and serene. 
 
 The rising moon shed splendor on the scene, 
 
 Lighting its shadows, which, on nearer view, 
 
 Widened and grew, an oasis of green. 
 
— 10 
 
 ^ 
 
 XV. 
 
 It was a calm retreat, a place of rest, 
 A nanctuary, whoso most welcome i>loom 
 Pervaded everywhere by soft perfume, 
 And overhead in leafy richness drest, 
 Kefreshed and soothed the weary wanderer. 
 It stood amid the wilderness of sand, 
 An island of delights, a charmed land, 
 Where summer sweetness ever tilled the air, 
 And all the woes of earth seemed ever banned. 
 
 XVJ. 
 
 Whereat Nestorius, gazing earnestly, 
 Exclaimed "Our way is ended ; it is well : 
 " When sleeping by the Nile, it so befell 
 " That heavenly visions, voices from on high, 
 "Came to me in a dream, at whose behest, 
 '* 1 go to drive from this fair paradise 
 "The old, discrowned, Egyptian deities, 
 "Who hither tied, of empire dispossessed, 
 "'• What time a stronger faith began its rise." 
 
 XVll. 
 
 They entered in, the maiden and the sage, 
 Around them closed the tall columnar trees, 
 Giants in growth, through whose interstices. 
 High-branched, with lofty crowns ol foliage, 
 Clear moonlight fell, and chequered here and there. 
 The heavy gloom with points and lines of light. 
 Here slept they, through the soft autumnal night, 
 Till morning came: then forth they went to Ua'e, 
 The secrets those recesses kept from sight. 
 
T 
 
 11 — 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Over the scented Hward, for many a mile, 
 Beneath the wavering and uncertain shade 
 Which haiigini^ epiphytes above them made, 
 Through many a forest path and dim detile, 
 Skii'liiig. at limes, a hjnely sylvan pool, 
 Whose argent surface, as a mirror clear, 
 Was stai-red with flowers, (he fairest of the year, 
 Silent (hoy passed; and through iho vapors cool 
 Of deep ravines, where all was grey and sere. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 So, at the last, when day was on the wane, 
 There rose heforo them, in the mellow light, 
 A palace, all of purest syenite. 
 Stately and vast, a Cyclopean fane : 
 Approaching then, they saw the long facade 
 Sculptured with forms of loveliness supreme, 
 King"*, priests, divinities, — the splendid dream 
 Some Phidias of the desert might have had, 
 Sleeping, at noon, beside trio sacred stream. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Here came of old, in weariness of soul, 
 
 The Mizrite Pharaohs : here at times they found 
 
 A respite from the dull unvarying round 
 
 Of Icingly state and sovereign control. 
 
 Here, in the summer heats, they |)assed the hours 
 
 Listening lo songs of bards, or to the story 
 
 Of some Ionian improvvisatore. 
 
 Now perished all: for ruthless time devours 
 
 Alike the words of men, and ruins hoary. 
 
12 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The hiHt who came was smitten in his prime 
 
 As if by lightning. Gailanded and crowned. 
 
 The wine-cup at h'\» lips, h\n senses drowned 
 
 In all the witching rapture of the time, 
 
 He jiassed away. There came a rush of wind 
 
 From Libya's wastes, a blast of withcTing air, 
 
 Which found the feasters in their palace fair, 
 
 And sweeping on in ruin, left behind 
 
 The dead, who still seemed holding revel there. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 They had not changed. So sudden was the blow, 
 So swift the shock of that invisible flame, 
 With such strange, subtle influence it came. 
 That they, through all the ages' ebb and flow, 
 Remained unaltered, tixed, Avithout decay: 
 Kach still retained his careless pose of yore. 
 Although the lotus-wreath, which then he wore, 
 Had faded, by the lapse of time, away. 
 And lay, a speck of ashes, on the floor. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 So, at the last, Nestorius laid his hand 
 
 Upon the massive portal. All the air 
 
 Was tilled with golden splendor everywhere 
 
 And silence lay upon the charmed land : 
 
 No sound was heard save when the tree-tops gave 
 
 A murmured whisper, a faint orison, 
 
 A dirge of parting to the setting sun, 
 
 A wailing, as if Horus, in his grave. 
 
 Sank in the shadows of oblivion, 
 
— 13 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Through the half-opened floor the light Htreamod in, 
 Jlovealing all that ghostly gathering, 
 Sitting an .statues ; and upon their king 
 The glorious sunshine fell, as if to win 
 The pallid phantom back to light and life: 
 Behold, he seems to move! The rigid eyes 
 Eelax and kindle with a quick surprise: 
 Is it a dream ? Oh, help him in the strife, 
 Thou Amun-Ra! He must, he must arise. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Vain pha; -lies: for as Nestorius gazed, 
 
 Filled with the dreaminess of solemn thought 
 
 Which that strange vision in his mind had wrought. 
 
 The daylight faded out. As one half-dazod, 
 
 He saw the shadows deepen on the wail, 
 
 The tigures disappear, and all the room 
 
 Etfaced and vanished in the twilight gloom, 
 
 So turned he, silent, from the regal hall, 
 
 And darkness gathered round the Pharaoh's tomb. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Night reigned. Beneath the shelter of a palm, 
 The maiden slept the starry hours away : 
 She Joined her S3'rian co-mates in thoir play : 
 Her soul, — like some fair lake, whoso holy calm 
 Reflects the flowers that grow upon its shore, 
 And when these fade, and pass away, and die, 
 Retains the fallen petals lovingly, — 
 Lived o'er again the days that wore no more, 
 Dreaming of home, and friends, and joys gone by. 
 
_ 14 — 
 
 XXVIl. 
 
 Not 80 NoNtoriuH ; awako he stood, 
 
 Watchful and vvailin^: not a leaf that stirred, 
 
 No brcatli of air, or Hiiltering of bird, 
 
 Escaped lli^s Uen, in all that solitude. 
 
 So came tlie noon of niyiit: but e'er it pant, 
 
 It seemed as though a Jndgmeit dealing wand 
 
 Wo>'e raised and broken, and a spirit hand 
 
 Wore beckoning : the hour had come, at last, 
 
 When those old gods should perish from the hmd. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 A roseate light, a faint and wavering glow. 
 Played round the circuit of the palace wall : 
 And sounds, half-heard, yet soft and musical. 
 Fell on the ear, with cadence sweet and low. 
 The portal- valves flew back, and from within 
 A beam of sudden splendor, dazzling briglit, 
 Lit up, afar, the shadows of the night ; 
 As when through clouds and vapors vespertine, 
 The star of evening breaks upon the sight. 
 
 XXIX 
 
 They woke, they moved: up-starting from his throne, 
 
 Rose the dead Pharaoh: and around him rose 
 
 The many who had shared his long repose, 
 
 Princes and bards and slaves : nor t\\Q»G alone ; 
 
 i'rora out the dark recesses of the wood 
 
 Came mighty shadows of departed gods, 
 
 Wiio lingered yet about their loved abodes, 
 
 Osiris, Nophthys, and the twilight brood 
 
 Of light and gloom ; the spawn of Nilus-floods. 
 
— 15 — 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Yet was I heir bearing l<ingly. Like a slur. 
 
 Shone Ha, the tsiin-jurod, with his helm atlame: 
 
 Crowned with immortal youth, fair Hoiu.s came, 
 
 Typhon, arrayed in panoply of war, 
 
 The dread Aniibis, from the shade.s below. 
 
 Judge of the dead, and, as a lily fair, 
 
 Isiii the (^leen, with wealth of golden hair, 
 
 Yet something sad, as when the moon hangs low 
 
 O'er western hills, and silence HI Is the air. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 All these, and more, in long procession wound 
 
 Along the allej's of the silent woods. 
 
 The ever-green eternal solitudes, 
 
 Where never sunshine came, nor storm, nor sound. 
 
 Forth, from their haunts, the forest Lomures 
 
 Peeped, with the Larvte, starting back in fear. 
 
 To see the rnighty concourse, and to hoar 
 
 The chaunting of the Isiac votaries 
 
 Faint floating up, attenuate and clear. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Unfaltering in mien, Ncstorius, 
 With white hair floating on his shoulders broad, 
 Erect in stature, as a Scyliic god 
 Might stand amid the thunders ruinous 
 Of Lok and Hela, in the latter days. 
 Advanced to meet the dread divinities; 
 When lo I a mist of darkness veiled his eyes, 
 —A moment only,— then there mot his gazo 
 A vision of long-vanished centuries. 
 
- 16 — 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 The wood wuH gone : and in its place was Hcen 
 
 A spliiiix-liiicd avenue, a street of stone, 
 
 WlKxse marble .structures in clear sun-light .sliono, ' 
 
 Irradiating all the splendid scene. 
 
 White colonnades of f'ar-receding length, 
 
 Colossi, obelisks, and pyla fair," 
 
 Iluge fanes, and b.-oad-based pyramids, were there, 
 
 Temples that seemed eternal in their strength, 
 
 All bright and dazzling in the noon-day glare: 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 And down the highway, like the ceaseless courso 
 Of some majestic river, swept along 
 A multitude past numbering, a throng 
 Of strange-clad, manj^-nationed worshippers, 
 Priests in rich panther-skins and robes of white. 
 Princes urceus-crowncd,— and sceptred queens. ' 
 Brown Abyssinian girls, with tambourines, 
 Skives, warrioi-s in cohorts in Unite. 
 Bejew'>il'3d Khita, and wild llagarenes. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Far in the van, King Eamses Miamon, 
 
 The lord of victory, the eagle-eyed,— 
 
 A tawny lion stalking by his side,— 
 
 Stood in his car and seemed to lead them on ; 
 
 Still in his hand he held the mighty bow. 
 
 Which none but he might bend, of mortal men ;— 
 
 The quiver still he bore, whose arrowy rain 
 
 Showered death, like Amun's lightning, and laid low 
 
 The hosts of Syria, on Khadosh plain. 
 
-1*7- 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 Nor were the great gods wanting : round the king 
 They 'litted, honouring their mysteries, 
 Vast, shadowy, indistinct, with gleaming eyes, 
 Lii<e autumn clouds, storm-laden, menacing; 
 The while, on either hand, the street was lined 
 With Egypt's myriads, clustered thick as bees, 
 Through miles of colonnade and sculptured frieze : 
 So passed the throng, low-murmuring as the wind 
 That wakes to turbulence the slumbering seas. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Eapt in mute wonderment, immoveable, 
 Nestorius stood awhile, then raised his hand, 
 And uttered, in brief accents of command. 
 The words of power, the exorcising spell : 
 Whereat the vision vanished utterly. 
 Swift as the closing of an eagle's wing, 
 Night swallowed all that phantom-gathering, 
 And all was silent, save a mornful cry, 
 That lingered on, in echoes perishing. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Awakened by the sound, young Lois rose, 
 
 And saw the sombre shadows of the grove 
 
 Heavy with night, and saw the stars above. 
 
 And all the forest hushed in soft repose ; 
 
 But that fair palace which was there before, 
 
 Massive, Titanic, with its sculptures rare. 
 
 Was gone, was vanished, and its place was bare.— 
 
 So was the mission ended : and once more 
 
 The*twain moved onwards, through the moonlit air. 
 
18 — 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Back to tho Nilo!-Oh, fair luul radiant river, 
 VVlio that has heen beside thy nhiniiig ntroam,' 
 And watched tho Nplondor of the morning' beam 
 On all thy ihonsnnd ripploH* sheen and shiver, 
 But turns to thoc! Mysterious, mi^^hiy flood, 
 Traversing many climates;, from the rime 
 Qf Habesii mountains to tjie Delta's slime, 
 Thou comest from thy southern solitude/ 
 Rich with tho benedictions of all time. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Tho cities wait on *hee. Tho weary land 
 Crevasscd and gaping with the summer drouth, 
 Prays but for thee. Thou dost renew its youth, 
 What time the villages lilce islands stand 
 Amid the swollen waters; and the hind 
 Greets thee as king and father, who dost turn 
 Darkness to light, and from Amenthe's bourne 
 Preservest all, out-pouring, unconfined, 
 All chiefest blessings from thy sacred urn. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Within the twilight of a deep ravine. 
 The wanderers now held their homeward way; 
 A cleft profound, and where tho light of day 
 Seemed, e'en at noon-day, scarce to venture in. 
 Slow passed the days I till wider grow tho space, 
 And in its midst there rose a bubbling spring 
 With a delicious sound of pa< -ing. 
 Life-giving, cooling, in that lonely place 
 Set as a gem within an Ethiop's ring. 
 
— 19 — 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Thoy rested hero. Soft balmy slumber crept 
 
 Upon the exile, lyinij^ in tlio Hhade, 
 
 V7orn out with travel, while the little maio 
 
 Sate opposite, and watched him as he slept. 
 
 Then, as it chanced, there came, to quench his thirst, 
 
 A mighty lion of the Libyan waste ; 
 
 Towards the spring with stately mien lie paced, *" 
 
 Till, seeing them, he stopped, amazed at first. 
 
 Then crouched, the while Nestorius he faced. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Swift as the lightning from a summer cloud, 
 Spiang Lois to her feet, and rushed to where 
 Tho sleeper lay, and stood before him thore, 
 Panting and flushed, and would have called aloud. 
 But that the sudden teri'or froze her tongue; 
 So stood she, statue-like, with lifted arm, 
 Ac if to save and shelter him fi'om harm, — 
 A fine impersonation of strong will, yet young, 
 A child almost, with childhood's nameless charm. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 There was a pause. With hidf I'cpentant air, 
 
 The great brute rose and slowly passed her by, 
 
 Retiring thus, in silent majesty, 
 
 As if he f'ould not injure one so fair. 
 
 So went he to his realm, the wilderness; 
 
 And Lois, with removal of that strain. 
 
 Now that the hope of life seemed born again, 
 
 Fell to the earth, in mute unconsciousness, 
 
 Crushed as a lily in untimely rain. 
 
— 20 — 
 
 XLV. 
 
 8ho faded from that hour. No more the earth 
 
 Soeniod pleasant to her: t-ho wan deaf to all 
 
 The revelry of life, the carnival 
 
 Of choral iiai-inonies and son^s of mirth. 
 
 A mist of sadness lay upon her soul, 
 
 Hiding the heauty of all fairest things, 
 
 The flush of morn, the ^low that evening hriii^s, 
 
 The clou<ls of sunset, and the stars that roll 
 
 Throufjfh azui'e depths, while soft the fiiji^ht-bird sin^^s. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Yet lived she many days. But when, at last, 
 The palm-trees of the Nile appeared in si«rht, 
 She snnk as one exhausted, , !e and white, 
 As falls a flower hefoi-e the winter's blast.- - 
 Then came to them a hermit of the plain, 
 Compassionate, v/,io prayed tiiey might abide 
 Within his dwellirig, by the i-iver-side, 
 Until the maiden found her strength again, 
 And needful rest to both might be supplied. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Ilis hut was all embosomed in fair flowers, 
 And shrubs of richest, ]>erfume, passing sweet; 
 For here, the}* said, had trod the saci-ed feet 
 Of Joseph and of Marj', and the hours 
 Had shed bright sunshine on the mystic child 
 Borne in the arms of loving motherhood : 
 And Natui'e, in her happiest, holiest mood, 
 Had showered all blessings, in pi-ofusion wild, 
 And made a garden of the solitude. 
 
-21 - 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 So came the purlin^'. In what bolloi* home 
 
 Coiikl como the Hovoianco and Horruvvin/^, 
 
 Than horo whore Ho, who took from death its sting, 
 
 And tilled with light the darUnosn of the tomb, 
 
 Had dwell, had lived in human infancj- ? 
 
 And Lois watched the sun's declining vuy— 
 
 Shine on the wall, and pass in gloom away. 
 
 And said '' My time is come : behold, 1 die ; 
 
 " Yet would 1 speak with thee, while yet I may." 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 '' Father and friend I I thank thee for the love 
 " Wherewith thou hast transfigured all my being, 
 " Lifting my heart to heavenly things, and freeing 
 *' My soul to commune with the world above. 
 " Yet are there doubts that press upon my mind, 
 " Misgivings of a fear that haunts mo still, 
 " And lies upon mo as a winter-chill ; 
 " I turn to thee, oh father, and would find 
 "Comfort and guidance in this seeming ill." 
 
 L. 
 
 "Tell me,— when death is past, and heaven's door 
 " Is opened wide, to let the blessed in, 
 " — If I, too, am allowed a place to win 
 "Among the hapiy ones who die no more, — 
 " How shall I fare when round me then I see 
 " The multitudes of saints, the great, the strong, 
 '• How shall I dare with them to pass along? 
 " I am so young, so small ;— I fear to be 
 "Lost and unnoticed in that mighty throng." 
 
— 22 - 
 
 LI, 
 
 VVoepit)^, tlio old NostoriuH lioltl lioi' lumd. 
 And wlii^sporod loving words ol'liopo and (dieor, 
 Whereat she hniiled, ajid wconied to Ioho all foar, 
 Ah one who wails with calnuioss on tho Htrand 
 Before onibarUing on an unknown deep. 
 Tho moonlight, like a watching preKenoe lay 
 Upon tho lloor, a square ol'wilvery grey, 
 And night- airs iniirniured, with^Eolian sweep, 
 Tho maiden's dirge. — So Lois passed away. 
 
 III. 
 
 Thoy buried her, and o'er her humble grave 
 
 Suns rose and set, the seasons wont and came, — 
 
 Her tew short 3ears of life, her very name, 
 
 Forgotten soon by all, e'en as a wave 
 
 That rises for a moment, and is gone. 
 
 Yet, who can tell ? Perhaps, the shade passed by, 
 
 She merged in light, and rose triumj)hantly. 
 
 To outlive Sirius and Oarion, 
 
 Crowned with the amaranth, no more to die. 
 
 LIll. 
 
 Darkened in spirit, stricken down by grief, 
 NestoriuH sought again the ancient Nile, 
 And found beside its flowing, as erewhile, 
 A balm of consolation and relief. 
 Antanis-liko, he touched the kindly earth. 
 And felt the loving symjiathy that lies 
 In Nature's mystic depths, and seemed to rise 
 With strength renewed, sending his spirit forth 
 To face, as man, the chance of destinies. 
 
— 23 — 
 
 
 LIV 
 
 So died he. But hefoie the .summons cjimo, 
 
 For muny months, tht- <|\veller.s jn ilio vale 
 
 Pressed round him, liHtonuii,', while he tuld the tale 
 
 He knew so wo!!,— Hoold, and .still the .same. 
 
 He rni«ed thom from the dinsl, and HJiewed thorn how 
 
 To worship worthily the common Sire; 
 
 Jlefashiotnnti:. with Promethean tire, 
 
 Their Ihoiights. their lives, until each wish and vow 
 
 Was hurnionized with his, as lyre with lyre. 
 
 LV. 
 
 To thom, when came the final, parting' hour. 
 It seemed the light had laded from their sky : 
 Bowed down, disconsolate, with wailing cry, 
 They kis.sed the hands now lying, void of power, 
 Folded and motiotdess upon his breast: 
 And sun-brownod children of the desert bore 
 ]5right lotus-flowers, sucii as he loved of yore, 
 And shod tho.n o'er him, weeping. So, at rest, 
 He lay, in silence, by the river-shore. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Uprose the morn ; in splendor shone the sun : 
 
 A thousand ripples, on the mighty stream, 
 
 Woke laughingly, beneath his ea» lest beam; 
 
 Life stirred : a day of sutishine 'ad begun. 
 
 But ho, the sleeper, saw not, heeded not; 
 
 No more to him the riverV, stately flow 
 
 Could bring sweet music; ho no more might know 
 
 The surt'ering by human partings brought, 
 
 Or man's unkindness. It was better so. 
 
 mi